Todos los capítulos de TAMING THE BILLIONAIRE; My Brother's Best Friend : Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

Aaron's POVI was barely able to breathe by the time I arrived home. Every breath scraped through my throat like sandpaper, every exhale too thick to finish. My head pounded in staccato, unrelenting beats — like a dozen sledgehammers shredding bone from the inside out.I gripped the wheel tighter, trying to focus on the black road in front of me. City lights blurred beyond me, a hollow chorus of reds and golds that only made the throbbing in back of my eyes worse. I hadn't been sleeping. Not actually. Not actually eating much either. Just working — because thinking was harder.I hadn't seen the security guard in days. That old man would smile and wave me through or even salute me, and now he too had disappeared. Another sign that the world just went on as I paid no mind. I made a mental note to see if he was all right later, if I remembered.The weakness in my bones was starting to spin me around. My hands trembled when I pushed the gas pedal down a little further, and the car surged

Ethan's POVAaron crept out of the bathroom silently, steam still following him like a ghost. His hair was damp, hung down in his eyes, and he looked. thinner. Whitish. He was dressed down for the first time in his life—just a white t-shirt and jeans—and somehow that absence of form made him appear more fragile, as if a hard breath would crack him.He didn't even look my way as he passed, just said in that soft, low voice, "Do you want to eat something?"It took me longer to be surprised by it than I should have been. His voice was… tired. Not tired from work or from being on the road. This was deeper, heavier. "Uh—no, I'm fine," I said. "You?"He shook his head and began to walk away. "I'm good."The deception screamed so loudly I could practically hear it echoing off the walls. His steps were slow, the manner in which his hand stroked the table for balance when he turned. My heart cringed. "Aaron, you're white. Are you all right?"He lingered on the bedside. "I'm fine," he answered

Ethan’s POVThis sandwich was so overpriced. Eighteen dollars for two slices of bread, a sliver of smoked salmon, and something that desperately was trying to pass as caviar. America was wild. I stared at it, questioning every life choice that brought me here, and then sighed, taking a reluctant bite.That's when the doorbell rang.I frowned, setting down the sandwich. Aaron was still in the bathroom-he'd been in there for a while now, cleaning up and maybe shaving. His fever had come down completely since this afternoon, and he'd even made a joke or two, which at this point felt like a miracle after last night.I wiped my hands and then walked toward the door.When I opened it, there were two tall men in identical black suits. Both wore dark sunglasses, even though it was nearing evening, and one of them was holding a sleek black duffel bag, which looked a little too. deliberate."Um," I began, "can I help you?“Good evening,” one of them said smoothly. “We’re here for Mr. Warner.”A

Ethan’s POVThe award ceremony kicked off with three women in matching red-hot dresses, their harmonies slick and smooth against the hum of expensive perfume and clinking glasses. They were singing something jazzy-something I knew, maybe from a commercial or a movie-but the words escaped me. I only knew the rhythm, the sultry little sway that made the crowd clap politely while pretending they weren't already checking their watches.Aaron was gone by about thirty-five minutes. I hadn’t seen a sight of him, not even that trademark oxblood coat he wore, looking like it cost someone’s tuition. I was getting worried. He’d been sick not too long ago, and the thought of him collapsing somewhere backstage kept on nagging at me. But then again, this was Aaron Warner. He could probably charm death itself to give him an extension.Yet, I couldn't stop looking at the door, at the side curtains, anywhere that would have let me catch a glimpse of him. Nothing.So, I sat, trying not to fidget and tr

ETHAN'S povI was supposed to be finding peace.That was the whole damn point of the Riot—music, chaos, and release. To let go of everything I'd been dragging behind me like rusted chains. I was supposed to find my center, my balance, my calm.But how the hell was I supposed to do that when every time I looked at Aaron, my chest felt like it was being crushed?He said things, acted in ways that tore open wounds I'd sworn had already healed. One minute he was near, the next he was gone, and I stood there, choking on air that didn't feel like enough. How could someone make me want to punch a wall and pull him close in the same heartbeat? How could he look at me like I still mattered when he'd been the one to walk away?It was all a storm.A tornado named Aaron Warner.The lights faded, the music dissolved into the night, and I still couldn't tell what I was supposed to be feeling. Confused. Angry. Heartbroken. Relieved. All of it twisted together, one ugly knot that wouldn't come undone