All Chapters of BURN ME, ORION : The Billionaire's Reclaimed Obsession: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Anya’s POVLater that afternoon, Jamie arrived at the mansion with the documents. I met him near the front door, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly through the wide hallway. He handed the files to me, thick and neatly arranged, the edges sharp against my palms. They felt heavier than paper should feel, like they carried the weight of the company—and Orion—with them.“How is he?” Jamie asked quietly, lowering his voice like the walls might be listening.“He’s still sick,” I said. “Fever’s down, but he should be resting.”Jamie frowned. “That man never rests.”I gave a small, tired smile. “I’ve noticed.”He nodded, trusting me with a look that made my chest tighten just a little.I climbed the stairs slowly, careful not to make noise.My footsteps slowed the closer I got to Orion’s room. I didn’t know why my heart was beating so fast. Maybe it was worry. Maybe guilt. Maybe something else I didn’t want to name.I knocked softly and opened the door.I stopped short.Orion was awake

Anya’s POVI told myself to breathe. This was his fiancée. Of course she would call. Of course she would come. I had no right to feel anything about it.We went back to work in silence.Not even ten minutes later, the door opened.She walked in like she owned the place.Kaia didn’t look at me first. She went straight to Orion, her heels clicking loudly against the floor, announcing her presence. She leaned down and kissed him, slow and deliberate, like she wanted to make sure I saw it.I did.My chest tightened, but I kept my face blank.Only then did she glance at me. Her eyes were sharp. Cold. A warning.Then she smiled and turned to Orion.“There you are,” she said brightly, leaning down to kiss him.He stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away.“I came all this way and you couldn’t even answer your phone properly,” she added, her voice light but edged with complaint.“I did answer,” he said flatly, still typing.She laughed like it was cute. “Barely.”She didn’t ask how he was. Didn

Anya’s POVIt wasn’t rough.It wasn’t possessive.Just… there.Guiding me gently, steadying me, like he was making sure I didn’t trip or miss a step. My body reacted before my mind did. A small shiver ran through me, and I held my breath without meaning to. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t look back. But I was very aware of his hand until it finally dropped away.When we reached the top, his hand dropped away, and I felt oddly unsteady without it.Inside the jet, everything felt expensive. The soft leather seats, the warm lighting, the quiet hum of the plane. It smelled clean and faintly masculine, like him. I glanced around, taking it all in, trying not to look too impressed.We took our seats across from each other. The space between us felt intimate in a way I wasn’t ready for.The flight attendants appeared almost immediately. They were beautiful, polished, and smiling too brightly. Their eyes lingered on Orion. Their voices dipped lower when they spoke to him. It was obvious

Anya’s POVHe stopped in front of a tall wooden door—real wood, heavy, the kind that muted sound and promised privacy whether you wanted it or not. He slid the keycard in with a practiced motion. A soft click followed. Final. Too final. Then he pushed the door open and stepped aside, one hand gesturing inward like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.“After you,” he said.His voice had gone neutral again. Polite. Controlled. As if the elevator—his closeness, the heat of it, the way my nerves had sparked—had never happened.I hesitated for half a second too long, then walked in.And forgot how to breathe.The suite opened up around me, wide and elegant, wrapped in warm light that softened every edge. Cream-colored walls glowed gently, not stark, not cold. The carpet was thick beneath my feet, plush enough that my shoes sank into it with every step. A massive window stretched across one wall, floor to ceiling, the city sprawled beyond it—lights glittering like scattered stars,

Anya’s POVPlates were set down carefully in front of us, the smell of warm food filling the air. The lights reflected off the silverware, and glasses were topped up again. The men eased into small talk, talking about past deals, travels, and other business dinners they had attended in different cities. They laughed easily, like this was all familiar ground to them.I ate quietly.I took small bites, chewed slowly, and listened. I didn’t feel the need to speak, and no one directly asked me anything. I was fine with that. I focused on my plate, on the rhythm of lifting my fork, on staying invisible. It felt safer that way.Then one of the older men turned his attention to me.He leaned back slightly in his chair and looked at me with mild curiosity.“Are you married?” he asked, his tone casual, like he was asking about the weather.The question caught me completely off guard.My hand paused mid-air, my fork hovering just above my plate. My thoughts scrambled. I knew the answer. Of cour