Semua Bab Silenced By The Billionaire : Bab 51 - Bab 60

POV: ElaraLeaving the penthouse was harder than I expected.Not because of the building or because of the security.Because of Dante.The moment the elevator doors closed between us, I felt it.The separation.The performance had officially begun.And now every camera in the city was watching.By noon, photos were already circulating online.Fashion designer Elara Vance leaves Moretti Penthouse after alleged fallout.Sources claim relationship has ended.Moretti seen returning alone.Exactly what we wanted and what I hated.My old apartment felt smaller than I remembered.The walls were familiar. The furniture was mine. The scent of old sketchbooks and fabric samples still lingered in the air.Months ago, I would have given anything to return here.Now it felt empty and lonelyI walked through the small space, running my fingers over the dusty kitchen counter. There was a half-empty box of tea still sitting by the kettle from months ago. Everything was exactly how I had left it, yet

POV: ElaraThe city felt different now.Maybe it was because I had spent so many weeks hidden away in Dante's world. Maybe it was because I knew too much now.Whatever the reason, Aether City no longer felt familiar.Everywhere I looked, I saw danger.The fake breakup had entered its fourth day, and every hour felt heavier than the last.I followed the routine we had created for me. I left my apartment at the same time every morning. I visited the same coffee shop. I walked through the same streets. I spent afternoons sketching in public places where Isabella's people could easily find me.I was bait.And the worst part was knowing it was working.The tabloids had fully embraced the story.According to them, Dante Moretti had finally discarded his obsession.Some reports claimed he had discovered the child wasn't his and blamed me.Others claimed he had returned to Natalia.A few suggested I had betrayed him.The details changed every day.The outcome remained the same.To the outside

POV: Marco Marco moved through the underbelly of Isabella's main base like a man walking through a city that hadn't realized it was already a graveyard. The corridors stretched endlessly beneath the city, carved from old industrial tunnels and abandoned infrastructure. Concrete walls sweated moisture. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Armed guards occupied every intersection, their rifles hanging ready across their chests. The atmosphere had changed. A month ago, Isabella's headquarters had felt like any other criminal stronghold, dangerous, unpredictable, but familiar. Now it felt like military command. Organized, focused. Prepared for war. The air carried the smell of gun oil, printer ink, and freshly unpacked ammunition. Every room he passed was alive with activity. Operatives studied surveillance feeds. Logistics officers tracked supply shipments across digital maps. Weapons technicians assembled rifles at long metal tables. Nobody laughed, nobody relaxed or was

POV: Elara The walls pressing in like a closing fist every passing hour.It wasn't the size of the apartment. It was the atmosphere. The constant tension. The feeling that every conversation carried hidden meaning and every movement was being watched.Elara sat at the easel positioned near the reinforced window. Gray daylight filtered through the thick glass, casting dull shadows across the room. Charcoal stained her fingertips as she worked, her sketchbook and supplies spread across the small table beside her.She adjusted the angle of the easel by a mere two inches, ensuring the gray daylight from the overcast sky hit the heavy charcoal lines at the perfect angle to prevent a glare. If Dante’s spotters were using high-powered lenses from the opposite roof, the contrast of the dark charcoal against the white paper would resolve clearly in a photograph. It was a message cast out into an ocean of uncertainty. She stepped back into the shadows of the room, leaving her artwork standing

Marco’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.He kept them buried deep in his jacket pockets, fists clenched so tight his fingernails bit into his palms, as he led Elara through the narrow service corridors beneath the old garment factory. The air down here smelled of damp concrete and rusted iron. The route had been marked as “emergency extraction” in Isabella’s briefing, but Marco knew what it really was now. A controlled setup. A disposal lane. He just hadn’t known who was being disposed of until it was too late.“This way,” he said again, forcing his voice to stay steady, though the words tasted like ash. “Dante’s secondary team is waiting at the far end. Neutral ground. You’ll be safe.”Elara didn’t respond immediately. Her footsteps stayed measured behind him, quiet but deliberate on the cracked floor. She was carrying a small go-bag against her chest. Not clutched like a terrified victim, but held lightly, a tactical placement, ready to be dropped the second she needed her hands free.