Semua Bab THE BILLIONAIRE'S OBSESSION: From player to Father : Bab 21 - Bab 30

CHAPTER 21: (One week later)The country house smelled of dust, old wood, and possibility. Sunlight streamed through mullioned windows, illuminating motes of dust that danced like tiny, careless spirits. Keira stood in what would one day be the great room, if James’s grand vision ever made it past the mood board stage. Right now, it was a carcass. A beautiful, crumbling carcass with good bones and a leaking roof.She’d offered to help with the garden design because it felt like something a person with a future would do. A person who wasn’t just waiting for her life to start. Also, because Isabella had asked. And because, if she was being painfully honest with herself, because Marcus Thorne would be here.She heard his car before she saw it. The low growl of an engine that sounded expensive but well-used. She wiped her dusty hands on her jeans, took a steadying breath, and pretended to be engrossed in the blueprint spread across the makeshift tabl

CHAPTER 23: The morning after the kiss, Keira woke with the taste of him still on her lips. She lay in bed, the pale Sunday light filtering through the blinds, and replayed it all—the restaurant, the alley, his hands in her hair, the low rasp of his voice saying, This is happening, isn’t it?She felt giddy. She felt terrified. She felt, for the first time in her life, like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, not sure if she was about to fall or fly.Her phone was silent. No text. No call. She told herself it was early. He had Emma. He was busy. It was fine.It wasn’t fine. The doubt crept in, cold and familiar. What if he’d changed his mind? What if, in the clear light of day, he’d realized she was more trouble than she was worth? What if last night had been a mistake?She got up, made tea, and tried to read. The words blurred on the page. She cleaned her already-clean flat. She checked her phone every five minutes.By noon

CHAPTER 25: (Friday, 5:45 PM)The hall smelled of floor wax, childhood sweat, and the faint, hopeful scent of hairspray from the mothers backstage. Keira stood at the back, her hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, trying to blend into the crowd of parents, grandparents, and bored siblings. The air vibrated with pre-show chaos—a cellist tuning, a teacher hissing instructions, the rustle of programs being handed out.She’d dressed carefully—dark trousers, a simple cashmere sweater, boots. She wanted to look nice, but not like she was trying too hard. She wanted to be here, but she didn’t want to intrude.Marcus hadn’t told her where to meet him. She’d arrived early, scanning the crowd for his familiar shape. She spotted him finally, near the front, saving a seat with his coat. He was talking to another parent, a man in a suit, nodding politely. He looked… tired. But when he glanced toward the stage, a small, soft smile touched his lips.

CHAPTER 27: The first box Keira packed was her books. Not the ones for her dissertation—those were a separate, terrifying pile—but her real books. The ones with cracked spines and marginalia, the poetry collections she’d bought second-hand, the novels that felt like old friends. She wrapped each one in newspaper, the ritual feeling like a farewell to her old, solitary life.Her flat, once a chaotic sanctuary, now echoed with emptiness. The walls were bare where prints had hung, the shelves gap-toothed. It smelled of dust and departure.Isabella sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping coffee from a travel mug. “It’s weird, seeing this place so naked.”“It feels like I’m erasing myself,” Keira admitted, taping a box shut.“You’re not erasing. You’re… expanding. Like a plant getting repotted.” Isabella grinned. “You were getting root-bound in here.”Keira smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was excited. She was terrified. The

CHAPTER 29: The fairy lights strung across the living room window blinked in a relentless, cheerful sequence that felt like a mockery. Outside, a thin sleet peppered the glass. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of pine, cinnamon, and unspoken tension.The Christmas tree stood in the corner, a proud Norway spruce they’d chosen together at a pop-up lot near the river. Emma had insisted on decorating it “the proper way,” which meant every ornament within her reach was clustered on three branches at the front, while the top half remained sparse, held together by Marcus’s lopsided star.Keira stood in the doorway, holding a mug of tea that had gone cold, and watched Marcus. He was on his knees before the tree, not decorating, but staring at a small, felt angel ornament cupped in his palm. His shoulders were rigid. She didn’t need to see his face to know the expression on it, a kind of hollowed-out grief that the season always excavated.Sarah h