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Today, we continue The Divorced Billionaires!

Get ready for another exciting chapter full of secrets, twists, and big decisions.

Elena’s journey is taking an unexpected turn, and you won’t want to miss what happens next!

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Chapter 4: Bruises and Broken Promises

The first thing I felt was the cold. It crept into my skin, biting and unrelenting, as though the stone beneath me had conspired with the morning air to chase away the lingering warmth of the night before. 

My eyes fluttered open, squinting against the pale light of dawn as the world slowly came into focus. 

I was lying on my back in the garden, my gown wrinkled and damp with dew.

For a moment, I stayed still, the memories rushing back in vivid, aching detail. 

His touch. His voice. The way his hands had claimed me, the way his whispered words had unraveled me, the way he had made me feel; alive, desired, and utterly exposed. 

My hand trembled as I pressed it to my lips, which still tingled as if he had kissed me just moments ago.

But he was gone.

I pushed myself up slowly, every muscle in my body protesting. 

A dull ache radiated through me, a constant reminder of what had transpired. 

My cheeks burned as the thought crossed my mind, a mix of embarrassment and something far more confusing settling deep in my chest. 

Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to shield myself from the weight of my own emotions, but it didn’t help.

The garden around me was silent except for the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. 

The moon had vanished, replaced by the rising sun, its golden light casting long shadows over the neatly trimmed hedges and vibrant blooms. 

The serenity of it all felt wrong, as though the garden itself was mocking the turmoil inside me.

I shouldn’t have followed him. The thought came unbidden, sharp and accusing. 

But even as I chastised myself, another truth lingered beneath the surface: I didn’t regret it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

With a shaky breath, I stood, smoothing my gown as best I could. My bare feet padded softly against the stone path as I made my way back toward the mansion, my steps unsteady and tentative. 

Each movement felt heavier than the last, the weight of the night pressing down on my shoulders.

The halls were eerily quiet when I slipped inside. The grand ballroom, now empty, bore only faint traces of the evening’s festivities. 

A few scattered glasses on the tables, a forgotten mask on the floor. The silence was oppressive, amplifying the sound of my footsteps as I hurried toward my quarters.

When I finally reached my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. 

The familiar surroundings offered a semblance of safety, but they did little to calm the storm raging within me.

My reflection in the mirror caught my eye, and I hesitated before stepping closer. The woman staring back at me was both familiar and foreign. 

My hair was disheveled, my gown clung to my body in disarray, and my mask hung loosely in my hand. But it was my eyes that startled me most. 

They looked different. Brighter. Wilder. As though something deep within me had awakened.

I reached up to touch my cheek, my fingers trailing down to my lips. I could still feel him there, the ghost of his touch lingering like a brand. 

My body ached, my skin sensitive in ways it had never been before. Closing my eyes, I exhaled slowly, trying to gather my thoughts.

The reprieve didn’t last long.

A sharp knock at the door made me jump. Before I could respond, the door swung open, and my father stepped inside. 

His presence filled the room like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” he demanded, his voice low and menacing. His cold, calculating eyes bore into mine, making me feel small and insignificant.

I straightened, steeling myself against the wave of guilt and fear that threatened to consume me. “I—”

“You embarrassed me,” he cut me off, his tone biting. “You had one task, Elena. One. And you couldn’t even manage that.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I fought the urge to shrink beneath his gaze. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough,” he snapped, his voice echoing in the room. “You abandoned your duties, and in doing so, you jeopardized everything. Do you have any idea what you’ve cost me?”

My throat was dry, and I swallowed hard, wanting to explain, to defend myself, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I lowered my gaze, my silence speaking volumes.

His expression hardened, and he stepped closer, towering over me. “You’ll stay in your quarters for the week,” he said coldly. “The staff has been instructed not to assist you. Perhaps that will teach you the importance of discipline.”

The words hit me like a blow. Anger and helplessness swirled inside me, but I knew better than to argue. “Yes, Father,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He lingered for a moment longer, as though daring me to challenge him, before turning on his heel and leaving the room. 

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the space like a final blow.

That night, the weight of my punishment pressed heavily on me. My stomach growled, a sharp reminder of the meal I had missed, but I didn’t have the energy to care. 

I curled up on the small chaise by the window, staring out at the garden below. The memories of the night before played on a loop in my mind, each detail sharper than the last.

A soft knock at the door startled me, and I sat up, my heart racing. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Cautiously, I approached the door and cracked it open.

“Theo?” I whispered, my eyes widening as I took in the sight of the young servant standing in the dimly lit hallway.

Theo’s dark eyes darted nervously down the corridor before meeting mine. He held a small tray in his hands, a bowl of soup and a slice of bread carefully balanced on top. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with hesitation.

I opened the door wider, gesturing for him to come inside. “Thank you,” I said softly, gratitude coloring my tone.

Theo stepped inside, setting the tray on the small table near the window. “I know I’m not supposed to,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. “But I couldn’t just… leave you like this.”

His words tightened something in my chest, a mix of shame and gratitude swirling within me. 

I offered him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he replied simply, his sincerity evident in his tone.

As I sat down to eat, Theo lingered nearby, his hands fidgeting at his sides. I glanced up at him, my curiosity piqued. “Is something wrong?”

He hesitated before shaking his head. “No. I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Setting my spoon down, I studied him closely. There was a vulnerability in his expression, a quiet kindness that made me feel strangely safe. “I’m fine,” I said, though the words felt hollow.

Theo’s gaze flickered to my hands, where faint bruises were beginning to form. 

Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers brushing against my skin. “You’re hurt,” he murmured, his voice filled with concern.

I froze at his touch, my breath hitching. The warmth of his hand against mine sent a jolt through me, and I pulled back instinctively. 

But even as I withdrew, I couldn’t ignore the way my body reacted. My skin felt more sensitive, every nerve alight with awareness.

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, though my voice betrayed my unease.

Theo frowned, his brow furrowing. “It’s not nothing,” he insisted. “Let me help.”

Before I could protest, he retrieved a small cloth from his pocket and dampened it with water from the pitcher on the table. 

He knelt in front of me, gently taking my hand in his as he dabbed at the bruises. His touch was light, careful, but it sent a cascade of unfamiliar sensations through me.

“There,” Theo said softly, his voice breaking through my thoughts. He looked up at me, his dark eyes filled with an earnestness that made my heart ache. “That should help.”

I nodded, my throat tight as I tried to find the right words. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Theo stood, stepping back to give me space. “If you need anything… anything at all, just call for me,” he said, his tone gentle but firm.

I watched him go, the door closing softly behind him. Alone once more, I sat in silence, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. 

The tenderness of Theo’s touch, the concern in his eyes, the way my body had reacted, it was all too much, too confusing.

I buried my face in my hands, exhaling shakily as I tried to make sense of it all.

But one thing was clear: I wasn’t the same person I had been the night before. And I wasn’t sure I ever would be again.

Chapter 5: The Awakening

The faint warmth of sunlight filtered through the heavy drapes of my room, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. 

The shifting shapes were a quiet reminder of the life stirring beyond my door, yet I felt utterly disconnected from it. 

The previous night’s events haunted me like a vivid dream, or a vivid nightmare.

I stretched, wincing as the ache in my body made itself known. It wasn’t the kind of pain I was used to; it was something deeper, something that seemed to hum with its own electric intensity. 

My cheeks flushed as the memories surfaced, his hands, his lips, his voice.

"You’re mine tonight."

His words echoed in my mind, a claim that both frightened and exhilarated me. 

I ran my fingers along my arms, my skin still so sensitive that the faintest touch sent shivers through me. 

It was as if my body had awakened in ways I didn’t fully understand, and now, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t silence it.

I pushed myself out of bed, crossing the room with deliberate steps. When I reached the window, I pulled the curtain back, letting sunlight flood the space. 

The garden below stretched out in pristine beauty, its serene paths betraying no hint of the chaos I’d felt there just hours ago.

I rested my forehead against the cool glass, my breath fogging the surface as I exhaled slowly. I didn’t regret what had happened. Not entirely. 

But I couldn’t deny the storm it had released within me, emotions I wasn’t sure how to name or handle.

***

The day passed in a haze. Confined to my quarters, I had too much time to think and too few distractions to keep the memories at bay. 

I paced the room, my mind replaying every detail of his touch, his scent, the heat of his body against mine. It was maddening.

Books offered no solace; the words blurred on the page. Sketching was impossible; my hands trembled too much to hold the pencil steady. 

Even staring out the window felt like a torment, the garden below serving as a constant reminder of the night I couldn’t stop reliving.

By nightfall, I was restless, sitting cross-legged on my bed with a candle flickering on the nightstand. 

The shadows it cast danced along the walls, their movements oddly hypnotic. I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly, willing my mind to quiet itself.

And then, I smelled it.

The faint, woodsy aroma of cedarwood and smoke drifted through the room, so subtle it could’ve been a trick of my imagination. 

My eyes snapped open, my pulse quickening as I scanned the space. But no one was there.

I rose from the bed, my bare feet silent against the cold floor as I crept toward the door. 

Pressing my hand against the wood, I hesitated before opening it a crack. The corridor beyond was empty, the faint glow of distant lanterns casting long, eerie shadows. Still, the scent lingered, tantalizing and unmistakable.

I closed the door, leaning against it as my breath came in shallow gasps. It’s just your imagination, I told myself. He’s not here.

But the scent wouldn’t leave me.

***

The days that followed were a blur of heightened sensations and maddening confusion. 

Every brush of fabric against my skin, every accidental touch, every faint breeze felt amplified. My body had betrayed me, my senses raw and unpredictable.

The memory of him consumed me. I craved him, his touch, his voice, the way he’d made me feel alive in a way I never thought possible. 

It wasn’t just desire; it was something deeper, something I didn’t have the words for. And that terrified me.

One night, unable to sleep, I sat by the window, staring out at the garden below. 

The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light giving the flowers and hedges an ethereal glow. Everything looked so tranquil, but my mind was anything but.

My fingers brushed the curve of my collarbone, my skin prickling at the contact. A strange mix of longing and frustration burned inside me, my body betraying me with its restless energy. I clenched my fists, willing myself to calm down, but it was futile.

And then I smelled it again. AGAIN!

Cedarwood and smoke. Faint but undeniable.

My eyes snapped open, my heart pounding as I bolted upright. I scanned the room, my gaze darting to every corner, but there was no one there.

“Who’s there?” I called out, my voice trembling. The silence that followed was deafening.

I stood, my hands balled into fists as I tried to steady my breathing. Slowly, I approached the door and opened it just enough to peek into the corridor. It was empty, the shadows stretching long and still in the faint light.

Closing the door, I locked it and pressed my back against the wood. My breaths came shallow and rapid, and my mind raced. Was it him? Had he returned? Or was my mind conjuring his presence out of desperation and longing?

I didn’t know. But as I slid down to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, one thing was clear: I wasn’t the same person I had been before that night in the garden. Something within me had changed, and there was no going back.

***

The next morning, I awoke with a determination I hadn’t felt in days. I couldn’t let myself spiral further into confusion and longing. I needed answers.

Dressing quickly, I pulled on a simple gown and tied my hair back, my mismatched eyes scanning the room as if searching for a clue. 

The masked man was a mystery, but there was one person who might have answers. My father.

The thought of confronting him made my stomach twist, but I knew it was the only way. 

My father had always been the keeper of secrets, a man who thrived on control and manipulation. If anyone knew who the masked man was, it would be him.

The day stretched on as I tried to gather the courage to face him. Every sound outside my door heightened my anticipation. 

When lunchtime passed without a summons, I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. For now, I was safe from his wrath.

By evening, my patience had worn thin. Sitting at my desk, I scribbled aimless notes and sketches, my mind racing with possibilities. The masked man could’ve been anyone, a guest, a spy, even a figment of my imagination. Yet the vividness of his scent, his touch, his voice… it couldn’t have been imagined.

Another sleepless night found me staring at the ceiling, my thoughts spiraling into endless questions. The faint light of dawn seeped through my curtains when the scent returned.

Good Lord! What is happening to me?

It was stronger this time. Cedarwood and smoke.

My body reacted instantly, every nerve alight with awareness. Bolting upright, I scanned the room again. “Who’s there?” I called out, my voice trembling, but the silence deepened. Frustrated, I threw off my blanket and paced the room, the scent following me like a shadow.

“Why are you haunting me?” I whispered, anger and longing mingling in my voice.

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