Semua Bab The Billionaire’s Fake Bride : Bab 51 - Bab 60

Ava’s POVIf peace were a living thing, it would sound exactly like the sharp gasp that ripples through the room when the truth finally comes out.Celine… dear, perfect, precious little Celine, stands frozen beneath the chandeliers, every gaze slicing into her, every whisper about how horrible one woman could possibly be directed to her. The shocked faces, especially on that big-mouthed Elara, made Ava want to cry tears of joy. It is beautiful.Ava stands at the corner of the room, champagne glass barely brushing her lips, watching the carefully-built life crumble. Celine looks so small now. Not so proud. If the death of her fake child hadn’t done anything to affect these people, their sweet little ‘Celeste’ being an imposter sure did the magic.And God… Ava has never felt more alive. I warned that bitch, she should have taken my advice and saved herself the trauma, Ava thought to herself as she took a sip. This was a mere spat compared to what she had done to keep Lucien in the past.

Ava’s POVThe mansion felt a bit too silent than Ava liked it to be. She was still in a good mood from everything that happened that she felt like she was levitating when she strode through the house.The living room smelled faintly of old wood and expensive leather. Everyone else had retreated to their corners of the mansion, worried, shocked or angry. Ava, however, had work to do. Lucien sat in front of his floor to ceiling window in his study, his back rigid and his hands clasped like a king on trial. His eyes flicked to her when he heard his door shut. Ava's lips curved almost imperceptibly. The look alone, equal parts pain and suspicion, made her stomach tighten with satisfaction. Good. Let him be wary. She thought to herself.“Lucien,” she said lightly in a milky soft, seductive tone. She carried two glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “I thought you might want a drink.” she said, but what she means is, ‘let us celebrate.’Lucien didn't respond, just staye

Celine’s POV I swallowed as I watched him, a bit surprised and confused. My throat tightened because the right thing didn’t feel right. It felt like being scraped hollow from the inside. It felt like bitter loss.“What… what do you mean?” I asked quietly, hating the way my voice sounded weak. His face gave very little away, but there was something in his eyes. It wasn’t pity or mockery, but something else completely. Something that didn’t want to make me hate myself more.Then he just smiled, showing off his whitened teeth.“I mean,” he said softly, “I’m going to help you set up.”My brows knitted together. That was not what he meant. I don’t know why he changed direction, but I knew he was lying through his sparkling incisors.“Set up… what?”“Your life,” he replied simply. He said it like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t the most impossible thing in the world. Rebuilding myself was a mountain I had already failed to climb once… twice. And it felt really weird to hear that.I felt smal

Celine’s POV Ryan El’s reply comes in the next morning while I'm trying to make something to eat. The apartment seems to be settling because sometimes at night I suddenly wake to noise. Or maybe it's because I sleep alone now. Ryan El:She’s out of surgery. Tired. But stable. They said it went well.My chest loosens in relief, a bright smile coats my lips as I see the text. Celine:Thank God. I’m so glad. Please kiss her forehead for me.I stir the contents of the pan slowly with the wooden spoon, tracing lazy circles through onions that have just begun to turn translucent. They hiss softly in the oil, edges curling, the smell warm and sweet as it fills the kitchen. Are pregnant women allowed to have fried stuff? I'm not sure, I'll have to look it up later.Or maybe you're just weirdly doing too much celine, chill the fuck out. I pause to scrape the bottom, lifting the caramelizing bits before they burn, then add a pinch of salt to draw out more moisture. I sigh deeply as the stea

Celine’s POVAfter I finish narrating everything that has been going on in the past four three months, my hands fidgets by my sides as I wait for her to say something but she just… stares at me. My own words echo in my ears and I wonder if she hears it too. It felt like something I’ve torn out of myself and laid on the table without knowing what to do next. My throat burns. My chest feels too tight. For a second, I wonder if I should add something—clarify, explain more, soften the parts that sounded ugly or selfish or weak.Or maybe I should apologize for dumping everything on her, I might have already said too much.Maybe this is where she decides I’m not worth the trouble, or she'll just brush it off. Or she could just need a minute to breathe it in.Ryan El doesn’t say a word and doesn’t look away either, just watching me for what feels like an eternity. At this point I can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant traffic outside, the soft buzz of the television I’d for