Todos os capítulos de The Billionaire’s Debt Bride: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

Mara POVWe all surge to our feet.Dr. Leonard’s scrubs are still clean—surgery hasn’t started yet. “The procedure will take approximately five hours,” he says. “The next sixty minutes are critical for prep and anesthesia. Her heart is weak, but she’s young. Strong. If she makes it through induction, the odds are in her favor.”He leaves. Thank goodness, she's still alive.The surgical waiting room becomes our prison for the next five hours. There are rows of hard chairs, a small table with old magazines, and a television in the corner that no one is watching. The waiting room smells with antiseptic. The kind of smell that clings to places where people wait for news that could break them.Hour One: Mom sits with her rosary, fingers moving over the beads, lips moving in silent prayer. I pace in front of the vending machines, counting my steps. Thirteen to the water fountain. Thirteen back. The television plays some home improvement show on mute—a couple arguing over paint swatches whil

Lucien POVDiana is moved to recovery at 7 AM the next morning. Eighteen hours since surgery, and the doctors are cautiously optimistic.Mara looks like death.She’s been awake for most of thirty-eight hours, surviving on hospital coffee and the soup I forced her to eat. The evidence is written into her body — dark circles carved deep beneath her eyes, hair falling loose from a ponytail she keeps forgetting to fix, fingers wrapped around a coffee cup that went cold an hour ago. She’s still wearing the same clothes from Thursday. Every so often she rolls her neck, slow and automatic, the way people do when pain has become background noise.“You’re going home,” I tell her while her parents settle into Diana’s new room.“I’m fine.”“You’re not.” I take her elbow — lightly, just enough direction — and steer her toward the elevators. She doesn’t shake me off. That alone is telling. “Diana’s stable. Your parents are here. You need real sleep.”“I can sleep here…”“In a plastic chair that’s

Mara POVI find Lucien in the locked room again in the evening.He's sitting on the floor surrounded by paintings, still in his suit, tie discarded beside him. He doesn't look up when I enter."Did the board meeting go that well?" I settle onto the floor across from him, careful not to touch the canvases between us."Gregory's cousin is making a play for control." His voice is tired. "Claiming I'm not fit to run the company because my marriage is a sham and I've violated the inheritance terms."My stomach drops. "Do they have proof?""Not yet. But they're looking." He finally meets my eyes. "We might need to be more convincing.""More convincing than staged bedrooms?""Apparently."We sit in silence. The room feels different at night—shadows turning the paintings into something haunted, beautiful and terrible at once."Tell me about her," I say quietly. "About your mother.""Why?""Because I broke into her sanctuary. Because you let me. Because I want to understand."He's quiet long e

Mara POVThe emerald gown fits like a second skin.I study myself in the full-length mirror—silk cascading to the floor, neckline dipping just low enough to be elegant instead of provocative, my hair swept up to expose my neck. I look like I belong in Lucien's world.The illusion is perfect.Mrs. Dahlia appears in the doorway. "Mr. Cross is waiting in the foyer."My stomach twists. I haven't seen him since yesterday's office confrontation. Since his note ordering me to be perfect.I descend the curved staircase slowly, one hand trailing the banister for balance in heels that could double as weapons.Lucien stands at the bottom in a black tuxedo that costs an obscene amount. His hair is styled perfectly. His expression is carefully neutral.But when he sees me, something flickers across his face—hunger, maybe, or recognition—before the mask slams back into place."You look acceptable." His voice is flat.I reach the bottom step, eye level with him now. "You look like you'd rather be an

Lucien POVThis morning, the scrape of a knife against a wooden cutting board cut through the quiet. I stood in the doorway, frozen for a second as I watched Mara. She was hunched over the marble island, her hair pulled back into a messy knot, methodically slicing a Granny Smith apple with more aggression than necessary.Mrs. Dahlia stood by the pantry, her hands clasped tightly over her apron and an expression of profound discomfort on her face."Mr. Cross," the housekeeper whispered, her eyes darting toward Mara. "I offered to prepare the oatmeal, but Mrs. Cross insisted...""It’s fine, Mrs. Dahlia," Mara interrupted without looking up, her knife hitting the board with a dull thud. "I still remember how to operate a stove. I haven't been a billionaire's accessory long enough to lose my motor skills."I signaled for the housekeeper to leave with a subtle tilt of my head. Mrs. Dahlia practically fled, leaving the two of us alone in the cavernous, sun-drenched space."You're up early,"