Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Billionaire's Contract Wife : Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

The sun crept in slowly, pale and cautious, as if it, too, feared what it might find after the night’s violence.Grace sat on the edge of the bed in the back room of the safe house, knees pulled to her chest, wrapped in one of Jordan’s jackets. It smelled like him—clean, familiar, grounding. Her hands were still trembling, though the danger had passed hours ago.Behind her, Jordan stood at the sink, washing the dried blood from his knuckles. He hadn’t said much since the confrontation. He hadn’t needed to. His silence wasn’t distance—it was restraint, the kind that came from holding too much inside.Grace turned to look at him. “You’re hurt.”He glanced at his hands dismissively. “It looks worse than it is.”“That’s what you always say,” she replied softly.Jordan dried his hands and leaned against the counter, studying her like he was memorizing every detail—her bare feet, the jacket slipping off one shoulder, the quiet strength in her eyes. The adrenaline was gone now, leaving only

The Hayes Foundation building gleamed under the afternoon sun—glass, steel, and money polished into intimidation. News vans lined the street, cameras already rolling, reporters murmuring like predators scenting blood.Grace stepped out of the car beside Jordan, the hum of attention hitting her instantly.This was no longer a hidden war.This was theater.Jordan’s hand found the small of her back, grounding but not possessive. A silent question.Are you ready?She nodded once.Inside the lobby, security was tight—too tight. Men in dark suits watched every movement, every breath. Jonathan’s fingerprints were everywhere.“Remember,” Jordan murmured as they walked, “he wants emotion. He feeds on reaction.”Grace lifted her chin. “Then we give him clarity.”They were escorted into the main hall just as the press conference began. Rows of reporters snapped photos, whispers rippling when Jordan Hayes appeared—followed immediately by Grace.The murmur rose.That’s her. The wife. The one menti

The studio lights were unforgiving.Grace sat across from the interviewer, hands folded neatly in her lap, posture composed despite the weight of millions of eyes watching. The set was sleek and neutral—designed to appear safe, balanced, impartial. Nothing about this conversation would be any of those things.Jordan sat just off-camera, visible only to her. He didn’t speak. He didn’t interfere.He trusted her.That trust steadied her more than any rehearsal ever could.“Grace,” the interviewer began, voice smooth, “many people believe you played a central role in exposing the Hayes scandal. Some have even accused you of manipulating your husband into turning against his own family. How do you respond?”The question landed exactly as expected.Grace didn’t rush her answer.“I didn’t manipulate anyone,” she said calmly. “I supported a man who had already been fighting his conscience for years.”The interviewer leaned forward. “So you deny being the catalyst?”Grace met the camera direct

The morning light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, cutting through the dust of long nights and the residual tension from the fallout. The apartment felt quieter than it had in weeks, but that quiet carried its own weight.Grace stood by the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, scanning the news feed. Every major outlet had followed up with updates. Some praised her courage, others twisted her actions into scandalous speculation, but the attention had one effect: the world was watching.Jordan entered from the bedroom, shirt still slightly rumpled, eyes dark with thought. He didn’t speak immediately, just stood behind her, letting the silence stretch.“You’re not going to lie,” Grace said softly, “you’re not thrilled about the attention.”He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Thrilled isn’t the word. Vulnerable is closer.”She looked at him, tilting her head. “Vulnerable doesn’t mean weak. You’ve spent so long hiding in control, Jordan. Maybe it’s time to learn how to

The night air was unnervingly still as Grace locked the apartment door behind her. The usual hum of the city seemed muted, as if the world itself held its breath.Jordan followed closely, his eyes scanning every shadow, every alleyway, every flicker of movement. She had begun to anticipate his vigilance, but tonight it felt heavier, more urgent.“You think someone followed us?” she asked quietly, voice barely above the whisper of the wind.Jordan didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened. “I hope not. But I won’t ignore it if they did.”The parking garage was dimly lit, echoing with the soft click of their shoes against concrete. Grace’s stomach twisted. The subtle messages, the blurred photos, the warnings—they were no longer whispers. They were becoming tangible. Real.Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. Another message. No number. Just one line: You can’t hide anymore.Her pulse quickened.Jordan grabbed her hand. “Stay close,” he said, eyes sharp. “If this is the