บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire's Forbidden Waltz : บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

“Put that down. Dance with me.”Elara froze mid-step.The voice came from behind her — low, controlled, the kind of voice that cut straight through the layers of ballroom chatter and champagne glass clinks. It didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It simply commanded.Her fingers tightened around the tray she was carrying. Her heart gave a startled kick as she slowly turned.And then she saw him.Adrian Valcourt.Up close, he didn’t look like the photos plastered across business magazines and city billboards. He looked sharper, colder, impossibly more real — tall and tailored in a black tuxedo that seemed made for him and only him. His presence didn’t just draw attention. It suffocated it. He was the kind of man people pretended not to stare at while staring anyway.Elara’s breath stalled. “Sir… I’m working.”“You won’t be for the next three minutes.”Before she could argue, he removed the tray from her hands with a smooth, unhurried gesture and passed it to another server without lowering

Elara barely recognized herself the next morning.She stood in front of her mirror wearing the best outfit she owned — a cream blouse tucked neatly into tailored black pants. She’d ironed both twice. Her hands trembled each time she smoothed the fabric, as though the clothes didn’t belong to her.She kept touching her bag, checking that she had everything: her ID, her phone, her lip balm, the contract Adrian had emailed her “for personal record.” She didn’t know why she kept it with her. Maybe holding it reminded her that this wasn’t a dream.She still wasn’t convinced.The Valcourt Foundation tower was busier today than when she’d first walked in. People rushed past her, swiping badges, greeting each other with tight nods before disappearing behind glass doors. The energy buzzed loudly — professional, polished, intimidating.Elara stepped inside.Today, she wasn’t carrying a tray.Today, she belonged here.That was what she kept telling herself.The receptionist glanced up and smiled

The morning light felt too sharp when Elara reached the building early, hoping it would prove she belonged. She tried to pretend the whispering and locked drawers were normal office things. She tried to breathe.Her desk felt less like a place and more like a stage. The small framed skyline photograph Adrian had placed there yesterday gleamed in the glass. She touched it for a second, a private ritual to steady her hands.Ethan hovered at the edge of the room with his usual stillness. He did not smile. He offered a checklist. He moved like someone who had rehearsed his life in steps and outcomes. Watching him made her feel less alone, and also more exposed.“Morning,” he said. “We have a briefing at ten. You should attend.”She nodded, thumbed her badge reflexively, and thought of the card from the envelope. Watch the third floor. A silly card. A warning. A joke. Or not.For an hour she pushed papers, answered questions, and filed items into folders with hands that wanted to tremble an

The elevator felt smaller than it had that morning, more like a box that could close the world away. Adrian stood to her right, two security guards to her left and behind. No one spoke. The lights counted down the floors in sterile blue digits and the car hummed as it descended. When the doors opened on Sublevel 3, the air smelled faintly of metal and cold. A pair of guards waited by the door to 3C, faces set the way people hold ordnance when they are used to worrying about things that explode. Adrian moved first, every step precise. “Stay behind me,” he said. The words were flat. No invitation. No softness. She did as she was told. The door to Archive Room C hung slightly ajar. A strip of tape ran across the frame where someone had been fast and efficient in sealing it. A terminal near the door was awake; its screen glowed with a pale light like a throat clearing. Ethan met them at the doorway, tablet in hand. He looked like he’d been running on adrenaline and bad coffee.

Elara barely slept.The photograph sat on her nightstand, watching her every move. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her mother’s younger smile. The man beside her. The Valcourt pin. The typed line on the back. And the message on her phone.Meet me tonight.Come alone.She hadn’t gone.She wanted answers, but she wasn’t going to walk into a dark pier because an unknown number told her to. Not while someone was framing her. Not while her badge, her apartment, her clothes, her face were being used by someone else.She needed answers from the only person who clearly had them.Adrian.By the time she reached the office, the building was humming with tension. Ops staff moved quickly. Conversations stopped when she walked by. People watched her like she carried something contagious.She didn’t slow down.She headed straight for the executive floor.A guard at the elevator scanned her badge manually, frowned at the flagged status, then waved her through when Ops cleared the override.W