All Chapters of Falling In Love with my Cold Billionaire Husband: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Eloise’s POVI blinked rapidly when I saw Sebastian.His jaw was clenched, his sharp gaze locked onto the man who had his arm around me earlier. His grip on the man's wrist was tight, yanking it away from me with force.Honestly, I hadn’t expected them to approach me so suddenly, let alone hug me out of nowhere.I had politely asked them to let me go, but the man had insisted on talking to me.I could tell something was off about them. I could smell the alcohol on their breath.Thankfully, Sebastian saw me.I felt relieved.But when he turned to me, the fury in his eyes didn’t waver.I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling uneasy.“Didn’t you learn to stay away from someone else’s wife?” Sebastian asked coldly.The man blinked, his eyes widening in shock as he finally realized who Sebastian was.“M-Mr. Whitmore! We’re sorry! We didn’t know she was your wife!” he stammered.Sebastian shoved him away aggressively.“Now you do!”The men scrambled to leave, disappearing into the crowd.I swall

I was taken aback when Angelo suggested it.Not because I was afraid, but because I wasn’t used to painting in front of an audience.Sebastian cleared his throat.“I don’t think it’s necessary, Angelo,” he said.Angelo smirked.“Why? Afraid your wife will lose?” he taunted, clearly mocking not just me but Sebastian as well.I couldn't help but sense the tension between them. There was definitely bad blood.Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, and I immediately noticed the way his jaw clenched.“You know your stepbrother, dear. He’s always been afraid of everything,” Agatta added with a sneer.I swallowed hard. They were deliberately provoking him.I was about to speak, but before I could, Lucille interjected.“I don’t think Sebastian is afraid,” she said, feigning concern. “I’m sure he’s just worried his wife will embarrass herself. For all we know, she didn’t even paint those artworks.”My brow arche

Third-Person POV"That bitch! Does she really think she's better than me?!" Lucille spat angrily.Her brows nearly met as rage consumed her. Even now, she couldn't believe that Eloise had outshined her.It wasn’t even a real competition, yet she still couldn't accept losing."Her painting wasn’t even that good! What did Grandpa see in it?!" she fumed, taking a long sip of her wine.Angelo sighed, lounging on the couch. Across from him, his mother, Agatta, sat quietly, listening to Lucille’s rants.They had retreated to a private room, leaving the party guests behind."Relax, Lucille. It was just a friendly competition," Angelo said.Lucille whirled to face him, her glare sharp."Friendly competition? You don't understand, Angelo! I lost! Not just in front of everyone—but to Sebastian and Grandpa!" she blurted.She strode toward them and slumped into a single-seater sofa, crossing her

Eloise’s POVI woke up the next morning with a pounding headache.It wasn’t just my head—my whole body ached.I must have slept on my stomach all night.I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, and the memories of what Sebastian said to me came rushing back.He might as well have called me a paid woman.Was that how low he thought of me? Or maybe… he meant Celeste?But even if that were the case, why did it still hurt this much?I hated how affected I was by his words. More so because they came from him.What I couldn’t understand was why he acted that way.He was sweet one moment, then suddenly cold, throwing cruel words at me.I shook my head and forced myself to get up.I went straight to the bathroom and took a cold shower.By the time I got dressed and peeked out the window, the sun was already high in the sky. No wonder I was starting to feel h

I could barely move properly while trying to entertain the kids. They kept tugging at my mask and sunglasses, curious. Add to that Sebastian’s sharp glares, and it was impossible to relax.I didn’t understand why he seemed so mad at me.“Mrs. Whitmore, can you read this to me?” asked one of the kids. It was Jasmine. I knew her well—I was the one who found her when she was left at the orphanage’s doorstep as a three-month-old baby. Now she was five.She was so young when the first orphanage burned down.I looked at the storybook she was holding. It was about a princess kidnapped by a witch on her first birthday.I hesitated to take it. I’d been trying not to speak too much—if they heard my voice, they might recognize me.“Please, Mrs. Whitmore!” added Bea, who was eight.I exhaled deeply. When it came to them, I just couldn’t say no.I smiled, even though they couldn’t see it. I was about to take the storybook when someone else reached for it first.“Let me do it for you, kids!”I turn