บททั้งหมดของ My Ex Fiancé wants be back, but my contract husband owns me: บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 90

Asher's POVThe conference room was filled with the low murmur of voices and the faint scent of expensive coffee as I sat at the head of the long mahogany table. The clients — a group of potential investors from Europe — were engaged in a detailed discussion about the latest projections for our expansion into the Asian markets. Charts were up on the screen, numbers scrolling, forecasts in three different currencies. I listened carefully, nodding at the right moments, my pen occasionally tapping against the notepad in front of me. It was a habit when I was trying not to think about anything else. The room was bright with natural light streaming through the large windows, the city skyline visible in the distance like a reminder of everything we were building. Glass towers, cranes, traffic moving like veins. I had been in these meetings hundreds of times, but today my mind kept drifting back to Amelia — the way she had looked when I dropped her off earlier, the tension in her shoulders,

Amelia’s POVThe evening light filtered through the small, barred window of the room, casting long, pale shadows across the wooden floor. Dust floated in the beams. The light was fading fast, turning orange, then gray. I lay on the hard bed, my head still throbbing from the knock-out blow Killian had delivered in the car. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat. The pain was a dull, persistent ache that radiated from the back of my skull down my neck, making every small movement feel like a fresh injury. My wrists and ankles were bound tightly with rough rope, the fibers digging into my skin and leaving red marks that burned whenever I tried to shift position. I’d already tried. Twice. The knots didn’t budge. The room was sparse — a single bed, a wooden chair in the corner, and a small table with a pitcher of water. No clock. No phone. The air smelled of salt and damp earth, a constant reminder that we were far from the city. Far from Asher. Far from anyone. I could hear waves somewhere

Asher's POV The morning light crept through the penthouse windows, soft and pale, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness in my chest. It just made the empty space look worse. I hadn’t slept. Not really. Maybe two hours, broken up. I had lain in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying every moment of the previous day — Amelia’s voice on the recording, the gunshots, Darcy’s scream, the empty space beside me where she should have been. Her pillow was still dented. The silence in the apartment was oppressive, the kind of quiet that amplified every small sound: the distant hum of the city far below, the occasional creak of the building settling, the faint tick of the clock on the nightstand. It was 5:17am. I’d been watching it. I finally gave up around dawn, pushing the covers aside and heading to the shower. The cold tiles under my feet felt like nothing.The water was hot, almost scalding, the steam rising around me like a fog. I stood under the spray for a long time

Amelia's POVThe first thing I felt was his fingers. Slow. Deliberate. Sliding through my hair like he owned every strand of it.I woke up with a jolt, my heart already hammering before my eyes even opened. The ceiling above me was that same ugly wood paneling. The same rope biting into my wrists. The same smell of salt and damp and something metallic I didn’t want to name.Killian. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his hand still in my hair. Like this was normal. Like I wasn’t tied to a bed in the middle of nowhere. “Morning, Amelia,” he said softly. I didn’t answer. I jerked my head away from his touch and scooted back on the bed until the rope pulled at my shoulders. The movement sent a dull ache through my arms. They’d been bound for hours. Maybe days. I’d lost track. He didn’t seem bothered that I moved. He just dropped his hand to his knee and looked at me with that calm, patient face that was somehow worse than Damien’s rage.“Are you ready to do what I asked?” he

Asher’s POVI don’t sleep. Not really. I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until 3AM turns into 4AM and the sky outside my apartment starts to go gray. Every time I close my eyes I see Amelia’s face. The last text she sent me. _Working late. Don’t wait up._ That was two days ago.Two days since she vanished. Two days since Killian’s men started showing up in photos with her, smiling like she was on vacation. Two days since I realized Damien was behind it and the police were useless.My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I grab it before my brain catches up. *Esme*: _I found something. On Detective Arjun Rao. We need to meet._My chest tightens. Esme doesn’t text at 4:17AM unless it’s bad. Or important. Or both.*Me*: _Where?_*Esme*: _Neutral. Not your office. Not the station. The diner on 9th. 30 mins?_I’m already out of bed. *Me*: _Yeah. I’ll be there._I throw on jeans, a black tee, and a jacket. I don’t bother shaving. I don’t bother eating. The coffee can wait. The drive