All Chapters of Runaway Bride to his Billionaire Rival : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Freeda woke to a vibration that wouldn’t stop. Her phone rattled the nightstand, slid an inch, buzzed again. She grabbed it, and the screen lit up, as if it were excited to hurt her. Notifications stacked on top of each other, all pointing to the same thing. Her name. Her father’s name. Randy’s name. All tied together like a knot. Winnie was already up, barefoot in the living room, arms folded tight. Kris sat at the table with a laptop open, shoulders squared, reading like she was trying to keep her anger from spilling. Scott stood in the kitchen, jacket on, keys in hand, the kind of still that meant he’d been awake for a while. Freeda dragged her thumb down the screen. A graphic filled it, polished and glossy, made to look like kindness. THE JAMES SCHOLARSHIP CO-CHAIR ACCEPTANCE FREEDA JAMES Her father’s photo sat in the corner. Beneath it, her signature, bold and confident, like she’d written it with a smile on her face. The same loops. The same slant. The same little flick

Freeda’s phone had been begging her to explain herself since the dinner ended. Journalists. Sponsors. People who’d smiled at her, then asked if she was “okay,” like she was a headline with a pulse. She ignored all of it until a new email landed with no greeting and no soft language. Five minutes. Today. Harrow Foundation office. Kris read it over her shoulder. “That’s Nadine Harrow.” Winnie looked up from the table. “The Harrow Foundation is money-money.” Scott stood by the window, jacket in his hand. “Do you want me nearby?” “Nearby is fine,” Freeda said. “Not in the room.” He nodded. “Understood.” The Harrow Foundation lobby was quiet in the way expensive places are quiet. The receptionist didn’t ask questions. She just said, “Ms. James. Mrs. Harrow is expecting you.” Scott stayed back near a column, hands in his pockets, watching nothing. When Freeda passed him, he didn’t reach for her. He only asked, low, “You want me to wait here?” “Wait,” she said. He nodded once and

Morning came in pale and quiet, as if the city were pretending nothing had happened last night. Freeda sat at the kitchen table with her laptop open. Winnie moved around behind her, kettle in hand, not turning it on yet. Kris perched on the couch, watching the screen as though it might bite. Scott stood by the window, still, giving her room. Randy’s post sat at the top of every feed. A clean photo from the dinner. Her father’s face on the sponsor wall. Randy smiled like a man doing a favor. The caption was careful, built to be shared. Honored to serve as Co-Chair with Freeda James as we launch the James Scholarship in memory of her father. Proud of her strength during a difficult time. Freeda read it twice and felt something settle. Not tears. A decision. Winnie leaned over her shoulder. “Don’t write a novel,” Winnie said. “He wants you to sound messy.” Kris nodded. “One clean statement. No fighting.” Freeda’s fingers hovered. “If I say nothing, he keeps it.” Scott’s voice ca

By midmorning, the comments had changed shape. Freeda saw it without scrolling far. Less “calm down” and more “why won’t he stop?” Less pity, more suspicion. Randy had pushed too hard, too often, and even strangers could smell it. Winnie sat across from her at the kitchen table, elbows planted, eyes sharp. Kris leaned on the counter, quiet and tense. Scott stood near the doorway, not hovering, just present. “Read it,” Winnie said. Freeda slid the tablet toward her. Randy’s latest post stared back: a polished photo with a donor, a caption about unity, and the line he couldn’t resist. Freeda James and I will finalize the scholarship details together. Winnie let out a short laugh that wasn’t funny. “He’s still doing it.” Freeda’s jaw tightened. “He’s trying to bury my ‘no’ under a paragraph.” Winnie tapped the replies. “They’re not buying it anymore.” Freeda looked. A top comment had thousands of likes: If she’s “unstable,” why are you chasing her for paperwork? Und

By the time they left her aunt’s house, the sun was high and useless. Freeda sat in the passenger seat with the unopened envelope in her lap and watched the road slide by. Winnie kept muttering under her breath in the back seat. Kris had gone quiet, the kind of quiet that meant she was angry enough to break something if nobody gave her a better job to do. Scott drove without music. Outside, traffic hissed over roads, then faded, leaving the car full of held breath. No advice. No speeches. No careful questions designed to sound gentle. Freeda noticed that more than if he had spoken. When they reached her apartment building, Scott parked and killed the engine. Nobody moved right away. Winnie was the first to break. “I still think you should let him put cameras on your aunt’s house,” she said. “Not police. Just something. Anything.” Freeda kept her hand on the envelope. “If I say yes to that, the next thing will be a guard at the lobby. Then someone was watching the door. Then s