All Chapters of Runaway Bride to his Billionaire Rival : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Scott held her gaze, unflinching—no sideways glance. No hesitation. Just the weight of him standing there, steady.“Long enough to know what he reaches for first,” he said.Freeda’s jaw tightened. “That is not what I asked.”“No,” he said. “It’s what I’m willing to give you today.”Her eyes narrowed. Anger twisted with something heavier under her ribs—something she hadn’t named. He had crossed her line quietly, almost tenderly, and that made it worse. Men like Randy grabbed. Men like Scott adjusted the room and waited for gratitude.She exhaled slowly. “Do not study my life like a problem you can solve.”Scott’s expression did not change. “I’m not trying to solve you.”“Then stop moving pieces around me.”A beat. He nodded once. “Alright.”Freeda almost hated how easily he gave her the stop. No defense. No wounded pride. No line about helping. Just that single word, and the certainty behind it.She turned and went back upstairs, the quiet of the hallway thick around her. By four, the

The office emptied slowly that evening.By the time the last printer shut down and Teni waved goodnight from the hallway, the city outside had already slipped into that quiet hour between traffic waves. The kind where streetlights hummed softly, where air cooled just enough to feel like a different day, and the world somehow smelled like distance.Freeda closed her laptop after sending the last donor reply, the click of the closing lid sounding louder than it should have in the hushed office. Winnie stacked the remaining folders with exacting precision, the sound of paper sliding together echoing slightly in the near-empty room.“You survived the rumor cycle,” Winnie said, voice flat but sharp.Freeda stretched her fingers. “Barely.”Kris leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, scanning the emptying office. “The Harrington call killed most of it,” she said, almost like stating a fact too obvious to need emotion.“That’s because Harrington doesn’t waste breath,” Winnie said, eyes glint

Freeda saw Randy before Scott spoke.He was across the street, one shoulder pressed casually against his car, his face lifted to the apartment windows, as if he owned the sunlight spilling across the glass, not pacing, not calling, not knocking. Just standing there with the sort of patience that always meant he believed time belonged to him. Every second he held still was a claim. Every measured breath was an expectation that the world would bend.Freeda let the curtain fall back into place, the fabric brushing against her fingers like a thin line between presence and protection.“He saw,” Scott said quietly.“Yes,” she replied, the single word enough to make the room contract.Silence expanded, thick and expectant.Winnie was the first to move. She crossed to the window, stopped herself just short of pulling the curtain back open, and turned with fury sharp enough to cut glass. “So now what. He watches your building like a landlord.”Freeda’s pulse had steadied but remained hard, lik

Freeda left the donor dinner with the room still sitting under Randy’s face.No scene. No raised voice. No dramatic exit. Just the quiet, lingering satisfaction of watching him stand in the doorway, caught in the middle of a world he thought he controlled, with nowhere to place himself. That satisfaction buzzed faintly under her skin, an electric pulse that didn’t need amplification.By morning, it had cooled into something quieter. Not peace. She did not trust peace when it arrived too quickly; it always carried the sting of expectation. But she wanted a room that had not been trained by his money, by Scott’s reach, by the careful choreography that shaped her every day. A room that belonged to her before either man even knew her name.So she went there.She did not tell Scott. She did not tell Winnie until she was dressed. She said, “I’ll be back before noon,” and ignored the stare that followed her to the door. Notebook in hand, bag slung over her shoulder, she left the apartment wi

The click downstairs cut through the apartment so cleanly everyone froze. Freeda’s hand hovered over the top lock. Her fingers tensed, then relaxed slightly, though her muscles refused to trust it. Winnie turned toward the door so fast the hem of her shirt twisted at her waist. Kris straightened from the arm of the couch, spine rigid. Scott was already upright, blanket falling behind him, eyes sharp, every inch alert. No one spoke. Not a whisper. Not a cough. Just the small vibration of attention that a single sound can summon. Then another noise came. Just the metal, like someone testing patience itself. “That’s the front entrance,” Winnie said, voice low, measured. “Yes,” Freeda answered without moving her eyes from the wood. Scott stepped closer, cautious, careful not to cross into her space. “Stay back from the peephole,” he said. Freeda tilted her head, measuring the weight of his words. “That sounded like an order.” “It was advice,” he replied. “Take it or don’t.” The t