Semua Bab Touched by the Billionaire, Owned by the Devil: Bab 81 - Bab 90

The guest house was unusually quiet that evening. The refrigerator hummed softly from the kitchen, and somewhere deeper in the house, the wall clock ticked steadily enough to become annoying once I started listening for it. Gideon stood at the kitchen island with his sleeves pushed up, stirring a pot of chicken soup while steam curled toward the window above the sink. I sat on one of the wooden stools with a mug of warm water between my hands, staring at my phone where it lay face down on the marble counter. The forty-eight hours were up. The clinic had said the results should be ready by five, and my phone had remained dark all evening. No email. No call. Nothing. I had checked it so many times that I had stopped pretending I was doing anything else. Every time my eyes moved toward it, I caught myself and looked away, only to find myself staring at it again a few minutes later. My lower back had started aching sometime after dinner, and the tension seemed to have settled everywhere

Harold idled the car out front, the engine humming a low rhythm against the quiet morning. "Harold has the car ready," Gideon said, grabbing his keys from the counter. "We walk straight to the door. No stopping." "I know the plan," I replied, grabbing my bag from the hook by the door. Gideon unlocked the door and pulled it open. Flashing lights and shouting voices hit us instantly. Paparazzi packed the space behind the iron gates. Shane’s leak worked fast, drawing every camera in the city to my door. "Ms. Bennett! Are you living with your boss?" a man yelled, shoving a microphone through the bars. "Did you steal company funds?" another voice shouted over the noise. "What about your husband?" My heart hammered against my ribs. The old instinct to duck my head and run flared up in my chest. I pressed my boots into the pavement and grounded myself. I was not running. Not anymore. Gideon stepped in front of me. His shoulders blocked the flashing lights. "Back up," Gideon said,

Harold unlocked the car doors. Gideon stepped onto the paved driveway and offered me his hand. I took it and let him pull me out of the sedan. The cool evening air hit my face, chasing away the stale warmth of the legal office. Gideon guided me up the walkway. He unlocked the front door and pushed it open. The quiet darkness of the guest house welcomed us. I stepped inside and kicked off my heels. The cool hardwood floor felt amazing against my sore arches. Gideon closed the door and locked the deadbolt. He tossed his keys onto the entryway table and loosened his silk tie. The rigid posture he maintained all day finally melted away. He turned to face me, his dark eyes sweeping over my tired expression. "We are not talking about Shane tonight," Gideon said. His voice dropped to a soft, rough register. "He does not get to ruin our evening." I nodded and leaned against the wall. The heavy knot of anxiety in my chest loosened just a fraction. "I just want to sit down and forget th

With another honk of the horn outside, Gideon sighed and raised his wrist with his wristwatch. "Duty calls." The heavy coat waited on the entryway hook. I grabbed my bag from the counter and followed him out the door. "Let us go face the cameras." Harold parked the car behind the Vale building. The usual swarm of photographers waited by the side entrance. Gideon stepped out first. His hand offered me support. I took it and stepped onto the pavement. The cameras clicked wildly. Gideon kept his body angled to block the worst of the flashes. We walked toward the glass doors. A sudden burst of cheers erupted from the crowd. Elias stood near the entrance. His hands held a massive bouquet of white peonies. A sharp navy suit covered his frame, and a confident smile played on his lips. Gideon’s grip on my hand tightened just a fraction. His jaw ticked. Elias walked straight past Gideon. He handed the flowers to me. "Good morning, Adeline. These matched your dress." I took

Friday. Three days remained until Shane’s financial deposition. The bullpen hummed with a tense, electric energy. I typed the final numbers into the coastal vendor spreadsheet. My shoulders ached from hours of hunching over the keyboard. Sarah walked past my desk. Her hip bumped the edge of my pen cup. The plastic container tipped over, spilling blue and black ink across the wood. She did not stop. She kept walking toward the breakroom, her heels clicking in a slow, deliberate rhythm. A loud, dramatic sigh drifted back from the coffee machine. I did not look up. I just swept the pens into my desk drawer with my forearm and kept typing. The old urge to explain myself, to defend my space, was completely gone. She wanted a reaction. I would not give her one. Carla tapped on the glass partition. She held a thick file against her chest. "David is in the conference room," she said. "Mr. Vale and Mr. Blackstone are already waiting." I grabbed my notepad and walked into the executi