All Chapters of The CEO’s Contract Bride: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

ISABELLA’S POV Two weeks passed after the ISMARA launch.In those two weeks, I kept my routine steady and careful. Meetings. Production calls. Interviews. Planning the next stage of the collaboration.But there was one thing I had changed.Brahms.I limited our communication.It has not been easy. Every instinct told me to call him every day. To hear his voice. To ask about school. To ask about his day.But I didn't.Instead, I texted.Short conversations. Careful words.I did not call at all.Because I knew Ethan could be listening.Because I knew Ethan would have started asking questions the night Laurent had spoken the name.Brahms.The name had stayed in Ethan's mind. I had seen it in his eyes.So I waited.I protected my son the only way I could.Distance.Abby sent photos daily. Brahms at piano lessons.Brahms playing in the garden.Brahms asking when Mama was coming home.Each photo felt like a knife. But I couldn't call. Couldn't risk speaking to him where Ethan might hear. C

ISABELLA’S POV Conversations resumed across the exhibition hall, but something had shifted. People were still watching. Still whispering. Not about the collection this time.About what had just happened. About Sophia. About Ethan. And about me.I could feel the weight of their attention. The speculation. The gossip forming in real-time.By tomorrow, the story will be everywhere. Ethan Dexter publicly rejected his ex-fiancée for his wife. The power couple solidifying their position. Exactly what the contract required. Exactly what we'd planned.So why did it feel so complicated?I kept my posture straight as the last camera flashes died down. My expression remained composed, controlled. Ethan had defended me. Publicly.Not because I'd asked. Not because the contract required it. But because Sophia had crossed a line.Because he'd chosen to.I didn't know what to do with that information. Didn't know how to file it away safely where it wouldn't complicate things further.I turned sli

ETHAN'S POVThe car moved through traffic faster than it should have.I kept my focus on the road, but my attention stayed on Isabella.She had not said a word since.Her reflection in the window showed everything she was trying to hide. Jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle jumping. Eyes fixed on nothing. Blinking too rapidly, like she was fighting back tears.Every few seconds, she'd check her phone. Then put it down. Then pick it up again.Waiting for something. Dreading something.Her posture was rigid. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. Her breathing was uneven, controlled in short bursts.She was trying to hold herself together. Barely.I wanted to demand answers. Wanted to know what could reduce the controlled, composed Isabella, to this state.But something stopped me. Maybe the way her hands were shaking. Maybe the fact that I'd never seen her cry. Not once in all these months.Or maybe it was simpler than that. She was terrified. And demanding explanations f

ETHAN’S POVThe plane landed just after sunrise.The sky over Paris was pale, quiet, almost empty.Isabella was already standing before the aircraft fully stopped.As the plane's engines powered down, Isabella’s phone rang again.She answered without greeting. Just listened. Her face went even paler, if that was possible."Oui. Je comprends."Yes. I understand.A long pause. Her hand gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles went white."Est-il conscient?"Is he conscious?Another pause. She closed her eyes."D'accord. J'arrive."Okay. I'm coming.I checked the time without thinking.Sunrise.We had lost seven hours in the air.Whatever was happening, it had been unfolding without her.Without answers.She listened, nodded, and then turned to me."The hospital is about forty minutes away," she said, her voice empty. "They've arranged an escort."I didn't ask who “they” was. I just nodded.She'd been awake the entire flight. Seven hours without sleep, without food, without anything exc

ETHAN’S POVA doctor appeared in the doorway of the ICU.We stepped outside.He spoke quietly to Isabella in French. She listened without interrupting, then nodded.“I’ll be right back,” she said.I watched her follow him down the corridor until they disappeared into an office.Then I was alone.I stayed where I was, standing outside Brahms’s room, watching through the glass. Machines surrounded his bed, tracking every fragile function, his breathing, his heartbeat, everything keeping him alive.I didn’t know what to do with myself.So I waited.Twenty minutes passed. Maybe more.When Isabella finally reappeared, her face was pale. Controlled, but strained. A nurse approached her briefly, then led her into another room.She glanced back at me once before disappearing inside.I waited again.Fifteen more minutes.When she returned, there was a small bandage on the inside of her elbow.She walked toward me slowly, like she was holding herself together through sheer will. Then she sat be