All Chapters of The Playboy Attorney & His Arranged Wife: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The adrenaline of the press conference had worn off, leaving behind a cold, hollow exhaustion. Back in the sanctuary of the executive penthouse, the silence was deafening. Dianthe kicked off her heels, the plush carpet feeling like a taunt beneath her feet.Garette was out on the terrace, his back to the room as he spoke in low, clipped tones into his phone. He was managing the fallout, spinning the narrative of the "Thorne-Le Brione" merger to the international markets.Dianthe retreated to the bedroom, her stomach doing a slow, nauseous roll. She headed straight for the bathroom, needing to see the test one more time—to make sure the two lines hadn't been a hallucination brought on by stress.She pulled open the vanity drawer and reached under the towels.Her hand met empty space.Her heart stopped. She frantically tossed the linen aside, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The drawer was empty. The small plastic stick, the evidence of her new reality, was gone."Looking for

The pristine, white-walled office of the Swiss notary, Maître Lemaire, was a temple of silence and clinical order. Outside, the gray waters of Lake Geneva lapped against the stone embankments, mirroring the heavy, overcast sky. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old parchment, expensive floor wax, and the sharp, metallic tang of a cold war.Garette stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his silhouette dark and imposing against the alpine backdrop. He hadn't spoken since they entered the room, his jaw set in a line of rigid iron. Behind him, Dianthe sat at a long mahogany table that seemed to stretch for miles. She felt small in the high-backed leather chair, her hand instinctively resting on the slight but firm swell of her stomach. It was her anchor, the only thing in this room of cold legalities that felt real. She watched the heavy oak doors, her pulse a steady, frantic rhythm in her throat.They were expecting a routine hearing—a procedural formality to unfreeze the primar

The fog rolled off Lake Geneva, thick and suffocating, mirroring the labyrinthine web of lies Elena Vance had spun with such calculated malice. It was a gray, heavy morning that seemed to press against the glass of the penthouse suite, threatening to breach the sanctuary Garette had built. While the media outside the hotel remained in a frenzied fever pitch over the "fraudulent heir" scandal, Garette had transformed the opulent living quarters into a cold, clinical war room. He refused to leave Switzerland; he knew that to kill a lie this massive and deep-rooted, he could not simply defend against it. He had to cut it out at the root, ensuring it never found soil to grow in again.But for the first time in his meteoric career, the "Shark" realized the scale of this particular hunt required more than just his own bite. The Thorne legacy was an ancient, sprawling beast, and Elena had successfully agitated every dormant claimant in Europe. To dismantle a conspiracy of this magnitude, Gar

The victory in Geneva had been absolute, a surgical strike that had left the Vance conspiracy in ruins and the Swiss authorities reeling from the sheer scale of the uncovered forgery. However, the legal echoes of such a seismic shift were still vibrating violently across the Atlantic, rattling the floorboards of boardrooms from Wall Street to Houston. Garette Le Brione knew that a victory in court was merely the capture of a territory; the true challenge lay in the occupation and the fortification. Instead of flying directly back to the humid, suffocating heat of the Texas summer, the Le Brione private jet banked sharply North. It pierced through the heavy Atlantic cloud cover and descended into the familiar, gray-stoned elegance of Cambridge, Massachusetts.Garette’s three closest allies—George, Zeon, and Sette—had made a specific, non-negotiable request. They didn’t want to celebrate the destruction of Elena Vance in a sterile hotel bar or a flashy restaurant where their conversatio

The moon hung low over the mountain side, casting a liquid silver path across the gentle swells that lapped at the private stretch of beach at Grandeur Sands Resort. The water was unnaturally still, mirroring the newfound peace that had settled over the group. For the first time in what felt like an eternity—certainly for the first time in over a year—the air surrounding Garette and Dianthe didn't feel heavy with the suffocating weight of legal threats, predatory contracts, or the jagged edges of family secrets that had nearly torn them apart. The salt spray usually stung, but tonight it felt like a baptism, washing away the grit of their shared history.While the rest of the Inner Circle was busy exploring the resort’s high-stakes lounge—a playground of velvet, gold leaf, and the hushed clinking of crystal—Garette had opted for a different kind of luxury. He had arranged a private, candlelit dinner on the sand, far enough from the main complex that the thrum of the house music was re