FORCED TO MARRY THE RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE IN 9 DAYS

###CHAPTER 13-HER OWN PLACE

Two months passed.

The brownstone was ready.

Caspian didn't just buy Margaret Alvarez a house. He built her a home.

Three blocks from his penthouse, just like he promised. A beautiful cream-colored brownstone with a small garden in front — exactly like Elena said her mother always dreamed of. Ground floor bedroom so Margaret wouldn't need stairs. Big windows so she could see the sun. A kitchen with low counters so she could cook sitting down while she finished recovering.

And a plaque by the door that said: *ALVAREZ HOUSE - Built with love by her son, Caspian.*

When Margaret saw it, she cried for an hour.

"You didn't have to," she told Caspian, hugging him in her walker.

"I had to," Caspian said simply. "You raised my queen. You deserve a palace."

Elena cried even more. She had spent 24 years watching her mother Margaret struggle in a tiny apartment, working double shifts, getting sick because she couldn't afford a doctor. Now her mother had her own place, paid in full, with a private nurse and a gardener and a driver.

Rowen Sterling came to the housewarming and gave Margaret a check for $1 million. "For your garden," he said gruffly, but everyone knew Rowen was now obsessed with Margaret's recovery too. He visited her every day after The Langford Private Clinic discharge.

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After Margaret moved into her own place, Caspian became even more obsessed with Elena.

Not in a scary way. In a husband way. In a man-who-almost-lost-his-wife-twice way.

He took care of his wife like she was made of glass and gold at the same time.

Every morning, before his 7 AM board meeting, he woke up at 5:30 AM to make breakfast for her. The ruthless billionaire who had never cooked in his life learned how to make pancakes, avocado toast, and her favorite — Margaret's soup — badly but with love.

"Eat," he would say, sitting next to her in bed, feeding her himself. "You didn't eat enough last night."

"Caspian, I can feed myself," Elena laughed.

"I know," he said, kissing her forehead. "But I want to."

He did not want to leave her side. Not for a minute.

If he had a meeting, he would video-call her in between. If he had to travel to Boston for Sterling Industries, he would finish in 3 hours what used to take him 2 days and fly back same night. He cancelled all late dinners. He told his assistant: "If it's not about Elena or Margaret or Rowen, it can wait."

And when he got time alone with her — when Margaret was safe in her new brownstone with her nurse, when Rowen was gone, when the penthouse was finally quiet — he was all hers.

He held her, kissed her, loved her like every minute alone was their first and last. He worshipped her body like she was his queen. He told her she was beautiful, that he couldn't believe how lucky he was, that a beautiful woman like her chose him.

Elena had never been cherished like this. After years of being invisible, being called poor, being pushed into a pool at a party, now she was seen.

At night she would fall asleep on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, his arms locked around her like a cage made of love.

"Caspian," she whispered one night, half asleep, "you're too obsessed."

"I know," he whispered back, not letting go. "I watched you almost drown. I watched someone try to kill your mother Margaret in her hospital bed at The Langford. I will never not be obsessed. You are my life, Elena. My official wife. My everything."

And Elena smiled into his chest, safe.

For the first time, she didn't want him to be less obsessed.

She wanted him exactly like this.

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