All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Favorite Mistake: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The interior of his car smelled too clean. Heavy leather and expensive detailing fluid replaced the damp wool and gravel smell of the hospital courtyard.We were three miles past the prison gates before the rain stopped hitting the glass, replaced by a thick mist that rolled off the bypass and blurred the streetlamps into dull yellow smudges.I didn't look at the billboards this time. I kept my back pressed against the passenger door, my knees pulled up toward my chest on the leather seat. The cotton of Damien’s shirt was still damp around my cuffs, smelling faintly of the lobby’s floor wax."You should have told me," I said.His car took a sharp curve onto the flyover, the tires humming against the wet asphalt. Damien didn't shift his position. He sat on the opposite side of the wide armrest, his fingers tapping a slow, uneven rhythm against his knee, his eyes fixed entirely on the blurred skyline through the window."The paperwork was cleared through standard channels," he said. His

"The board is tracking the money you sent to the hospital," Marcus said. His voice came through the thick wood of the door, low and scratchy. "If they trace that payment back to your personal account, Damien, they're going to think her family is blackmailing you."​I stayed completely still on the couch, my cheek pressed into the velvet pillow. It smelled like old lavender and dust. My shoulder was completely numb from sleeping on it, but I didn't move an inch.​"Let them think what they want," Damien said. He was further down the hallway, near the top of the stairs. His voice wasn't loud or angry. It was just flat. Cold. "The lawyers handled the transfer. It won't look like it came from me."​"Victoria isn't stupid," Marcus said. I heard his leather boots scrape against the floor. "She’s already telling the board that you only married Ellie to force her father into giving up his voting power. If the board believes her, you’re done. They won't back a CEO who lets his personal life rui

The leather seat of the limousine was cold through my dress. My thumb was still pressed against the corner of the paper, hiding the name printed at the bottom, but the ink was already bleeding through the damp cream fabric of my gloves.​"Ellie."​Damien’s voice came from the dark across from me. He hadn't taken off his wet overcoat. The scent of rainwater and wool filled the small, enclosed space, heavy and suffocating.​"It’s nothing," I said. I tried to slide the paper down into the small pocket of my coat, my fingers shaking so hard the corner caught on the seam. "Just a press release from the gallery. A schedule."​"You don't hide schedules."​He reached across the gap. He didn't snatch it. He just put his fingers on the exposed edge of the page and waited. His knuckles were pale, the skin tight over the bone.​I didn't let go. I held on until the wet paper began to tear between us, the sound of the fiber ripping loud against the steady hum of the tires on the wet asphalt.​"Dami

​"You’re going to ruin your eyes," I said.​Damien didn't look up from the floor. He was sitting cross-legged on the rug in the center of the dark living room, the low orange glow from the gas fireplace hitting the sharp line of his jaw. Scattered around his boots were the faded manila folders we used to keep in the kitchen drawer of our flat on Rue Saint-Denis.​"The Paris numbers don't add up," he said. His voice was thick, dry from hours of silence. He turned a yellowed tax receipt over, his thumb tracing the old French stamp at the top. "They never did."​I walked across the room, my bare feet silent on the hardwood, and let myself slide down onto the carpet opposite him. The space between our knees was less than two feet. "Why are you looking at files from four years ago, Damien? The injunction is happening now."​"Because the routing terminal used for the two million yesterday isn't new," he said. He finally raised his eyes, the gray in them dull and shadowed. "It’s the old shel

The single bare bulb swung slightly overhead, casting jagged shadows across the ancient paper. I stared down at the crisp, dark handwriting at the bottom of the page. The letters were sharp, precise, and completely unmistakable.​"It's his," Ellie whispered, her breath hitching as she kept her finger frozen over the ink. "Damien, look at the date. He was there. He witnessed the entire forced sale of my father's property."​I pulled her back gently, my arm locked around her waist as I stepped into the tight space between her and the table. My eyes lifted to Marcus. The man who had managed my schedule, my security, and my life for nearly a decade stood perfectly still.​"Explain it," I said, my voice dropping into a flat, dangerous register. "Now."​"I signed as a witness for the company, sir," Marcus said, his voice entirely devoid of panic. "Four years ago, your grandfather gave me a direct order. He told me that if I did not sign those papers to take the gallery away from Ellie's fat