Todos los capítulos de The Billionaire's Kept Secret : Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

Catherine Hart's POV “Missed me, or was it just the intel you missed?” my voice said as I sniffed the stale air of the dingy apartment.I leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed and my eyes locked on Richard Grunt’s broad frame hunched over a rickety table cluttered with files and a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey.Richard’s head snapped up, his jaw tightening as he said angrily, “Don’t play games, Cat. You blew off two weeks' drop. I had to cover your ass with the brass, spinning tales about deep-cover complications.”He stood, the chair scraping harshly against the apartment's floorboards, his shirt rumpled and eyes bloodshot from too many sleepless nights.The slums of Beckershire pressed in around us, the peeling wallpaper and distant sirens wailing like ghosts. It was the kind of place where secrets lived and died.I stepped inside, kicking the door shut with my heel, the lock clicking like a loaded gun. “Complications? Call it trying to stay alive. Eve’s got eyes ever

Catherine Hart's POV"And who sent this?" Eve's voice cracked like thunder in the cramped apartment, her fingers white-knuckled around my burner phone. She thrust it back at me, but not before I saw the suspicion harden in her eyes, turning that vulnerable spark I'd glimpsed earlier into something mean. I snatched it away, my pulse roaring in my ears, mind racing through excuses while guilt and fear tangled like vines in my gut. "It's nothing..... A friend checking in." The lie tasted sour, but what else could I say? Admit the FBI tail was on her and that I was a snitch gathering the evidence that would sink her and her family. No, that would end me right here on this threadbare rug.But Eve didn't buy it; she stepped closer, her perfume, enveloping me, " Friends who ca you honey.....At this hour.... You're hiding something big, aren't you?" Her hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, not hard enough to bruise but firm, pulling me into the orbit of her intensity.The phone buzzed ag

Eve Peron's POv "Why are you beaming like you've won the lottery?" Catherine's voice sliced across the bridal suite, low and dangerous, I turned from the mirror, the ivory gown looked regal, diamonds in my hair. My reflection looked every inch the queen. I almost didn't recognise myself. I was smiling and it was real as if I was the happy bride and it scared me as much as it clearly scared her. "Because I have won, Cat. Today I lock Northside into Westside. Ronan thinks he's getting a bride; he's actually handing me his empire on a silver platter." My words came out steady and bold, but my heartbeat betrayed me, hammering against my throat. She crossed the room in three strides, the deep green velvet of her bridesmaid dress clinging to every curve, her blond hair spilling over one shoulder like spilled wine. "Won? How did you win? You're about to swear your life to a man who smiles while he holds a freaking dagger behind his back." Her beautiful eyes flashed, mean and brill

Catherine Hayes'POV I watched Eve lean against the door after dismissing the guard, her chest heaving beneath the corseted bodice of her gown. The ivory silk was creased and rumpled, clinging to the damp curves of her body like a second skin. Her lipstick was smeared across her mouth in a bruised red streak, and strands of dark hair had escaped their pins, framing her face in wild disarray. She looked like a queen who had just been thoroughly ravaged. She looked beautiful and dangerous, and still flushed from the way she had made me come apart with her fingers less than an hour ago. I could still feel her finger in my cunt. I could feel the slick sweetness of it slicking over my clit, tasting the cum that slide from her hand onto my lip when she’d gripped my hair and ground herself against me, my thighs trembling and wrapped around her. I ’d whispered my name like a prayer and a curse, my hips bucking as I came holding unto her, begging her to stop until my body went limp an

Ronan Klein's POV The string quartet had shifted from the recessional to something lighter, a Strauss waltz that floated over the marble floors of the grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers glittered like frozen fireworks above the sea of tuxedos and gowns. I stood near the head table, champagne flute in hand, smiling the practiced smile that had won boardrooms and Senate hearings alike. Ronan Klein, the groom, newly married, heir to half the shipping lanes in the North Atlantic. Everything looked perfect. Except the bride was missing.I scanned the room again. Guests clustered around the raw bar, laughing too loudly, faces flushed with drinking expensive champagne and relief that the ceremony had gone off without incident. My mother held court near the ice sculpture, pearls flashing as she gestured. No Eve. She’d vanished right after the photographs, said she needed to touch up her makeup, slipped away with that quick, secretive smile I’d learned not to question.Twenty minutes now.