Semua Bab Renting Billionaire Boyfriend: Bab 51 - Bab 60

Soren – POVThe office was a mess, buzzing with tension. People tiptoed around me, subtly dropping hints and questions: When will Raisel be back? We need her to move forward. I knew they needed answers from her, but I wasn’t about to push. She deserved space—time to heal. Losing someone is one thing, but watching a man die in front of you, a man you once cared for? That’s a whole other kind of trauma.Me? I felt the opposite. There was a sense of calm in knowing one of the bastards was finally out of the picture. Dead and gone.Still, the work couldn’t wait. I stepped in, made a decision on her project. It was something Raisel would’ve approved of—or at leastI hoped so. I couldn’t let the deadline slip.It was late when the call came. I was sitting at my desk, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee, when my phone buzzed.“Mr. Soren Dalton,” the voice on the other end said. It was Officer Denvor, the man in charge of the investigation into Nancy’s murder.“Speaking,” I replied, already brac

Raisel’s POVI took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Yes, I’m in. But I have my conditions,” I said, my voice firm despite the tremble in my hands. This isn’t what I want. Not at all.Joshua’s eyes darkened with intrigue. “And what might those be?” he asked. He didn’t shut me down immediately, which meant there was hope—however slim—that I could claw my way out of this mess.“You will respect boundaries,” I demanded, my tone sharp. “When I say no, it means no. You won’t blackmail me or manipulate me into doing things.”He leaned back, exuding the kind of confidence only a man like him could radiate. “I don’t have to force you into anything, Raisel.You’ll beg me for it,” he said smugly, his arrogance filling the room like a storm cloud.I rolled my eyes so hard I was sure they’d stick. These Dalton men—arrogant, entitled, and infuriatingly aware of their allure. And,God help me, why wouldn’t they be? With their striking looks, obscene wealth, and dangerous power, they practic

Raisel – POVThe room was heavy with tension, so thick it felt like the air itself had turned solid. All eyes were on me, but the unspoken energy in the room wasn’t about me. It was about Soren. His presence alone was enough to tighten every throat in the room.“As you all know, there’s been an issue with the car sensor failing,” I began, my voice steady, calm, despite the storm brewing beneath my skin. “I’ve found a solution.”Soren’s voice sliced through the air like a blade. “What have you come up with?” His cold tone made the hair on the back of my neck rise.I didn’t flinch. “I’m getting to that, Mr. Dalton,” I replied, holding onto my composure. “I ran a series of diagnostic tests to pinpoint the exact conditions causing the sensor delay,” I said, my voice measured, professional.“And? What did you find?” His words were sharper now, laced with curiosity, but there was something else there—something darker.I clenched my fists under the table. “The issue could be caused by several

Soren - POVSusan sighed, shaking her head with a heaviness that filled the room. I sat on the edge of the couch, my patience thinning. She stood abruptly, walking off to her room without another word. Frustration twisted in my chest as I waited, but before I could follow her, she reappeared. In her hands were files, thick and stacked, which she dropped on the table in front of me.“What’s this?” I asked, picking up the top file. My hands tightened around it as I flipped through its contents. Photos of Raisel’s childhood in the orphanage, her college years, and, worst of all, her marriage to Alaric stared back at me. There she was, smiling—happy, even—standing next to him. A twisted knot of agony coiled in my gut. It never failed. Any time I saw Raisel with Alaric, whether in a photograph or in memories that refused to leave me alone, I’d spiral. I couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe.Instead, I’d bury the pain the only way I knew how—by drinking myself senseless in some

Soren - POVRocher and I sat in the basement, eyes locked on the grainy footage playing on the screen. The man wore a Reaper crest ring, but there was no identifier—no name, no visible face. Something blocked the camera’s view, leaving only his hand in sight. Judging by the roughness of his skin, he was likely in his late twenties or early thirties. I exhaled sharply. No new information. Nothing. Even the dark web held no trace of the Reaper mafia, as if they never existed.If it weren’t for Susan and the stories my grandfather used to tell—tales of his reckless youth and the rebels he ran with—I wouldn’t have even known this gang existed."Any luck?" Susan’s voice cut through the dim light of the basement, blending with the low hum of our laptops."Nah." I leaned back, rubbing a hand down my face. The exhaustion was settling in."It’s been six days." My voice came out rough, frustration slipping through as I ran my fingers through my hair."You look terrible. Go get cleaned up, and y