All Chapters of Bound to My Sister's Billionaire Crush: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

- DESMONDThe ballroom was a sea of black ties, silk gowns, and the kind of fake smiles that cost five figures to maintain. This wasn't one of our usual charity mixers. This was the Horizon Summit—the kind of night where billion-dollar mergers were finalized over scotch.Vivian was practically vibrating next to me. She had her arm locked around mine so tight I was starting to lose blood circulation in my hand. "Desmond, look, the CEO of Arch Tech is by the fountain," she whispered, her voice high and breathless. "We need to talk to him before the Vanguard group corners him. This is huge for the Q3 projections.""I see him, Viv," I said flatly. I wasn't looking at the tech mogul. I was looking at the grand mahogany doors at the far end of the hall. Every time they swung open to let in another late arrival, my pulse spiked. I kept looking for a flash of navy blue. I’d seen the dress in her closet this morning. I’d practically begged her to wear it. "Are you even listening?" Vivian po

- DESMONDI didn't sleep. I just watched the shadows shift across the ceiling until the sun started to bleed through the curtains. The word divorce was still ringing in my ears, louder than the morning traffic forty stories down.By eight a.m., I was in my home office. I didn't want to go into the tower. I didn't want to see Vivian’s smug face or hear her tactical updates in a room filled with glass walls. I was not in the mood to meet anyone right now.I dialed Nigel."Sir?""Get over here," I said. "And bring that list. The one we talked about six months ago. The 'off-book' guys.""You want a fixer, sir?""No. I want a bloodhound. Someone who doesn't give a damn about the Zimmerman name or the Wellington legacy. Just get here."I hung up and stared at the gold fountain pen on my desk. My father gave it to me when I made partner. To the man who keeps the ink flowing, the engraving said. Right now, I feel like the ink is drying up.Nigel arrived twenty minutes later. He didn't have h

- SIERRAI stared at Michael Stewart, resting my hands on the mahogany desk. He didn't look like a threat—at least, not the kind that carried a weapon. He was lean, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost a month’s salary, and had that sharp, observant gaze typical of someone who made a living finding "errors" in other people's lives.I’d done my homework on him. He was the London office’s golden boy, an internal auditor sent by the primary investors to "streamline" the Zimmerman-Wellington merger. But Desmond hated him. Every time Michael’s name came up, Desmond’s jaw would go tight. He saw Michael as a vulture, someone sent to sniff out the rot in our corporate foundation. But it was more than that. Desmond was territorial, and Michael had a habit of lingering just a second too long whenever I walked into a room.Michael pulled out the heavy industrial chair opposite me and sat down. He didn't ask. He just moved into my space like he owned the room."Working late, Sierra? Or j

- SIERRAThe candles flickered across the table as Desmond lit them. I couldn't stop moving my hands. I adjusted my fork, smoothed the napkin, then gripped the edge of the chair. This—whatever this was—felt wrong. Three years of silence, of cold glares and shoulders turned in the middle of the night, and now he was serving me steak by candlelight. It was enough to make me want to bolt."Eat," Desmond said. He wasn't eating. He was just watching me."I’m not hungry." I pushed the plate an inch away. "What are we doing here, Desmond? Realistically."He took a slow breath, his chest expanding under that expensive white shirt. "I want to make things right with you, Sierra."I felt a short, sharp laugh jump out of my throat. I couldn't help it. "What right? Everything was a mistake from the start. We’re standing in the middle of a wreck. There’s nothing more we can do but let these walls crumble.""We’ve known each other since we were kids," he said, ignoring my jab. He leaned closer, the

- SIERRAThe morning light was too bright, stabbing at my eyes, when Mary pulled the curtains back. I groaned, shielding my face with a pillow."Mr. Zimmerman left an hour ago, ma'am," Mary said, her voice low and efficient as she started tidying up the stray clothes from last night. "He said not to wake you. He mentioned you looked like you needed the sleep."I sat up, pushing my hair out of my face. "Did he say anything else?""Just that he’d be home for dinner. And he left a note on the island.""Thanks, Mary. Can you make sure the guest room is aired out today? I’m thinking of moving some things in there."She paused, looking a bit surprised, but nodded quickly. "Of course, ma'am."I spent the next hour getting ready. I looked at myself in the mirror—pale, a little hollow under the eyes, but my stomach was still flat enough to hide my secret for a few more weeks. I had a checklist in my head that felt like a tactical map.Step one: Vitamins. Step two: The "parents." Step three: Th