Todos os capítulos de One Night With the Arrogant Billionaire: Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 99

Aria’s P.O.VThe silence of the penthouse had become oppressive. Usually, this place felt like a sanctuary—a glass-walled fortress where Damien and I could shed the masks we wore for the world and simply exist in each other's arms.But today, the air felt heavy, charged with a static electricity that made the hair on my arms stand up.I paced the length of the living room, my footsteps muffled by the plush rug, but my mind was screaming. I had been staring at the city skyline for the last hour, though I hadn't actually seen a single building.My focus was entirely on the voice message Damien had sent me twenty minutes ago. His voice had been tight, stripped of its usual composure, vibrating with a mixture of protective rage and urgency.He had told me everything: the suspicion that Alexander was actively trying to kill Grandma Elara, the confrontation at the hospital, and the decision to bring her here to keep her safe.I hadn't questioned him. I didn't have to. I knew the kind of mon

Landon’s P.O.VI sat in the back of the darkened sedan, the leather cold against my palms, feeling like a ghost in my own life. Every street corner we passed in the city felt like a reminder of everything I had forfeited.A few months ago, I was the golden boy, the man with the trajectory of a rocket, the one who held the heart of a woman who would have moved mountains for me. Now, I was a footnote in a scandal, a man whose professional reputation was a charred ruin, and whose financial stability had vanished like a mirage.Alexander Henderson didn't meet me in a boardroom or a public space. He met me in a private, dimly lit study that smelled of old money, expensive tobacco, and the kind of power that didn't need to shout to be heard. He sat behind a mahogany desk, his eyes scanning me not as a man, but as a tool."You look tired, Landon," Alexander said, his voice smooth, devoid of any real empathy. "Desperation is a heavy burden

Damien’s P.O.VThree days later, I found myself staring at the photograph on my mahogany desk, the image burned into my retinas. It was a shot of Aria and me outside the apartment—intimate, unguarded, and captured with a precision that made my blood run cold.I didn't need to be a forensic expert to analyze the angle. The shot had been taken from across the street, likely from a high-vantage point or a parked vehicle with a long-range lens.But it wasn't just the angle; it was the clarity. There was no grain, no blur of motion. This wasn't the work of some obsessed fan or a low-rent paparazzo looking for a tabloid scoop. This was professional-grade surveillance. The equipment used was high-end, the kind of gear employed by private intelligence firms or corporate espionage specialists.My jaw tightened. My father, Alexander, was many things—a narcissist, a manipulator, a coward—but he was also a man who viewed peopl

Damien’s P.O.VI didn’t sleep. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that photograph lying on the hardwood floor—a snapshot of a private, happy moment turned into a weapon.The intruder hadn't just breached my security; they had breached our sanctuary. They had looked at Aria, perhaps even stood within feet of her while she slept, and decided that the best way to break me was to make her feel hunted.The rage was a living thing inside me now, a cold, coiled serpent in my gut. I had spent my entire life learning how to mask it, how to channel it into corporate takeovers and strategic victories, but this was different. This wasn't about a board seat or a merger. This was about the woman who had become my entire world.I spent the early hours of the morning in my home office, the blue light of three different monitors illuminating the room. I had bypassed the standard security logs and gone straight into the raw data of the building’s external surveillance. I didn't trust the r

Grandma Elara’s P.O.VThe morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of the penthouse, cold and clinical. I sat propped up against the pillows, my hands trembling slightly—a detail I took great care to hide by gripping the edges of my silk robe.I’m a Henderson. We do not show weakness, not to the world, and certainly not to the ghosts that had prowled our hallways in the dead of night.Yet, as I stared at the door, the memory of the previous night played on a loop in my mind. I remembered the sound of the bolt sliding home, the screech of the heavy dresser being shoved across the floor, and the feeling of Aria’s small, determined frame standing between me and the unknown.She had been a shield. A fragile, young woman who had every reason to be terrified, yet she had stepped into the line of fire for a woman who had treated her with nothing but icy skepticism.The door opened softly, and Aria entered.