All Chapters of Destined To Be Yours: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Six weeks later, Florence sat by the library room, reading one of the classic novels. She wore black leggings paired up with Black thirty and oversized red Sweater. The outfit was not one of her best but it was super comfortable and that was what matters after all. She tried to ignore how the housekeeper, who was currently dusting off the bookshelf , was looking at her.Florence squirmed in her seat as she tried to read the book but she felt as if Lisa , the housekeeper, was judging her.Well, how could anyone not? Everyone knew that this marriage was not out of love including the staff in the house. Lisa had hardly seen Florence and Tristan talking together and the old lady must be pitying the young soul that was trapped in this penthouse. Florence does nothing except sitting in the library or cooking in the kitchen. The lady would often give her looks filled with sympathy and Florence didn't know how to tell her that she didn't need her pity , so she just let her be.Lisa would

Florence walked downstairs after waking up at eight in the morning. It was Saturday, the most awaited day of the week for the students. Florence was bone tired from all the work she had to do this week and hence she was looking forward to a nice weekend. She wanted to relax a little. As much as she loves to attend the university, she loves to be at her new home and do whatever she wants. She had a lot to do today with all the assignments piling up. She thought that this morning was similar to all the mornings she had for the last couple of days.But what she saw in the kitchen was not what she had ever expected. Tristan in the kitchen, wearing an apron. The man may be a jerk but he was a gorgeous jerk and Florence hate it to admit that." Are you awake yet or should I flaunt my beauty some more?" Tristan said before he looked up at his wife who was stuck on the stairs looking at him as if he had grown two pairs of horns. Her hair was wet from the shower and her long legs were

Tristan was sitting on the sofa with a book in his hand, his wet hair falling over his eyes as he glanced at the digital clock on the table in front of him. It blinked nine. Tristan frowned at the clock because as far as he knew, Florence is usually done with her classes before six in the evening and in extreme cases by seven. He hadn't had his dinner yet and he was looking at the door far too often. He didn't know why he was acting protective towards her , maybe because she was his responsibility or maybe because she is too young to be in his world. Not to forget that she would be an easy target for his enemies . He didn't even want to think about the circumstances. Just as he was about to call Florence, the door of his penthouse opened and in came Florence, who looked as if she was about to faint any second. A bile raised in Tristan's throat as he immediately stood from his place and threw the book carelessly on the sofa. "Where were you?" Tristan asked as he walked towards he

The moment Florence stepped into the penthouse, the warmth of the place felt suffocating. She had been out in the cold, but the chill inside her chest had nothing to do with the weather.She dropped her bag by the door, her fingers still clenched around the sketchbook Jennie had destroyed. Her heart pounded, echoing the turmoil inside her. Tristan sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of the fireplace.His gaze lifted from the documents in front of him, sharp and unreadable.“You’re late,” he remarked casually, taking a sip of his drink. “Where were you?”Florence swallowed down the lump in her throat. The anger that had been simmering in her blood threatened to boil over.“Jennie came to me,” she said, her voice cold.Tristan raised an eyebrow. “And?”Florence stepped further inside, her hands trembling. “You destroyed her father’s company. His company is going bankrupt.”Tristan didn’t flinch. Inst

Florence had been avoiding Tristan.After their last conversation, she had buried herself in her work, using the art room as an excuse to keep her distance. She convinced herself that she just needed space—that if she ignored the problem long enough, it would stop bothering her.But deep down, she knew better.Because it wasn’t just Tristan’s ruthlessness that haunted her.It was the fact that, despite everything, she hadn’t run.She should have been disgusted by what he had done. She should have been afraid of what it meant to be married to a man like him.But instead, some twisted part of her felt safe.Like as long as she was his, nothing could touch her.That was the most dangerous thought of all.She was trying to push it away when the door to the art room burst open.“Florence.”She flinched at the sharpness in Tristan’s voice. “What the hell?”Tristan stormed inside, his usual cool demeanor replaced by something raw and unfiltered. He looked furious. No, not furious—livid.Her