All Chapters of Married To The Arrogant Billionaire Heir: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Grace’s POV. My office had finally started to feel less like a cage and more like a sanctuary, though a fragile one. The glass walls that had initially made me feel like a specimen in a jar now offered a strange sense of transparency. I had learned the rhythm of the floor—the arrival of the coffee cart at 8:00 AM, the frantic hum of activity before lunch, and the slow, exhausted quiet that settled over the cubicles after 6:00 PM. It was still overwhelming. The mountain of files on my desk often threatened to bury me physically and mentally. But the crushing, suffocating weight of panic that had gripped me on my first day was beginning to lift, replaced by a frantic, adrenaline-fueled determination. Emily was my lifeline. She was the architect of my survival. She translated the corporate language I couldn’t understand, guiding me through the maze of protocols without ever making me feel like the fraud I was. She taught me how to sign documents with a flourish that looked authoritati

Sebastian’s POV. The morning sun sliced across the floor of my office, sharp, bright, and unforgiving. It illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air, but it did nothing to warm the temperature in the room. I remained seated behind the mahogany expanse of my desk, my body angled slightly away from the door. A contract lay open before me—a tedious acquisition deal for a shipping lane in the Pacific—but I wasn't reading it. I was waiting. My father had called at 8:00 AM to confirm they were in the building. Security had logged their badges at 8:15 AM. It was now 8:30 AM. The knock came—perfunctory, three sharp raps that sounded more like a demand than a request. My assistant, clearly nervous, buzzed the intercom. “Mr. Knight? Your… family is here.” “Send them in,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the contract. I didn't look up when the door opened. I didn't stand. I let them walk into the room and stand in the silence for a full twenty seconds. It was a petty power play, perhap

Grace’s POV. The storage room beside Sebastian’s office—the one that had now become my workspace—wasn't just an office, it was a display case. Sebastian had called it secure, but as I sat behind the sleek, modern desk that had been installed overnight, I felt anything but safe. The walls facing his office were floor-to-ceiling glass. There were no blinds. No frosted panels. Just absolute, terrifying transparency. Every time I looked up, I caught my own reflection—pale, wide-eyed, wearing a suit that cost more than my car—superimposed over the bustling executive suite. I felt like a specimen in a jar, waiting for someone to tap on the glass and see if I flinched. I forced my eyes onto the spreadsheets in front of me, trying to decipher the revenue projections for the upcoming quarter, but my focus refused to hold. My gaze kept drifting to the man on the other side of the partition. Sebastian worked with a terrifying kind of focus. He didn't just read documents, he dissected them. E

Grace’s POV. The executive floor was silent. It was a heavy, pressurized silence—the kind that settles over a skyscraper only after the thousands of people who give it life have gone home. I had stayed long after the last of the support staff had clocked out. The cleaning crew had come and gone, their vacuum cleaners humming in the distance before fading away. Now, it was just me, the hum of the server room down the hall, and the city of New York glowing indifferently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. In here, however, my world had shrunk to the glowing rectangle of my laptop screen. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to massage away the dull, rhythmic throb that had taken up residence behind my temples. The financial projection in front of me—a complex liquidity analysis for the Asian market—had turned into a blur of meaningless digits. I had been staring at the same column for twenty minutes, willing the math to make sense, but the numbers refused to al

Grace’s POV. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing me inside the suite. I didn't move away from it. I pressed my spine against the wood and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force air into my lungs. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, still racing from the car ride, still reacting to the phantom warmth of his presence. I could still see it—the way he had looked at me in the driveway. I could still hear the low, rough timbre of his voice when he told me to go inside. Go inside first. It wasn't a command. It was protection. My hands shook as I reached blindly for the light switch. The chandelier flared to life, flooding the room with light, but it did nothing to chase away the shadows in my mind. The silence of the suite was deafening, a stark contrast to the loud, chaotic thoughts screaming in my head. Everything felt too real tonight. He felt too real. When I had found that error in the spreadsheet and he had stared at me, the mask he wore had slipped. For a terrifying s