Semua Bab BILLIONAIRE’S REVENGE BRIDE: Bab 21 - Bab 30

Ariana’s POVThe mansion felt too big the morning Margo and Liana left.Not empty, there were still staff moving softly through the halls, still the hum of distant generators and the low murmur of security outside but hollow in a way I hadn’t expected to feel so quickly.I stood at the foot of the staircase, fingers curled around the banister, watching Margo adjust her coat for the third time while Liana pretended not to hover.“You packed everything?” Margo asked for the fifth time, smoothing Liana’s sleeve like she’d somehow wrinkle herself in the next five seconds.“Yes, Mama,” Liana replied, rolling her eyes. “I’m not five.”Margo lifted a brow. “You act like it.”I smiled weakly.They’d arrived like a storm a week ago warm, loud, intrusive in the gentlest ways and somehow, without my noticing, they’d become anchors. Margo’s morning kisses. Liana’s relentless chatter. Their presence had softened the sharp edges of the mansion, filled corners I hadn’t realized were echoing.Now, su

Ariana’s POVDays blur when there’s nothing anchoring them.Morning sickness eased a little, settling into a dull wave instead of a storm, but the quiet inside the mansion grew louder. Every hallway I walked through felt like a reminder that I had nowhere to be, nothing to sign, no responsibilities that actually belonged to me.Just existing,waiting and I hated it.I even tried reading. I tried wandering through the garden. I tried watching shows I barely remembered afterward. But the emptiness gnawed at me, the kind that didn’t feel like peace, but like being shelved. Like I’d stepped out of my own life and someone forgot to tell me when it was safe to step back in.Sometimes, I caught myself thinking of Shawn.Not the soft memories and not the fake laughter, not even the rehearsed patience he wore when we weren’t alone but the subtle ways he shrank me.“You don’t need to work. Let me handle things.”“You’re overthinking again, just relax babe.”“You’re lucky I’m patient with you.”

Ariana’s POVRejection doesn’t always come with thunder.Sometimes, it arrives quietly folded into polite sentences, dressed in professional courtesy and delivered with a smile.“Thank you so much for coming in, but we’ve decided to move forward with candidates whose backgrounds more closely align with our needs.”The woman across the table said the words gently, as if softness could erase finality.I nodded, smiling like it didn’t sting. “Of course. Thank you for the opportunity.”We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. I walked out of the glass building with my head high and my lungs tight.Outside, the city felt louder than usual. Cars honked. A bus rumbled by. A woman laughed into her phone. Life went on.I sat on the bench near the entrance, counted three breaths, and reminded myself:First interviews rarely work.You learn. You adjust.You keep moving.I tucked the rejection into that space inside me where determination now lived.The second interview came two days later.Th

Ariana’s POVBy morning the sunlight sliced through the curtains like it had a personal grudge. My alarm decided today was the day to be extra dramatic.I groaned into my pillow.For a second, I forgot about the jobs, interviews,my rejection emails, and dignity-bartering managers Arghhh. I just lay there, wrapped in sheets and stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, I’d dream another thirty minutes into existence.Then reality caught up.Yesterday I decided to try again one last time..I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling.“Well,” I whispered, “if destiny is still playing games, I’m at least showing up with snacks.”I showered, dressed, and drifted downstairs. The mansion was strangely peaceful as few staff moved quietly. Somewhere deeper inside the house, I heard the echo of Slade’s cool and clipped voice.I avoided that direction entirely.Entering the kitchen it smelled like coffee and toasted bread. I poured myself a mug, trying to appear like a functioning adult and not

Emilia’s POV Saturday morning found me at the breakfast table with a cup of tea and a notepad, scribbling an embarrassingly chaotic list that read blazers, trousers, shoes that don’t scream “wedding guest,” only confidence. I was halfway through crossing out confidence as if it could be bought when Slade walked in.He glanced at the notepad. Then at me.You’re planning a takeover?”“I’m planning survival,” I replied. “Apparently, junior designers are expected to look like they know what they’re doing.”He took the seat across from me, calm as ever. “You’ll be fine.”“I have exactly three dresses that qualify as ‘professional,’” I said. “And two of them are aggressively optimistic.”His brow lifted. “Optimistic?”“ Yeah bright,floral and possibly delusional.”“Hmm get dressed.”I narrowed my eyes. “That sounded ominous.”“Shopping,” he said simply. “Corporate wear. Today.”I laughed. “You realize that sentence is terrifying.”“You’ll thank me later.”By noon, I was standing in a bou