All Chapters of Bound To The Billionaire By A Baby: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

"I never knew she was so loose," a sharp whisper cut through the damp air of the lower corridor, accompanied by a cruel, mocking giggle that made my stomach twist into a painful knot. I kept my eyes pinned to the stone floor, my fingers clutching the wooden handle of my mop so tightly that my knuckles turned stark white. Two maids from the upper-floor staff passed by the archway, their eyes sliding over me with pure, unadulterated disgust and they didn't even try to hide their voices. "Look at her, still pretending to be a saint," the other one sneered, intentionally loud enough to echo off the walls. "Climbing into the young master’s bed like a common alley cat just to steal him away from Lady Rusali. She actually thinks she’s going to be the mistress of this house now." Before the tears burning the backs of my eyes could spill over, a pair of hands gripped my forearms. Maya violently dragged me backward, pulling me out of the open corridor and shoving me into the shadow o

"Wait! Please, just wait!"My lungs burned as my feet pounded against the gravel driveway of the Hawthorne estate. The cold morning air sliced through my thin coat, but I barely felt it. All my attention was locked onto the sleek, midnight-black sedan gliding toward the iron gates. It was Adrian’s car. He was leaving for the office, and if I didn't catch him now, I would late."Adrian! Stop the car!" I screamed, my voice cracking as I pushed my legs to move faster, my breath forming thick white clouds in the air.Suddenly, the brake lights flared a brilliant, angry red. The sedan lurched to a violent halt just yards away from the boundary gates. The rear door didn't slide open smoothly; it was flung back with a sharp, aggressive force that made the hinges groan.Adrian stepped out onto the gravel. His charcoal-grey tailored suit was pristine, his dark hair perfectly styled, but his face was contorted into a mask of absolute, icy rage. He didn't walk toward me. He stood by the

A massive, heavy bolt of midnight-blue velvet slammed onto the loading dock, sending a cloud of chemical dust and stray threads directly into my face. I coughed violently, my chest heaving as the bitter taste of early morning nausea rushed up the back of my throat. "Don't just stand there gaping, girl! We don’t pay you to inhale the inventory!" The voice belonged to Mr. Geller, the head of the textile logistics department. He was a small, wire-thin man with a clipboard clutched like a weapon against his chest, his eyes sharp and venomous as they raked over my simple uniform. There was no grand reception for me at the glass-fronted main entrance of the Hawthorne Fashion House. There were no flashing press cameras or executives bowing to the new Mrs. Hawthorne. Instead, the yellow cab had dropped me off at the gritty, exhaust-heavy rear loading dock, where the exhaust from delivery trucks choked the air and the concrete floor was stained with motor oil. I wasn't naive and I

Author's PovMeanwhile, five floors above the grueling concrete stairs, the atmosphere inside the CEO’s executive suite was entirely different, though no less toxic. Adrian stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets as he stared down at the sprawling design floor below. From this height, the designers and assistants looked like tiny, insignificant ants moving across a grid. His face was a mask of cold, unyielding stone, but beneath the surface, his mind was a chaotic storm of rage and humiliation. His father had stripped him of his financial freedom, and the entire city’s elite media was currently printing his name next to the word scandal. Behind him, loungeing on the expensive, charcoal-velvet sofas of his private office, were his two closest childhood friends and business associates—Marcus and Julian. They were high-society heirs who had never known a day of labor in their lives, and right now, they were thoroughly enjoying Adri

"Are you sewing the damn gown from scratch in there, Liora?" Marcus shouted, his voice boomed across the cavernous space of my executive suite, followed by a sharp snort of laughter.Julian joined in, swirling the ice in his tumbler with an obnoxious click. "Maybe she’s trying to find a way to turn a runway sample into a winter coat, Marcus. Let her be. The lower class isn’t exactly accustomed to handling lightweight Italian silk."I didn't join their laughter. I sat behind my heavy desk, my eyes fixed firmly on the black-and-white printouts of our quarterly textile logistics reports.The columns of numbers blurred slightly under the harsh LED desk lamp, but I forced my gaze to remain anchored to the paper.I was deliberately tuning out the irritation pricking at my temples.I wanted her to feel the weight of our impatience. I wanted her to walk out of that restroom thoroughly broken by the realization that she didn't belong in my world.Suddenly, the heavy click of the restroom door