I Became the Billionaire's Fake Lover to Get My Revenge

Daniel stepped out of Anna’s room and immediately shot his boss a sharp, disapproving glare. "Did you really have to use such a cruel method on her? She could barely calm down! She’s been crying for hours!" William didn’t even spare him a glance. His dark eyes remained fixed on the closed door, his fingers interlaced under his chin as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

After their visit to the crematorium, Anna had been as pale as a ghost the entire ride back to the hospital. But William had dismissed it as another necessary shock—one she had to endure if she was ever going to strengthen her resolve.

Yet, the moment she stepped out of the car, her legs buckled beneath her, and she nearly collapsed onto the pavement. It had taken Daniel and a nurse hours to soothe her frayed nerves, to coax her out of her state of despair.

"I know you’re listening," Daniel pressed on, looming over William, his voice tight with frustration. "She was getting better, but you just had to break her all over again! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

William didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, he stood abruptly and strode toward Anna’s room, pushing the door open before locking it behind him.

Anna flinched at the sudden intrusion, her body tensing as she instinctively pulled the blanket higher, clutching it to her chest. She could hear the quiet rustle of fabric as someone settled beside her on the bed.

"Anna."

William’s voice was low, steady—strangely calm. There was something else in it too, something softer. Maybe even... affectionate?