The Billionaire's Fugitive Wife

Chapter 1

The morning light, sharp and cold, sliced through the blinds, painting harsh stripes across my face. It was April, a month that always felt like a cruel joke, promising warmth but delivering a biting chill.The clock on my nightstand, a relic from a time when I cared about punctuality, clanged out eight o’clock with an almost mocking insistence. Each metallic chime seemed to hammer into my skull, a jarring reminder of the exhaustion that pulsed through my bones, a weariness that went far deeper than the lack of sleep.I lay there, caught between the stark reality of the day and the lingering remnants of a dream, a dream that felt both vivid and utterly impossible.I burrowed deeper into the pillow, trying to will myself back into the dream, to escape the harsh reality of the day. But the world, it seems, had other plans. My phone, a insistent buzzing on the nightstand, tore me from the fragile embrace of sleep.I didn't move, didn't even shift my weight. But my hand, driven by a force ...