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Chapter Nine

Penulis: Scott Franklin
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-11-29 13:12:49

Elena's POV

My phone buzzing on the nightstand startles me awake. I open one eye to glance at the screen. It's a link to a bookmarked industry news site. My stomach twists at the headline: "Underground Report: Blackwood Industries Targeted by Sabotage."

My heart begins to race. I click on the link. The article is short but disturbing. It quotes a company source as stating that there has been a conspiracy to sabotage Blackwood's imminent product launch. It refers to "erroneous materials," "perplexing shortages," and hints that a rival underworld gang would be pleased to see the company's reputation smeared.

I sit up in the dark and read the words again. I'm trembling. I think of Marcellus and his lie, but this is totally different—crime syndicates. I rub my eyes and place the phone on the bedside table.

I toss myself out of bed, slip on yesterday's blouse and a cardigan, and pad barefoot to the study. Dominic's door is closed. I knock gently.

"Dominic?" I whisper.

No answer. I open it
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  • Bound by Contract, Freed by Love   Chapter Thirty

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  • Bound by Contract, Freed by Love   Chapter Twenty Nine

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  • Bound by Contract, Freed by Love   Chapter Twenty Eight

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  • Bound by Contract, Freed by Love   Chapter Twenty Seven

    Elena's POVI woke to my phone buzzing before dawn. The headline on my feed had a sharp edge: “Blackwood Inquiry: Inside Story…Was Ms. Hart Seeking Publicity?” I read it twice. The piece hinted. It did not state. It planted a seed.I felt the old shame like a cold hand. It slid across my skin and made my chest tight. I had lived with that small voice for years — the one that said I did not belong, that I should be quieter. For a moment I wanted to crawl back into the bed and hide.I put the phone down and called Percival.“Percival,” I said when he answered.“Elena,” he said. His voice was already calm. “I saw it.”“Can you be here in thirty?” I asked.“I’ll be there.” He did not ask why.He arrived with two cups of coffee and a folder. He set them on my kitchen table like a neutral intervention. “We deal with facts,” he said. “We do not give them room to make stories.”“How bad is it?” I asked.“It’s a small piece. A columnist wrote a speculative line and a couple of outlets picke

  • Bound by Contract, Freed by Love   Chapter Twenty Six

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  • Bound by Contract, Freed by Love   Chapter Twenty Five

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