All Chapters of Belonging to You: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Christian’s POV The elevator ride to the top floor of Castillo Group felt longer than it should have. Miles stood beside me, humming under his breath like this was just another Monday. I tried to mirror that ease, but my pulse disagreed—thudding under my skin, louder with every floor we climbed.My reflection in the mirrored elevator doors stared back—composed, expressionless, a man carved from restraint.A man who belonged to this world of glass and power even if, deep down, he questioned whether he wanted any of it.Miles elbowed me lightly. “Smile. Pretend you missed everyone.”“I’m already pretending.”The elevator chimed.The doors slid open, and instantly the sharp scent of polished marble and floral perfume wrapped around me. Castillo Group hadn’t changed. The sleek lines, black floors reflecting the light, the quiet hum of ambition in the air—it all felt too familiar.Staff paused as we passed.“Mr. Castillo, welcome back.”“Good morning, sir.”“We’re honored to have you her

Abigail’s POV The Castillo estate glittered like something out of a dream.Or a nightmare.Depending on how tightly my lungs felt at any given moment.Lola hadn’t exaggerated. The gala was massive. Cars rolled up the circular driveway one after another, headlights sweeping across marble steps as guests stepped out dressed like royalty. A string quartet played near the entrance. Staff moved with seamless precision. Everything felt unreal.And I—an outsider wrapped in midnight-blue satin—stood in the center of it.“You look breathtaking,” Lola whispered as we approached the grand hall, looping her arm through mine. “Everyone’s going to stare.”“They already are.”“Good. Let them.”I tried to smile, but my heart wouldn’t settle. I kept scanning the crowd, telling myself it was the unfamiliar environment.Not him.Definitely not him.The chandelier above glittered like suspended stars, casting warm gold across polished floors. Guests drifted by with champagne flutes and well-practiced sm

Abigail’s POV Carmen’s interruption still clung to my skin like static.I slipped back inside the ballroom with my pulse scraping the back of my throat, pretending nothing had happened on that terrace. Pretending I hadn’t nearly let Christian Castillo kiss me. Pretending my legs weren’t still shaky from the way he’d caged me in with nothing but his breath and heat in his eyes.The ballroom lights felt too bright. The music felt too loud. Everything felt wrong.I found Alberto where I’d left him, chatting with a couple of board members. I forced my breathing to steady as I slipped back to his side, hands clasped behind me like the dutiful caregiver I was supposed to be.Across the room, Christian took the stage.His voice rolled over the crowd—confident, smooth, practiced. I heard none of it. I only saw him. The sharp line of his jaw. The slight flush still high on his cheekbones. The way his gaze skimmed over the heads of the audience, searching.For me.When his eyes finally caught

Christian’s POV Abigail didn’t show up in the morning.She was always at the estate by seven. Always. The house woke up around her, and somewhere along the way, I started expecting that soft rhythm—the quiet footsteps, the gentle greetings she gave the staff, the way she paused outside Abuelo’s study before knocking.But today, the hallway stayed empty.I tried not to look like I was listening for her. I tried not to look at the clock. I tried not to think about the way she’d said Mr. Castillo last night like she was severing something between us.She shouldn’t have been able to cut me that easily.I shouldn’t have cared this much.But I walked into the dining room carrying the irritation like a second skin.Adrianna sat at the long table, bright and polished, already halfway through her fruit bowl. “Good morning, Christian.” She scooted closer as I took my seat. “You disappeared so quickly last night.”“I was tired,” I said. I didn’t bother softening it.She pouted, tracing the rim

Narrator’s POV–FlashbackAbigail was fifteen the day her mother walked out of her life.It was a warm afternoon in late June, the kind of day that should have smelled like mangoes and sun-warmed grass. Instead, the house felt unnaturally still, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.The air-conditioning hummed. A lone ceiling fan twirled lazily above the living room. Outside, a dog barked in the distance. All perfectly normal things—yet Abigail felt the strangeness beneath them, like the moment before a storm breaks.It began with footsteps on the hardwood, slow and deliberate, echoing down the hallway toward the living room. Abigail had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, sunlight spilling across her unfinished math assignment, her pencil tapping rhythmically as she waited.Her mother had promised to help her.She always promised.The front door opened before Abigail even realized her mother had approached. The hinges sighed, letting in the cool late-afternoon