All Chapters of Billionaire’s Pretend Wife To Be: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The Manor was an echoing tomb when Alessandro was gone. The three days he spent in London felt like three years. I thought I would crave the solitude, but I learned a terrifying new truth: my anxiety was anchored by his presence. When he was here, I knew the perimeter was secure. Without him, the silence became a vacuum where my fears about Victoria, the contract, and the possibility of discovery thrived.I couldn't shake the memory of his text message: Are you well? It was a tiny, illogical deviation from the script that had kept me off-balance ever since. It was the only crack in the titanium armor I’d ever been given, and it was dangerous because it demanded an emotional response I couldn't afford to provide.It was close to midnight. Leo was asleep under the dome, safe and sound, the rhythm of his breathing piped into a monitor in my room as per the new, rigid protocol Alessandro had established post-fever. I was restless, the quiet of the East Wing apartment pressing in on me. I

The oppressive structure of the Conti Manor’s primary attic was a shock. It wasn’t a dusty, sloping space filled with ghosts; it was a cavernous, climate-controlled warehouse dedicated to the preservation of wealth. Crates labeled "Conti Archives: 1950-1980" stood stacked beside sealed wardrobes containing decades of unworn couture. It was a graveyard of history, meticulously organized and utterly soulless.I was here on Arthur’s mission.The fierce, spontaneous defense Alessandro had mounted at the dinner table last night, the icy, immediate execution of his own aunt, had left me breathless and profoundly destabilized. He didn't defend me as Elara; he defended me as his choice. But in that moment of devastating protection, I saw the capacity for loyalty I hadn't dared to believe in.The monster who signed the contract is also the protector who burns down everything that threatens his claim. And that power, that possessiveness, is terrifyingly attractive. I need to find the soft spot

The sleek black sedan, having whisked us away from La Mer and Arthur’s delighted approval, was an airless vacuum of tension. The minute the car door closed, Alessandro’s hand, which had caressed my cheek so tenderly and held mine so possessively, retracted as if burned. He now sat rigidly against the far door, separated from me by a vast, silent gulf of expensive leather.The silence was deafening, amplified by the fresh memory of our performance. We had just created a perfect, passionate fiction for Arthur, yet the reality was the cold, clinical distance we currently maintained.The air still tastes like his proximity, like the fine cologne and the sharp scent of his control. I hate him for the contract. I despise the cold manipulation. But when his thumb traced my jawline tonight, I didn't feel like an actress; I felt claimed. The confusion is nauseating. He’s the monster who bought me, and I’m the fool who wants the warmth of his touch.I cleared my throat, forcing myself to break

The casual gathering ended around eleven, leaving me exhausted from maintaining polite conversation while trying to decipher Victoria’s unsettling stare. Lucas, having successfully aired his existential crisis, was safely deposited into a waiting vehicle, still rambling enthusiastically about his coding mentorship program.I had barely made it back to the relative safety of the main hall when the air around me turned several degrees colder."Elara."The voice was low, demanding, and sharp enough to slice through the lingering hum of the party. I turned to find Alessandro standing several yards away, emerging from the direction of his private office like a shadow made of Savile Row wool. He hadn't attended the cocktail gathering, too busy for frivolous socializing, but he had clearly received a full report.His eyes, usually shielded by a calculated indifference, were dark and turbulent. He wasn't the distant CEO or the charming performer tonight; he was a storm cloud.Monologue: Victo

The seaplane ride back from the San Juan Islands was a study in contrasts. Leo was deeply asleep in the rear cabin, his head resting against the plush seat, the velvet pouch of "geological specimens" clutched against his chest. Alessandro and I were seated near the front, the low hum of the engines and the rhythmic splash of water against the pontoons creating a small, enclosed world.Alessandro was still technically working, a tablet balanced on his knee, but his focus was fractured. He kept glancing back at the sleeping form of my brother, the cold efficiency of the CEO momentarily suspended.He is physically exhausted from dropping his guard all day. It takes energy to maintain that fortress, and it takes even more to dismantle it, even for Leo. He doesn't know how to exist in the neutral space between 'ruthless titan' and 'caring human.'I watched him as the plane banked, the setting sun painting the cabin in shades of bruised purple and fiery orange. The light caught the rigid li