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Chapter Ninety-Five
Last Updated:
2025-11-07 14:50:10
Latest chapter
The Lost Heiress’s Glorious Return Chapter One Hundred - The End of One Journey
Isabella’s POVMonths had passed since Paris, filled with steady steps and quiet victories, and I could finally breathe without reservation. Life had settled into a rhythm I had longed for but once doubted I could sustain, a balance of purpose and pleasure, work and stillness, ambition and peace. The companies I now managed were thriving under my guidance, each success a quiet affirmation that I had not only survived but reclaimed the pieces of myself that had once been lost. Leadership, I realized, was not about dominance or control; it was about clarity, vision, and presence. I had both now.Today, however, was not about business. It was about celebration, about Mia, whose laughter and warmth had always anchored me, and whose dream had finally taken form. She had opened a bakery-café in the heart of the city, a place that smelled of fresh bread, caramelized sugar, and hope. The unveiling promised excitement, but I approached it with quiet joy, not nerves.Walking into the café, I wa
The Lost Heiress’s Glorious Return Chapter Ninety-Nine
Damon’s POVParis had a way of making everything feel both larger and smaller than life. I had arrived for business, meetings stacked back-to-back, deals that demanded precision and focus. But the city’s pulse… it reminded me that precision alone couldn’t account for the heart’s unrest.I stepped out of the small hotel lobby into the crisp afternoon air, briefcase in hand, mind preoccupied with figures, charts, and schedules. That’s when I saw them.Two women at a café, sunlight falling gently across the table, their laughter blending with the murmur of the city. My chest tightened in a way I hadn’t expected, Isabella. Sitting there, relaxed, radiant even in simplicity. Mia was beside her, like the perfect complement, anchoring her presence with quiet warmth.For a heartbeat, I thought it must be someone else, a trick of light or memory. But no there was no mistaking her.She hadn’t seen me yet. I lingered for a moment, drinking in the scene. The way she moved, unguarded, entirely he
The Lost Heiress’s Glorious Return Chapter Ninety-Eight
Isabella’s POVWeeks had passed since the charity event, and Paris waited for us like a secret kept just for the two of us.Mia and I had both agreed that a break was overdue weeks of quiet, purposeful healing deserved a reward, and there was no better place than the city we had long whispered about in passing dreams. The city of light, of art, of pastries that melted like little pieces of heaven, of streets that promised discovery. For the first time in years, I allowed myself the luxury of anticipation without fear, without expectation, without the weight of anyone else’s story pressing on me.We flew first-class, of course not out of extravagance, but because I could. The comfort suited this chapter of my life. Mia’s eyes sparkled at the plush seats, the clink of silverware, the aroma of fresh coffee, and the muted hum of the cabin. I laughed at her delight, the sound light and unburdened.“Is this really life?” she asked, settling into her seat as if it had been waiting for her
The Lost Heiress’s Glorious Return Chapter Ninety-Seven
Isabella’s POVPeace is not a place you reach.It is something you keep choosing.Morning light came slowly, slipping through the curtains in soft, warm lines. I woke not from fear or memory, but simply because the day had arrived. My breath flowed steadily, untouched by dread.The ceiling was familiar, yet I was not the same woman who once stared up at it waiting for something to break. I stretched, letting the quiet settle around me. Not the tense quiet of vigilance—just… calm.This house no longer felt like a refuge or a hiding place. It had softened into home. The air was light. The silence is warm. Nothing pressed against me.Just morning.Just breathe.Just being.I slipped on a cardigan and stepped onto the porch. The plants along the railing were catching the first touch of sunlight mismatched pots, uneven soil, leaves still learning how to reach.I lifted the watering can and poured slowly. The soil deepened in color; the leaves lifted toward the light. I remembered planting
The Lost Heiress’s Glorious Return Chapter Ninety-Six
Damon’s POVRedemption is silent. Growth is private.Morning arrives calmly now. Not as an escape. Not as an apology. Just… morning.Soft light stretches across the living room floor, touching the edges of furniture I no longer arrange to impress anyone. My home is no longer a stage. It is simply a place where I live. A plant rests on the windowsill, its leaves reaching toward the light. I remember to water it now. I remember to care.The kettle hums softly as I make coffee. Slow. Unrushed. I used to rush everything conversations, decisions, and healing. I wanted to run past myself. Now I understand: nothing grows by force. Not a company. Not a marriage. Not a man.I stand at the window, hand wrapped around the warm cup, watching the street below. People move with purpose. Cars pass. The world continues and I no longer feel like I’m sprinting to keep up with it.Peace used to feel like emptiness. Now it feels like breath.Work comes more gently too.The company is smaller now, by choi
The Lost Heiress’s Glorious Return Chapter Ninety-Five
Isabella’s POVPeace is not an arrival, it is a practice.Morning light filtered through the curtains in slow, golden ribbons. The kind of light that didn’t demand attention, it simply existed. Warm. Patient. Steady. I woke without bracing myself, without scanning the room for a threat. Just… waking. As though my body had finally relearned softness.The house was quiet in the way homes are when they’re lived in, not abandoned.A gentle humming drifted from the kitchen. Mia’s voice. Not singing remembering. A tune with no words, but full of peace.I slipped on a sweater and walked down the hallway. The framed photograph of my family hung along the passage, not as an altar, not as a wound simply a part of my life. I touched the frame lightly, acknowledging love, not loss, then continued.Mia stood by the stove, hair gathered loosely, sleeves pushed to her elbows. The air smelled like cinnamon and warm bread. A scent that felt familiar without sorrow.She looked up. “Morning.”Her voice
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