All Chapters of Priced By My Billionaire Nemesis: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The school smelled like disinfectant, chalk dust, and tired afternoons that clung to corridors long after the last bell rang, a place suspended in repetition and routine where nothing dramatic was meant to happen and almost nothing ever did.Jaden paused just inside the entrance and let the doors close behind him with deliberate softness. He adjusted the collar of his coat—not because it was necessary, but because the motion looked natural, habitual, the kind of unconscious gesture that signaled comfort rather than intrusion. He looked like a man who belonged everywhere without asking permission. Tall, well-groomed, restrained in a way that drew attention precisely because it didn’t demand it, he wore dark wool tailored close to the body, open at the throat, no tie, no excess. Handsome without vanity. Polished without effort.People noticed him anyway.The receptionist looked up from her desk and paused in the middle of whatever she had been typing. Her eyes lifted, lingered, softened

When we reached the penthouse, Jeffery pulled in smoothly and cut the engine with the quiet precision that marked everything he did.“Jeffery, I want to buy a few things,” I said, already unbuckling my seatbelt. “I’ll just go to the supermarket for a few minutes.”He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. Not questioning. Just attentive.“I’ll wait,” he said, reaching for his phone.“I really just need a minute,” I replied, pushing the door open before he could insist. The evening air hit my face, cool and sharp, grounding in a way the glass and steel of the building never was.Behind me, Jeffery’s phone lit up. I didn’t need to see the message to know what it was. A brief update. A location. A reassurance. Let him report it, I thought. I had nothing to hide.The curb outside the building was too clean, the kind of clean that didn’t feel earned. The lobby windows reflected the street like a polished mirror, and for a second I saw myself in it as I stepped away from the car. I looked pu

I looked down at the bar in my hand. I didn’t even know what kind it was. I didn’t care anymore. The craving was gone. It had evaporated under fear, leaving only a sour taste in my mouth.I paid for the chocolate I no longer wanted, my fingers fumbling with the card.The cashier smiled, unaware, and asked if I found everything I needed. I nodded, because my voice didn’t feel safe. I didn’t trust it not to crack. I didn’t trust myself not to say his name out loud and make it real.“Have a good evening,” the cashier said.I mumbled something that might have sounded like thanks, grabbed the small bag, and walked out.Outside, the air felt thinner.The streetlight glow hit my eyes, and the dark spaces between cars looked deeper than they should have. I scanned them without meaning to, searching for a shape, a face, a smile. It made me angry that I was doing it. It made me angrier that I couldn’t stop.I crossed back to the penthouse on legs that felt too light, too unsteady, every shadow

At ten forty-five, the apartment filled again.My mother arrived first, brisk and emotional, her hands already full of plans and timelines and nervous energy she didn’t quite know what to do with. Evelyn followed shortly after, slower but determined, leaning lightly on her cane, eyes bright with anticipation.“You look pale,” my mother said immediately, touching my cheek.“I’m fine,” I said, because today was not a day for honesty.Evelyn studied me more carefully, but she smiled. “Today will carry you,” she said softly. “It always does.”At eleven on the dot, the stylist team arrived.From that moment on, there was no room for thought.Hair first. Pins and brushes, warm hands moving with practiced ease. Makeup next, layers building a version of me that looked rested, luminous, composed. Concealer erased the dark circles. Foundation smoothed away the night. The mirror returned someone bridal, someone ready.My mother hovered, offering opinions no one needed. Evelyn watched quietly, he

Adrian stepped out of the anteroom because the wedding demanded his attention at precisely the wrong second.A coordinator intercepted him with a clipboard and a voice trained to sound urgent without ever rising, presenting a problem so minor it barely registered as one. A seating adjustment. A timing clarification. A confirmation of something he had already approved twice. The interruption irritated him not because it delayed him, but because it presumed his attention could be borrowed without consequence.He answered calmly, because calm was his default and because calm was what he used to keep the world from seeing what sharpened beneath it.Calm was what he had built his life on. Calm was what had carried him through negotiations designed to exhaust and fracture weaker men. Calm was what allowed him to command rooms without raising his voice. He nodded once, adjusted his cuff with deliberate precision, confirmed a sequence he knew by heart, and turned back toward the room where Le