บททั้งหมดของ Reborn Rich: My Fiancé and Step-Sister Killed Me Once.: บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 126

​LUCAS​Rita was lazily scrolling through her phone on the couch while Lucas worked on his laptop at the coffee table, when she suddenly sat up straight. Her eyes widened, her manicured fingers freezing on the screen.​"Oh my god," she breathed out. "Lucas, look at this."​"What?" Lucas asked without looking up from his spreadsheet, his mind buried in work. "Another startup investment?"​"No," Rita said, her voice rising with a strange, breathless intensity. She turned the glowing screen toward him. "Look at this right now."​It was a social media post from a high-profile business news page—a crisp, high-resolution photograph of Jett Mercer at a lavish corporate gala. He was wearing a impeccably tailored dark suit, standing amidst the city’s top elite, with a glowing caption below celebrating him as the youngest chairman in Mercer Industries' history.​"I knew it," Rita muttered, her thumb rapidly scrolling down through the comment section, then tapping over to a related post in the

​CHAPTER 121: THE ROOFTOP DATEARDEN​My breath hitched in my throat. I reached up, resting my palms against his wet, solid chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart under my fingertips. "Jett..."​He didn't kiss me—not yet. He just leaned down, pressing a lingering, warm kiss to the sensitive junction where my neck met my shoulder, making a soft sigh escape my lips before he gently took my hand and led me back toward the dry sand.​We collapsed onto our oversized beach towels, breathless, salt-dried, and completely unbothered by anything in the world beyond that stretch of sand.​By mid-afternoon, we walked up the stone path to the private cliffside villa Jett had booked for the night. The property was breath-taking—an open-concept timber and glass villa perched over the ocean, surrounded by lush hibiscus and private infinity pools.​We showered off the salt water, changed into comfortable linen clothes, and spent the late afternoon playing cards on the shaded wrap-around po

​Jett’s grandfather had rented an entire luxury motor yacht for the weekend, insisting to anyone within earshot that it was just going to be a small, casual family gathering.​Naturally, the Mercer definition of a "small, casual gathering" turned out to mean a hundred-and-twenty-foot triple-deck vessel, twelve full-time crew members, and a private executive chef plating pan-seared scallops on the aft deck before we even set sail from the marina.​"This is not small, Mercer," I said, standing near the teak wood railing, taking in the mahogany accents, the shaded sun loungers, and the white-gloved staff moving effortlessly around us.​"He doesn't understand the word," Jett said, stepping up beside me in a crisp linen shirt and dark sunglasses, holding two tall glasses of sparkling water with lemon. "It's genuinely not in his vocabulary. If he orders a light sandwich, three catering trays arrive."​Sophia materialized at my right shoulder like a beautiful, champagne-toting ghost, already