Todos los capítulos de His fake wife, their real obsession: Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 85

Lydia ‘s POV The glass balcony doors of L.V. Global Holdings swept shut behind us, cutting off the roaring gale of media helicopters, the thunderous cheers of the gathered press, and the blinding strobe of flashbulbs in the plaza eighty floors below. The sudden silence inside the Citadel war room was heavy, almost suffocating, broken only by the low, mechanical hum of the subterranean air-filtration system.Outside, the world was drowning in the shockwaves of our victory. On every financial network across three continents, the Vance empire was collapsing into digital dust. The market cap had vanished, Interpol red notices were flashing in red typeface across international news chyrons, and the public was canonizing the name Lydia Vance-Cross.But inside this room, the air had turned into ice.I stepped away from the balcony threshold, unbuttoning the crisp, tailored jacket of my crimson suit. The fabric felt hot against my skin, weighted down by four years of s

Lydia’s POVThe pale, silver light of dawn expanded across the private suite, casting a soft sheen over the dark silk sheets. The storm of raw emotion, guilt, and possessive hunger that had consumed the night had settled into a profound, heavy quiet—a sanctuary sealed off from the rest of the world.None of us moved to get dressed. The urge to put on our corporate armor, to slip back into the cold roles of executives and commanders, had vanished.I lay anchored in the center of the massive mahogany bed. Zane’s broad, scarred frame served as a solid wall of muscle at my side, his heavy arm draped over my waist, pulling me firmly against his warm torso. On my other side, Cassian’s large, calloused hand held mine in an iron grip, his fingers casually rubbing small, soothing circles into my wrist.Kian leaned over us on one elbow, his dark hair falling messily across his forehead, stripped of his usual razor-sharp composure. His long, elegant fingers softly traced the intricate lines of m

Lydia’s pov The metallic stench of gun oil and cold sea air filled the narrow space of the balcony as the mercenary’s gloved hand clamped down on my shoulder. The suppressed barrel of his rifle pressed directly into the nape of my neck, its icy weight a silent threat."Get up," the operative growled through his vocal scrambler. "Hands where I can see them. One wrong step and Mr. Vance gets your body instead of your signature."I didn't flinch. I slowly set my glass of wine down on the small iron table, taking my time as I smoothed the lapels of my silk robe. Deep within the lining of my left sleeve, a micro-transponder—no larger than a grain of rice, drawing power directly from my body heat—pulse-coded my location every three seconds directly to Kian’s high-grade satellite array. Another beacon, woven into the heavy gold signet ring on my right hand, logged the exact velocity, elevation, and heading of my movements.I was not a hostage. I was a homing beacon."Tell Damian his hospita