All Chapters of Married To The Arrogant Billionaire Heir: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Sebastian’s POV. I returned to my office earlier than expected, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound in the room. I sat behind my mahogany desk, the cold, late-morning light reflecting off the polished surface, and waited. Isabella was due any minute. I fully expected her to walk in defeated. The report I had assigned her—a consolidation of three merged departmental budgets—was a beast. It was designed to break her, or at least expose the cracks in the reputation her father had sold me. I wanted to know what I had actually married: a business prodigy, or a pampered socialite playing dress-up. When the knock came, it was soft but precise. “Enter.” She stepped inside. There was no hair out of place, no ink smudges on her fingers, and no sign of the panic I had anticipated. She held a neatly clipped stack of papers against her chest like a shield. She stopped in front of my desk, her posture stiff. “Mr. Knight. I’ve finished the report.” I didn’t speak. I simply held ou

Sebastian’s POV. The manor was dead silent. The kind of silence that amplifies every creak of the floorboards and every tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. It suited me. I bypassed the living quarters and headed straight for my study. My desk was a war zone of charts, projections, and hostile acquisition strategies. The board meeting was in forty-eight hours. My father had delayed reinstating me as heir for a full week. It was a power play, pure and simple. My refusal to play his game at the dinner had rattled him, and now he was circling like a shark, waiting for blood in the water. One missed decimal point, one hesitation in my presentation, and he would have the excuse he needed to declare me unfit. I sat down, loosening my tie, and began the final review. Revenue streams, operational costs, liability—everything aligned. Until I reached the historical projected data. I cursed under my breath. The 2022 ledger. I had left it in the library archives earlier that morning. It

Sebastian’s POV. The silence of my office was shattered not by a knock, but by the heavy thud of the door swinging open. I didn’t look up immediately. I finished signing the bottom of the invoice, capped my pen, and only then lifted my eyes. Ryan. He strolled in with his hands in his pockets, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. He looked around the room with a proprietary air, as if measuring the walls for new paint. The sheer audacity of it made my blood run cold. I didn’t stand. Standing would suggest he was a threat worth addressing. I leaned back in my leather chair, keeping my face impassive. "I don't recall seeing your name on my calendar," I said, my voice low. "And I certainly didn't authorize security to let you up." "Your secretary tried to stop me," Ryan said, smirking as he dropped onto the sofa near the window, ignoring the guest chairs entirely. "I told him it was family business. He seemed... hesitant to argue." "You are not family business. You are a

Ryan’s POV. Back at home. I couldn’t sit. I couldn’t focus. I paced the length of the Persian rug, my footsteps muffled but my pulse thundering in my ears. Every time my phone screen remained black, a fresh wave of irritation spiked through my chest. It had been hours and my mother hadn't gotten back to me. My mind was a chaotic loop of her. Grace. The way she had looked at me—cold, detached, a perfect stranger. It was a performance, it had to be. But the frustration of not being able to shatter that mask was eating me alive. "You’re going to wear a hole in the floor." I spun around. Chloe was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, her eyes narrowed in that perpetual look of scrutiny she wore so well. She was like a shadow in this house—always appearing exactly when I wanted to be alone. "What do you want, Chloe?" I snapped, my tone harsher than intended. "To know why you look like a caged animal," she drawled, stepping into the room. "Is this about the office? Or someth

Grace’s POV. My office had finally started to feel less like a cage and more like a sanctuary. It was still overwhelming, and the mountain of files on my desk often threatened to bury me, but the crushing weight of panic was beginning to lift. Emily was my lifeline. She translated the corporate language I couldn’t understand, guiding me through the maze without ever making me feel like the fraud I was. I had spent the last week studying until my vision blurred, memorizing protocols and reading old case files until 3:00 AM. It was grueling, but it was working. Earlier today, I had caught a discrepancy in a financial report. It was minor—a misplaced decimal that would have skewed the quarterly projection—but I had seen it. Me. Not Emily. When I pointed it out to Sebastian, he hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t praised me. He had simply given a sharp, single nod and returned to his work. For anyone else, it would have been a dismissal. For me? It was a victory. I can do this, I told mysel