All Chapters of The Billionaire's undercover bride : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

(Vivian’s POV) It started as curiosity. Or maybe guilt disguised as duty. Either way, I told myself I wasn’t snooping — just… trying to understand the man I’d married. The night had fallen soft and quiet over the Vale mansion. Damian was still at the office, caught up in one of those late board meetings that usually left him exhausted and brooding. I’d finished dinner alone, cleared the table, and walked into his study with the intention of leaving a note. Just a note. But then I saw the drawer. The steel one under his desk — always locked, always guarded like it held the world’s last secret. I’d noticed it before, of course. Damian wasn’t careless; every movement he made was deliberate, controlled. But the day before, when he’d rushed out for a call, I’d seen him slide the key behind a stack of design journals. And tonight, that key was still there. For a long minute, I just stood there, listening to the quiet hum of the house — the faint ticking of the antique clock, the r

(Charlotte’s POV) The hum of the office was the same as always — clicking keyboards, distant chatter, the low buzz of printers grinding through paper. But underneath it all, I could feel something else. A current. A tension that never quite left, no matter how many smiles people faked around here. The glass doors hissed open, and there she was — Vivian Core. She looked different. More composed. More determined. But I could still see the shadows under her eyes, the way her hands fidgeted at her sides. Whatever she’d been doing these past weeks had carved something deep into her. “Viv,” I said, standing from my desk. “You’re actually early. That’s a first.” She smiled faintly. “I needed to talk to you. It’s about the Vale case.” Ah. That case. The one I’d so carefully handed to her — tied up with just enough ribbon to look convincing, and just enough poison to ensure she’d never pull the right thread. “Of course,” I said, motioning toward the empty meeting room. “Let’s talk.

DAMIAN The house was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every sound feel amplified. Vivian’s soft laughter from earlier still clung to the air like perfume. I found her in the living room, curled on the couch with her knees tucked beneath her. The lamp threw a warm gold glow across her skin, making her look like the only soft thing in a world carved out of steel and expectation. She looked up when she heard my footsteps. Something flickered in her eyes—hesitation, hope, and something deeper… something that mirrored the storm simmering inside me. “You’re back,” she whispered. “I’m back,” I breathed, voice lower than I intended. Her lips parted slightly. I could tell she heard the shift. Something in me had snapped tonight—some wall I’d held between us for weeks. The way she looked at me earlier… the way she listened to me talk about my father… the way she didn’t run from my shadows. Vivian wasn’t just inside my house. She was inside me. The couch di

VIVIAN My phone began buzzing violently on the nightstand, jolting me from the hazy warmth still lingering under my skin. Damian was in the bathroom, the sound of running water muffled behind the door. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, still dazed from the intensity of last night—or rather, the intensity of the connection we kept trying to deny. I reached for the phone. Aunt Peculiar flashed across the screen. A cold, sharp fear sliced through my stomach. “Aunty?” I answered quickly, pressing the phone to my ear. “Are you okay?” Her voice was shaky. “Vivian… darling… I— I don’t feel well. My chest… it’s hurting. Baby, I— I can’t breathe properly.” Everything inside me froze. “Aunty? Peculiar? Listen to me,” I said quickly, heart hammering. “I’m coming now. Don’t move. Stay by the door if you can.” Her breathing sounded shallow, ragged. “I’m scared,” she whispered. My throat tightened. “I’m on my way.” I grabbed my coat and bag with trembling hands. Just as I moved to

VIVIAN The sound of the front door clicking open made my heart leap. I had been pacing the living room, staring out the window at the darkening streets, thinking about Aunt Peculiar’s medications, the hospital bills, and the ominous message that had appeared on my phone yesterday. The air in the house felt heavy, thick with unsaid words and tension, and I knew—before even looking—that Damian had returned from his trip. I could feel it in the way the walls seemed to shift, as though they sensed his presence. I turned just as he stepped inside, the familiar weight of his silhouette filling the doorway. His shoulders were tense beneath his tailored coat, the kind of tight, controlled posture he always carried when the day had demanded every ounce of his energy. His hair was slightly disheveled from the long hours of travel, and the crease in his brow told me more than any words could. “Vivian,” he said quietly, voice low and rough. He dropped his bag by the door without a glance,