บททั้งหมดของ My Billionaire Lover : บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 5

They say New York chews you up and spits you out if you're not paying attention. I always thought I was exempt. I was the one who nipped back. But standing in the gold-plated ballroom of the Whitmore mansion, observing a battalion of florists running about as Selene Whitmore scrolled through her phone with an air of owning the world, I wasn't so sure anymore. My heels echoed on the marble as I walked to her, clipboard in tow, nerves tingling under my skin like radio interference. Selene did not lift her head. "Selene," I spoke, tone measured, calm years of customer service sewn into my voice. She raised her eyes. "You're five minutes behind schedule." "I was checking to see if your floral arches had come. Your orchids you'd ordered from Singapore were held up in customs. I got some people to work on it. They'll be there by tonight. She blinked, as if mildly impressed but not really wanting to be. "Fine. See that they're perfect. Aarav detests flaws." The manner in which she'd sai

Selene smiled at me as if we were long-time friends. It was the sort of smile that made me think of my favorites among those expensive knives advertised on late-night television—dazzling, alluring, and made to cut cleanly through you with nothing left behind. “Rhea,” she sang, draping an arm across my shoulders as she pulled me through the bridal suite, “I have to admit, you’ve done wonders. The florist, the lighting, even the monogrammed cocktail stirrers? Brilliant.” I forced a polite smile. “Glad to hear you’re satisfied.” “Mm. Satisfied isn’t quite the word,” she purred, her tone tipping toward something more performative than genuine. Her perfume was overpowering—something stinging, floral, pricey. It stung my eyes. I played along. At least until I knew what game I was playing. She escorted me to a table laden with swatches, bridesmaid party jewelry choices, and three color-coded mood boards. I had set them all out, of course. Selene hadn't done a thing. "I'm thinking we r

Three days. Whoever had written that message had thrown down an ultimatum, and now the countdown was on loud enough to drown out everything else. I slept very little that night. Each creak in the walls, each buzz from my phone seemed to make me jump because someone was standing just behind me, watching and waiting. The following morning, I entered the estate with eyes wide open. No longer merely a planner. No longer playing nice. I had proof now—a file titled Vanessa, a forged signature, and the knowledge that something much more sinister was percolating beneath this wedding. But I still didn't know what was on that flash drive Aarav took. He stood waiting for me by the east terrace, where the florists were constructing mockups for the centerpieces on the tables. He did not smile when he spotted me. "We need to talk," I said, pushing past a pyre of hydrangeas. He nodded, glancing around the room. "Not here." We ducked into the greenhouse—the one spot not plugged into the teeth wi