Lahat ng Kabanata ng Reborn as the True Billionaire : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Morana’s POVThe third glass of champagne hit differently from the first two. I could feel it moving through me in the best possible way. So warm and fizzy and loosening things that had been wound tight for so long I have forgotten they were supposed to relax. The music was doing something to my body that I’ve missed without realizing I’ve missed it. That particular bass frequency that bypassed your brain entirely and went straight to your hips.I haavs never had this with Xavier. Not once in five years. He didn’t do clubs or dancing or anywhere that wasn’t controlled and designed to make him look important. Our version of celebration was expensive restaurants with quiet corners and conversations that were always somehow connected to business.This was different. This was just loud and warm and alive and I was sitting in a VIP section in a green dress with champagne in my hand watching people lose themselves on the dance floor below and feeling something I hadn’t felt in years.“Yo

Morana’s POVThe car ride home was quiet but it was the charged kind of quiet that sat between two people who'd been touching each other all night and were now suddenly very aware of the distance between them on the backseat.Manhattan moved past the windows in streaks of light and rain and I kept my eyes on it because looking at Tristan right now felt dangerous in ways I wasn't sure I could navigate with any dignity.His hand was on the seat between us. Close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off his skin.I stared at it, my pulse quickening as I imagined those fingers on my body tracing the same paths they had in the shower.The champagne had settled into something softer now. I wasn’t drunk anymore but loose. The state where everything felt very clear and very uncomplicated and the reasons I'v been maintaining distance for weeks seemed less important than they did this morning.The car stopped outside the building and we got out and the night air hit me and it smelled like

Morana’s POVI was still trembling, aftershocks rippling through me as he rose over me, his body blocking the city lights until all I could see was his silhouette against the window. His shoulders were broad, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. This was the moment. The part we were supposed to be doing for biological reasons and purely for survival.My eyes drifted down his body, over the hard planes of his stomach to where he knelt between my thighs. And then I saw the packing. His cock was thick and heavy standing erect against his abdomen. It was gorgeous! Perfectly formed with veins that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart, the head a deep and dark pink that glistened in the dim light.I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as I licked my lips. A low growl ripped from his chest, a sound of pure and raw and primal need as he watched my tongue trace my mouth."You're killing me" he groaned, his voice strained as if he were in physical pain.I didn't answer

Tristan’s POVThe treadmill had been running for forty minutes and my lungs were burning. My legs had stopped feeling like mine twenty minutes ago but I kept going because stopping meant thinking and thinking meant dealing with what happened last night. I wasn’t ready to deal with what had happened last night.It was five in the morninb. The penthouse gym was dark except for the strip lighting along the floor and the city outside the windows doing that grey pre dawn thing where Manhattan looked almost quiet. I’d been down here since four when I’d woken up with her hair against my shoulder and her breathing against my chest. I felt something moving through me that felt like complete and total panic.I got dressed in the dark and left without waking her. Which was a coward’s move and I knew it and Id done it anyway.The treadmill kept going. My feet kept moving. My chest kept burning. Last night wasn’t supposed to feel like that.That was the problem! That was the specific problem I w

Morana’s POVThe argument started over strategy and became something else entirely within four minutes.“Suppression order.” Tristan said. He was standing at his desk with his phone in one hand and his legal team on hold with the other. “We shut it down before it gains traction. I have three lawyers who can have an injunction filed by noon.”“No” I muttered simply and he looked up.“No suppression order.” I repeated slowly. “That tells everyone we have something to hide. You file an injunction against a press conference and tomorrow’s headline isn’t about the prenup anymore. It’s about what we’re trying to suppress.”“It buys us time.”“It costs us credibility.” I moved toward him. “We need to go public and do interview. Both of us. Today if possible. Let people see us together and decide for themselves.”“That’s reactive” His voice had the particular flatness it got when he’d already decided something and was waiting for the conversation to conclude so he could execute it. “We don’