Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Wolfe's Deal : Married My Ex Fiance's Billionaire Enemy : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

The drive to the old Brooks textile mill felt like a descent into the underworld. Adrian had forbidden me from coming, his voice colder than I had ever heard it. He wanted to play the lone martyr, the "Ice King" sacrificing himself for the sins of his past. But I wasn't the kind of wife who sat at home waiting for a phone call that might never come. "Take her back to the mansion," Adrian had barked at Marcus and Victor. Then, without a backward glance, he floored the accelerator of his black coupe and vanished into the night. I stood in the driveway for exactly ten seconds before I turned to the three guards. Marcus, Victor, and Elias were looking at me with grim expressions. They knew Adrian was walking into a slaughterhouse. "He’s going to get himself killed because he thinks he deserves to suffer," I said, my voice sharp and commanding. "Are you going to let him go alone? Or are you going to help me save him? Marcus looked at Victor. A silent communication passed between th

"Isabella, stay back!" Adrian roared, trying to stand while keeping Leo shielded. His hand went for his holster, but he was too slow. The gas had drained him, and the boy was a heavy weight in his arms. Isabella didn't listen. She was past the point of reason. To her, Leo wasn't a son; he was a pawn she had just lost. And if she couldn't have the Wolfe empire, she was going to make sure Adrian felt the same void she felt. "If I can't be the one by your side, Adrian," she screamed, her voice cracking with madness, "then no one will!" She lunged at me. Everything happened in slow motion. I saw the glint of the glass shard in her hand. I felt the cold wind as she tried to shove me toward the edge of the roof, her weight slamming into mine. I stumbled back, my heels skidding on the loose gravel. The drop behind me was six stories of brick and concrete. "Lena!" Adrian’s scream was the loudest thing I’d ever heard. I grabbed Isabella’s wrists, fighting for my life. We were locked in

Three days had passed since the night at the mill, and the house felt like it had been holding its breath for a decade, only to finally let it out in one long, relieved sigh. I spent those seventy-two hours in a whirlwind of activity. If I wasn't at the hospital or hovering over Leo’s bed, I was redesigning the west wing. Adrian had originally suggested a professional interior designer, but I shook my head. This wasn't a hotel suite; it was a sanctuary. I chose a deep, calming navy for the walls, accented with soft creams and warm wood. I filled the room with everything a six-year-old boy could dream of a bookshelf overflowing with adventure stories, a telescope aimed at the sprawling gardens, and a rug so thick and soft it felt like walking on a cloud. I made sure there were no sharp edges, no cold glass, and definitely no vanilla-scented candles. This was Leo’s kingdom now. To make sure he was truly cared for while Adrian and I navigated the inevitable media storm, I hand-pi

Adrian's Pov I had spent the last two hours ensuring every detail was perfect. This wasn't about money or status; it was about the woman who had walked into my life as a business deal and stayed to become my heartbeat. When the heavy oak doors finally groaned open, I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the moonlight catching the silver of my watch. Lena stepped inside, and the air seemed to leave the room. She was wearing a midnight-blue silk dress that draped over her curves like liquid night. Her hair was down, falling in soft waves over her bare shoulders. She stopped dead, her eyes widening as she took in the hundreds of flickering candles and the path of crimson rose petals leading toward the center of the room. "Adrian?" she whispered, her voice breathless. "What is all this?" I walked toward her, my heart thumping with a nervousness I hadn't felt since my first multi-billion dollar pitch. I took her hand, her skin feeling like warm satin against mine, and led her to

The gala for the "Literary Arts Foundation" was supposed to be Lena’s night. Her debut novel was climbing the charts, and for the first time, she wasn't attending an event as "Adrian Wolfe’s contract wife." She was the guest of honor. I stood in the corner of the ballroom, a glass of scotch in my hand, watching her. She was radiant in a dress of emerald silk, her laughter ringing out as she spoke to a group of publishers. I felt a swell of pride so thick it nearly choked me. She had done this on her own. I was pulled away for a moment by a group of overseas developers, but my eyes never truly left her. That’s when I saw him. A man I didn’t recognize was standing far too close to her near the balcony. He was tall, dressed in a charcoal suit This wasn’t a writer or a critic. He had the unmistakable posture of an apex predator—the kind that spent his days in glass boardrooms deciding the fate of industries. "That’s Nathan Thorne," one of the developers whispered, noticing my gaze. "