บททั้งหมดของ BILLIONAIRE'S FAKE FIANCÉE : บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

PaigeA few seconds later Dante walks into my office and stops at my desk, I don't look up, I can't look up. The air around me suddenly feels heavier and charged with something sharp and dangerous, like standing too close to exposed wire. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to run, but my legs won’t move and my hands are trembling so badly I have to curl them into fists beneath the desk to keep my coffee from spilling. I already know it’s him.He doesn’t say my name, he doesn’t raise his voice, he simply stands there in silence, and somehow that’s worse.“Paige,” he finally says, it's one word, my name but it sounds different coming from him. “Yes,” I whisper, my throat tight as I slowly lift my head.He is dressed immaculately, as always. A dark charcoal suit that probably costs more than my yearly rent, crisp white shirt, no tie. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to reveal his watch sleek, understated, impossibly expensive. His expression is calm not angry or amused

PaigeI move into Dante De Luca’s penthouse with one suitcase and a promise I have already broken twice.The elevator ride is silent.The walls are mirrored, reflecting me back at myself from every angle my tired eyes, the faint swelling beneath them, the way my shoulders curl inward like I’m bracing for impact. Dante stands beside me, tall and immaculately composed, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone as if nothing about today is out of the ordinary.As if he hasn’t just absorbed my life into his.The doors open soundlessly onto the top floor.The penthouse is vast. Cold. Beautiful in a way that feels untouchable. Floor to ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, offering a panoramic view of the city below, all glittering lights and distant movement. The furniture is minimalist sharp lines, muted colors, everything perfectly placed.Nothing personal, nothing warm.I step inside slowly, my suitcase rolling behind me, the sound echoing too loudly in the open space.

PaigeThe penthouse is too quiet. I am used to my one bedroom apartment downtown where you hear all types of noises. Even the air was different here. The soft hum of the city far below. The faint tick of a designer clock I didn’t buy and could never afford. Even the fabric of the dress I am wearing feels heavenly. I have never been really into the social scene, I never really understood it, yet tonight I was going to be the subject of scrutiny. I stand in front of the floor length mirror in Dante De Luca’s guest bedroom, which is my bedroom now, and I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.I am wearing a long black dress which is supposed to match Dante’s sleek black suit. The fabric clings softly to my waist before falling straight to the floor, elegant without being loud. A deep but tasteful slit runs up my left leg, stopping just high enough to make me uncomfortable every time I move. The neckline is simple, square cut, revealing my collarbones but nothing else which I

Dante. I’m already going after Paige when someone steps directly into my path.“Well, well, well” That voice is familiar, too familiar.“If it isn’t the newly reformed bad boy himself, gracing us with his presence.”Keisha stands there in a shimmering silver dress that hugs every curve like it was stitched onto her body. Her hair falls in glossy waves over one shoulder, her lips curved into that knowing smile she has always worn like a weapon. She looks exactly the same as she always does, dangerous, beautiful, and completely unbothered by anyone.“Keisha,” I say, pulling her into a hug that lasts a second too long to be appropriate. My hand settles at her lower back out of habit, muscle memory kicking in before logic can intervene. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Dubai.”She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes glittering. “I was. I literally just got back.”She glances past me, scanning the room, the cameras, the curious onlookers. “I wasn’t even going t

Paige. It has been a few hours since I got back to the house, the gala should have been over by now, but he is not home yet. I pad barefoot across the kitchen floor, the hem of my silk robe brushing against my calves as I stir the pot on the stove. The smell of garlic and tomatoes fills the air, warm and familiar, wrapping around me like something safe. Adele plays softly from the speakers, 'Someone Like You' her voice low and aching, humming through the open space.I chose the song without thinking, but I have always loved her. I am making paghetti Bolognese, it bubbles gently in the pot, rich and thick, the way my mother used to make it when I was younger. When life was simpler. When promises didn’t come with contracts and expiration dates.I inhale deeply before I look at the clock on the wall again for the tenth time in just one hour. For a brief moment, standing here in Dante De Luca’s immaculate kitchen, I almost feel okay.Fresh from the shower, my hair still slightly damp