All Chapters of Slaving the Lady Billionaire: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

By sunrise, Clause Five was no longer private.It had escaped the confines of contracts and boardrooms and crawled into the bloodstream of the world. News tickers looped it relentlessly. Legal analysts debated its validity. Relationship experts condemned it as emotional extortion disguised as strategy. Meme pages reduced it to cruel humor.But none of them understood what it meant to wake up inside it.Celeste sat on the edge of the bed, phone heavy in her hands, scrolling until the words stopped making sense. Each headline felt like a fresh incision, precise and deliberate.LOVE-FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE EXPOSEDPOWER COUPLE CONTRACT PUNISHES FEELINGSROMANCE OR RUIN? THE CLAUSE THAT CONTROLS HEARTSHer reflection in the darkened window looked unfamiliar – eyes hollow, shoulders tense, spine too straight for someone who hadn’t slept.Across the penthouse, Arrow paced.He moved like a caged animal – measured but restless, each step sharp with restrained fury. His phone vibrated endlessly on

By morning, they were no longer just a couple.They were a narrative.Celeste learned that word the hard way—through trending hashtags and slowed-down videos, through strangers assigning meaning to moments she barely remembered. The internet had decided their story was no longer theirs.She lay on the edge of the hotel bed in Milan, phone glowing against the dim light, scrolling despite herself.#ArrowCeleste#ContractLove#ClauseFiveWho#EnemiesToLoversSomeone had clipped the moment Arrow looked at her during the fashion show. Another slowed the second he defended her at dinner. Entire threads dissected his body language, her expressions, the space—or lack of it—between them.He looks like he’s holding back.She’s already gone.This is what forbidden love looks like.Celeste shut the phone off and pressed it face-down against the mattress.“They think they know us,” she murmured.Across the room, Arrow stood by the window, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. He’d been awake longer

The charity gala glittered with cruelty.Everything about it screamed opulence—crystal chandeliers dripping light, silk gowns whispering across marble floors, laughter sharp with calculation. Celeste had worn rooms like this her entire life. She knew how to survive them.Tonight, she felt exposed.Arrow’s hand rested at the small of her back as they entered, a familiar public gesture that had become instinctive. Cameras flashed immediately. Celeste smiled on cue, her body moving through the routine as if on autopilot.She didn’t feel real.“You okay?” Arrow murmured as they posed.“Yes,” she lied.Inside, conversations overlapped in polished chaos. Investors discussed markets. Socialites dissected scandals. Philanthropy was traded like currency.Celeste excused herself halfway through the night, slipping toward the balcony under the pretense of fresh air. The doors closed softly behind her, muffling the noise.She leaned against the railing and inhaled deeply.Just a moment, she told

They practiced loving each other in front of mirrors.It was the PR team’s idea—neutral space, controlled environment, minimal variables. “Repetition builds believability,” the consultant said cheerfully, as if affection were a muscle that could be trained without consequence.Celeste stood before the full-length mirror in the private studio, spine straight, expression carefully neutral. The room was flooded with soft light designed to flatter, to erase imperfections.Arrow stood three feet away.Too close to be casual. Too far to be honest.“Let’s start simple,” the PR assistant said, clipboard in hand. “Hand placement. Eye contact. Natural smiles.”Celeste’s jaw tightened.Arrow glanced at her. “Ready?”“No,” she replied. “But go ahead.”He stepped closer, slow and deliberate.The mirror reflected them instantly—power couple, perfectly framed. His height at her shoulder. Her poise beside him. A picture that sold stability.“Hand on her waist,” the assistant instructed.Arrow’s hand

The storm arrived without warning.One moment Paris glowed beyond the windows—wet streets reflecting gold and white—and the next, thunder cracked so violently the glass rattled in its frame. The lights flickered once.Then went out.Darkness swallowed the suite.Celeste froze, breath catching sharply in her throat.“It’s just the power,” Arrow said, his voice calm but closer than it had been seconds ago.“I know,” she whispered. “I just—”The thunder rolled again, closer this time. The sound vibrated through her chest, through the floor beneath her feet.“I’m here,” Arrow said quietly.She felt him before she saw him—heat, presence, the familiar tension she’d learned too well.“That’s the problem,” she replied softly.The darkness made everything sharper. Sound. Breath. Awareness.She could hear him inhale.Slow. Controlled.Too controlled.“Celeste,” he said, her name heavy with meaning.She swallowed. “We should keep distance.”“Yes,” he agreed.Neither moved.Rain hammered against