Todos os capítulos de Getting back at my ex with his billionaire stepbrother : Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

The night felt endless.Zara sat on the edge of her bed, still dressed from the dinner, her fingers tracing the seam of her skirt absentmindedly. The bouquet of daisies Jayden had given her sat in a glass vase by the window, but their brightness somehow made the room feel lonelier.Her head ached not the kind of pain the doctor warned her about, but a slow, aching pulse at the center of her chest.Dinner had been… fine. At least that’s what she told her father when he asked how it went. “Fine,” she’d said with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “They were kind.”But now, replaying the evening in her mind, she wasn’t sure what fine even meant.Jayden had been charming, patient, endlessly attentive. His laugh was easy, his gaze steady. But there was something in his smile a calculation, maybe that made her skin prickle. Every time she hesitated to remember something, he was there with a story, filling the silence before she could question it.He spoke of love their love as if

The morning sunlight slipped through her curtains like quiet fingers, brushing her face awake. For the first time in weeks, Zara hadn’t dreamed or if she had, she couldn’t remember. There was just stillness.She sat up slowly, her head feeling lighter than it had in days. Her mother’s voice drifted faintly from the kitchen, the sound of spoons clinking against ceramic. The smell of tea and cinnamon filled the house. It should’ve been comforting, grounding. But even in that peace, her thoughts tangled around a single thread that refused to let go.Leo.The name had found her again in the early hours, like a whisper she couldn’t silence. She’d woken with it on her tongue, her pulse quickening for reasons she couldn’t explain.Who was he to her, really? Everyone said he was just a business associate a friend of her father’s, a man who’d helped during her recovery. But the way he’d looked at her in the hospital, the way he’d stood just outside her door as though guarding something fragil

Elena had been waiting for almost an hour. She sat cross-legged on the edge of the couch, flipping through a glossy magazine she wasn’t reading, one perfectly manicured nail tapping rhythmically against the armrest. The late afternoon light spilled into the living room, painting her face in soft gold, but there was nothing soft about the expression in her eyes. Zara was late. She’d said she was just going out for a quick errand, something “personal,” and had left with that polite, distant smile she’d been wearing lately — the one that made Elena’s stomach twist with suspicion. When the sound of a car door closing finally reached her ears, Elena stood abruptly, smoothing her dress. She plastered on a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes as Zara stepped inside. “There you are,” Elena said lightly. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.” Zara closed the door quietly behind her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. She looked… different. Not just tired calmer, someh

The rain outside hadn’t stopped. It fell harder now thick sheets pounding against the tall windows of the Beanet mansion, drowning the city in silver and shadow. Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the chaos inside. The front door slammed shut with a violence that made the chandelier tremble. Jayden stood in the middle of the grand hallway, soaked through to his bones. His shirt clung to his chest, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle twitched. He was still breathing hard from the chase, from the storm, from everything that had just happened. Zara’s face was burned into his mind. Her wide, stunned eyes. The sound of her voice when she said his name. The way she looked at him like he was a stranger. He dragged a hand through his wet hair and let out a hoarse groan, pacing back and forth. Then, from behind him … “Jayden! Stop!” Elena’s voice cut through the storm, sharp and trembling. She rushed in from the porch, hair plastered to her cheeks, mascara

The morning after the storm was slow to wake. The sky still held a dull silver sheen, as if the night itself refused to let go. Mist clung to the streets, soft and gray, blurring the sharp edges of the world. Zara sat on the edge of her bed, her hair still damp from the shower, a blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders. She hadn’t slept much. All night, thunder had walked through her dreams echoing like footsteps down a corridor she didn’t want to enter. Each time lightning flashed behind her eyelids, she saw something like a coat, a car door, a voice that felt like warmth against the rain. Her sketchbook lay open beside her, the pencil lines from last night now smudged across the page, a man’s face half-drawn, eyes shaded dark, mouth unfinished, as if her hands knew what her mind had forgotten. She stared at the sketch until the shape of him blurred. On the windowsill, the white rose waited. It had begun to wilt, its petals curling inward at the edges, but the faint scent of r