บททั้งหมดของ Bound to My Sister's Billionaire Crush: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

- DESMONDThe glass of whiskey on my desk was untouched, sweating a ring onto the mahogany. I couldn't drink or think. All I could hear was the click of the lock on Sierra’s door from an hour ago. I want out!The words were like a dull ache in my skull. I’d spent my whole life making sure everything stayed in its place—the company, the family legacy, the board and then... Sierra. And now she was digging up names like Figueroa and acting as if she could just walk out into the rain and survive. My phone buzzed, skittering across the desk. I didn't even have to look to know who it was."Desmond?" Vivian’s voice was thin, trembling. "Viv, it’s two in the morning. Is everything okay?" I rubbed my eyes, feeling every year of my life."I... I tried to get to the bathroom. I think I pushed it too hard in PT today. My leg just gave out. I’m on the floor, Desmond. It hurts so bad."I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against my palm. "Did you call the nurse I hired for you?""She’s off ton

- SIERRAThe air in the sub-basement was thick with the smell of old paper and the hum of a ventilation system that had long since given up. By the time I hit the last box of the 1994 acquisitions, my eyes felt like they’d been rubbed with sandpaper. Desmond really thought he’d done something. He thought that by sticking me down here, he was putting me in a time-out. Every time I looked at the security camera in the corner, I wanted to blow it a kiss. The prick had no idea he’d just given me the perfect office to plan my disappearance whenever I was bored.I grabbed my bag, tucked the manila envelope under my arm, and headed for the service exit. I didn't take the main elevator. I took the freight lift, the one that smelled like grease and floor wax, and slipped out the north-side door where the delivery trucks unloaded.The humidity hit me like a wet blanket. I was out.I walked fast, stepping on the cracked sidewalk. I didn't look back at the Zimmerman tower. I kept my head down, my

Chapter 36: The Heartbeat- SIERRAThe basement air had been scratching at my throat all day, but the second I stepped out of the freight elevator into the cool evening air, I forgot how to breathe. I kept my head down, my hoodie pulled low, following Aleena to her car."Check the mirror," I whispered, my heart doing a frantic tap-dance against my ribs.Aleena didn't even look stressed. She adjusted her sunglasses, peeling out of the parking garage with a casual wave to the security guard. "Relax. I saw Desmond get into a black sedan with a bunch of suits ten minutes ago. He’s heading to a gala in Midtown. We’re clear.""And the detail?""Sent them on a wild goose chase. I had your car key, right? I had my assistant take your car to that boutique you like. They’re probably sitting outside the dressing rooms right now waiting for a ghost." She reached over and squeezed my knee. "Deep breaths. We’re five minutes away."The clinic didn't look like much from the outside—just a brick build

- SIERRAThe next day, the basement felt less like a prison and more like a war room. The clock on the wall ticked with an unnerving rhythm, each sound like a countdown to Thursday. I was deep in a box of real estate transaction records from 1996 when a new email notification popped up on the secure drive Ben had set up. The subject line was just an address.I clicked it. A PDF opened—a full property report for a house in a quiet, tree-lined suburb in Connecticut. It was the decoy house. Ben had come through.I scanned the document, my eyes landing on the owner of record. "Windsor Holdings LLC." The law firm Ben mentioned. They’d bought it three years ago, and the utility bills—all paid automatically by a Zimmerman Corp corporate account—were in the name of "L. Figueroa."It was a perfect, paper-thin ghost.I was about to send the file to Aleena when another email came through. This one was from Ben directly.Ben: Got the car. A 1998 sedan. The license plate is registered to a rental

- SIERRAI felt like I’d been carrying a boulder for three blocks only to find out I was at the wrong mountain. I stood there on the sidewalk, the suburban quiet of Connecticut feeling deafeningly loud. That wasn't her. The woman in the window was probably thirty, maybe thirty-five. She was wearing a yoga top and holding a wine glass, looking like she was settling in for a night of binge-watching, not hiding from a corporate dynasty.But I’d come too far. I’d lied to a husband who owned half the city, dodged security guards, and driven a car that smelled like old gym socks just to get here. "Screw it," I muttered. I didn't think twice. If I thought, I’d get back in the sedan and drive home to my gilded cage. I pushed open the picket gate and walked up the porch steps. I knocked three times. The door opened almost immediately. The woman looked at me, her brow furrowing as she took in my hoodie and my pale, frantic face."Can I help you?" she asked. She wasn't mean, just confused.