All Chapters of The Billionaire's Obsession Came Too Late: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

I woke up the next day with my head feeling like it had been packed with memories. The memory of the music room...piano keys, the blood on August’s knuckles, the guttural scream that hadn't felt like mine, all clung to the edges of my mind like a bad dream.​But when I opened my eyes, the room was different.​The floor, which had been bare yesterday, was now covered in shopping bags. It looked like a boutique had exploded in my bedroom.​"Young Madam? Are you awake?"​A small, nervous-looking girl peeked her head through the door. She looked young, maybe twenty, with dark eyes.​"I’m awake," I said, sitting up. "What is all this?"​The girl stepped inside, "Young Master August had these delivered this morning. He picked them all out himself, ma'am. He said you need a wardrobe befitting a Harrington."​I stood up, I pulled a shimmering slip dress from a bag. I couldn't help but smile, a small, fragile thing.​"He can be so sweet," I whispered.​It was confusing. One moment August was s

​The air in the executive room was usually filtered to a sterile temperature, but for Fanel, it suddenly felt like he was standing in the middle of a tundra. ​“President, Mrs. Harrington has left,” Fanel said, his voice cautious. He set the lunch box on the desk with a soft click.​August's eyes were focused on a series of fluctuating market graphs, but at the mention of the name, his eyebrows gave a sharp, involuntary twitch. It was a tiny movement, but Fanel had worked for him long enough to know it was the equivalent of a thunderclap.​“What’s that?” August asked.​“Madam brought you lunch,” Fanel replied. He hesitated, then added a bit of warmth he hoped would soften the blow. “She waited quite a long time, sir. She seemed… very determined to see you.”​“Throw it,” August said.​Fanel blinked, his mouth falling open slightly. He took a few seconds to process the command, wondering if he’d misheard. “Wh… what? Sir, she went to the trouble of—”​“Ah.” August cut him off, raising a

​“I still didn't expect to find him there.”​The words were a quiet confession as I padded downstairs in my robe. It was nearly 2:00 AM. I had spent the last four hours staring at the canopy of my bed.​Earlier that evening, I sat the lobster bisque on the dining table as I waited for August return. I had listened to the clock chime 7:00, then 8:00, then 9:00. August had come home, walked straight past the dining room without so much as a glance at the steaming bowl, and locked himself in his study.​“Dispose of it, Mrs. Gable,” I’d heard him say coldly from the hallway. “The smell is disgusting.”​I had gone to bed feeling small. But as the house settled into midnight stillness, a restless curiosity tugged at me. I wanted a glass of water.​I reached the kitchen archway and stopped.The rich, creamy smell hit me first. And then, I saw him.​August?His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up past his elbows to reveal the strong, corded muscles of his forearms. ​H

​I was finally feeling better. The sun was dipping low, and I was curled up on the oversized sofa. In my lap was a small wooden bowl filled with slices of unripe mango, heavily dusted with chili powder and a pinch of salt.​It was a sour, spicy, biting snack—exactly what I needed to cut through the lingering bitterness of the encounter with August’s family. I took a bite, the crunch echoing in the quiet room, the heat of the spice stinging my tongue in the best way possible.​Then, the front door groaned open.August walked in, but he didn't head for the stairs like all the other times. His shoulders hunched, his aura so dangerous that even the shadows seemed to shrink away from him.​Usually, the sight of him in this state would have sent me bolting for my room. But today? I stayed on the sofa, a slice of mango halfway to my mouth, watching him.​August didn't go to his study. Instead, he sank into the single armchair opposite me. He looked wrecked. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair

​The kitchen still smelled of star anise, ginger, and the savory, caramelized depth of the braised pork. My hands were slightly shaky, partly from the effort of standing over the stove, but mostly from the strange, humming energy that had taken over the room. ​"Ma'am, I’ve come to fetch the President’s lunch," Fanel said, stepping into the kitchen with his usual impeccable timing. He offered a slight, respectful bow, his eyes flickering toward the neatly packed thermal box on the counter.​I was already finished with the final tuck of the napkin. Before closing the lid, I had slipped a small, rectangular piece of paper inside.​"It’s all ready. Braised pork, medium spice, with steamed rice," I said, handing the box over. My voice was steady, but I felt a flush of heat in my cheeks. "He specifically asked for the spice level to be moderate."​Fanel took the box with a gentleness. He looked at the steam rising from the vents and then at me, a smile playing on his lips. "He did, indeed.