All Chapters of The Billionaire's Runaway Country Girl : Chapter 1 - Chapter 7

Adam's POV The rain came down in silvery sheets, painting the city in a dull haze as it drummed against the window. It had a kind of rhythm to it—constant, relentless—like the pulse of longing that gripped me. Beyond the glass, autumn leaves pirouetted in the wind, caught in their own dance of slow decay. Their vivid colors, all reds and golds, only pulled me deeper into my thoughts, reminding me of Jules. Jules with her wild, sunlit hair. Jules with her laugh that used to make everything feel alive. We had been married for a month, but it felt like a lifetime stretched between us now. Two days apart and already, I was unraveling, craving her like an addict needing his fix.You're in everything I see, Jules.Henry's voice cut through the quiet, his smirk barely veiling the disdain he wore like armor. "Impatient, aren't we?"I didn't look at him. My fingers curled tightly into fists, the urge to strike coiled just beneath the surface. Henry Shepherd was no friend—he was a mistake the w

ONE YEAR AGOJules’ POVThe afternoon sunlight lingered lazily, cascading in golden threads through the small, old-fashioned windows, catching the dust particles in its path and making them glimmer, suspended in their quiet, aimless dance. I watched them float, as I often did. Outside, the vastness of the fields stretched endlessly—wheat swaying with the same gentle rhythm, as if time itself had lulled the farm into a perpetual hum of sameness. I was not a part of it, not really. The farm was a stage, and I, a bystander, waiting for a cue that never came.I loved writing. I could almost feel the tactile click of keys beneath my fingers, the soft glow of the laptop illuminating the stories waiting to be released from my mind. But here, on the farm, everything moved slower. The stories stayed locked inside, and instead, I found myself in Nana's kitchen, caught in a different kind of rhythm—her rhythm. The scent of apples simmering in sugar and cinnamon filled the small kitchen, mingling

Julie's POVIt should have been the moment that defined everything—when he stepped onto the farm. Part of me wanted him from the start, even if I refused to admit it. He was life itself, like the sun—a warmth that could burn, yes, but one you crave even when you know it might hurt. The first two weeks were okay, just okay, and I hated how indifferent they felt. He’d wake early, saunter into the house for breakfast, then disappear into town for hours. Sometimes he’d be gone until dinner, when he’d stroll back with the swagger of a man who’d had a good time. He’d settle into that chair he claimed the very first day, next to Nana. Close enough to chat with her, but far enough from me that it drove me mad. Far enough that I couldn't breathe him in—that intoxicating scent that was all his own—but close enough that our knees would occasionally brush, just barely. And each time, it sent a wave of something through me, a kaleidoscope of questions spinning in my head. What did it mean when his