Semua Bab After Divorce; My Billionaire Ex-Husband wants me Back: Bab 51 - Bab 60

Hailey’s POVThe door closed behind us, and the noise of the world stayed on the other side.For a moment, neither of us moved. The suite was quiet, too quiet, like it was holding its breath after what we had just survived. My hands were still trembling, the echo of cameras and voices lodged somewhere behind my eyes. Dylan stood across from me, his jacket already discarded, his gaze fixed on me as if he were afraid I might disappear if he blinked.“They planned my body,” I said softly. “They planned my children.”His jaw tightened. “They don’t get to touch you again. Not even in memory.”The intensity in his voice made something inside me loosen and ache at the same time. I crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, grounding myself in the present. When I reached him, I placed my hands on his chest. His heart was racing, fast and hard beneath my palms.“You stayed,” I said. “When the truth came out. You didn’t look away.”“I couldn’t,” he replied. “I don’t want to ever again.”The

Hailey’s POVWe didn’t speak on the drive back.The city lights slid past the windows like blurred stars, and the weight of what Grant had said pressed against my ribs with every breath. Dylan’s hand stayed on my thigh the entire time, steady, grounding, a silent reminder that I wasn’t alone in this spiral.When the door to the penthouse closed behind us, the tension snapped.I turned to him, the words tangled in my chest, but he reached me first. His hands framed my face, firm yet careful, as if he were holding something precious that might fracture if he squeezed too hard.“Look at me,” he said.I did. And whatever he saw there made his control finally give.He kissed me deeply, not rushed, not frantic, but heavy with everything we hadn’t said in the car. The kind of kiss that demanded presence. I felt it everywhere, the pull in my stomach, the heat spreading through my skin as I leaned into him, my fingers curling into his shirt.“I hate that they tried to turn us against each othe

Hailey’s POVThe night refused to loosen its grip on us.After Lexa’s call, the penthouse felt smaller, every shadow sharp with intent. Dylan locked the doors, checked the security feeds, then came back to me like he was afraid distance itself might steal me away. When his hands settled at my waist, the tension between us sparked again, different now, darker, edged with urgency.“She’s inside your head,” he said quietly.“No,” I replied, turning into him. “She thinks she is.”His breath brushed my cheek. The closeness made my pulse trip. Everything about him felt heightened tonight—his warmth, the way his thumb traced slow, grounding circles at my hip, the steady restraint in his touch that said he was holding himself back for me.I slid my arms around his neck, pressing my forehead to his. “I don’t want fear to be the last thing she gives me.”“It won’t be,” he promised. “I won’t let it.”The kiss we shared was slow and deliberate, not reckless. It carried heat, yes, but more than th

Hailey’s POVDarkness sharpened every sensation.My wrist burned where Lexa’s fingers had gripped me, nails digging just enough to hurt. The house felt alive now, groaning, shifting, as if it remembered us. As if it approved of what was happening.“You always freeze when it matters,” Lexa whispered close to my ear. I could smell her perfume, familiar and sickening. “Still waiting for someone to save you.”My heart thundered, but my body didn’t fold.I twisted hard, using the slick panic in my veins to fuel the movement. Her grip loosened for half a second. Enough. I stumbled forward, breath tearing from my chest, pulse roaring so loud it drowned out everything else.Then I heard it.“HAILEY.”Dylan’s voice cut through the dark like a blade.Lexa cursed softly.The front door slammed open. Light spilled in. Footsteps pounded across the floor, fast and furious. Dylan reached me in seconds, his hands on my arms, my shoulders, my face, as if he needed to confirm piece by piece that I was

Hailey’s POVThe video flickered.Static.Then clarity.The room on the screen was sterile white, clinical, too bright. I knew it instantly. Even through the distortion. Even through the dread curling through my stomach.“I don’t remember this,” I whispered.Dylan stood behind me now, his chest pressed to my back, one arm wrapped tightly around my waist. His palm splayed flat against my abdomen as if shielding it from a past violation. The contact was instinctive. Protective. Possessive.“You were sedated,” he said, voice low and controlled. Too controlled.On the screen, I lay unconscious.My throat tightened.A doctor moved into frame. Not Voss.Another man.Another name I didn’t know.Grant’s voice echoed faintly in the footage, distorted but unmistakable.“She consented to the preservation.”Preservation.Not implantation.My breath hitched.Dylan’s fingers tightened slightly against my stomach. I felt the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress, the tension coiling in his