Semua Bab MY POSSESSIVE BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND: Bab 461 - Bab 470

The air in Paris was crisp, carrying the scent of blooming lilacs and freshly baked bread. Yet, as we approached the Société Générale bank, the city's charm was overshadowed by the weight of anticipation. Leon held my hand tightly, his grip a silent reassurance.​Inside the bank, the atmosphere was sterile, the walls echoing with the soft hum of fluorescent lights. A stern-looking clerk led us to the vault, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She paused before a large steel door, inputting a code before turning to us.​"Box 1083," she said, motioning us inside.The room was small, lined with safety deposit boxes of varying sizes. She retrieved ours and placed it on the table before exiting, leaving us alone.​Leon looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "Ready?"I nodded, my heart pounding.He opened the box.Inside, we found a stack of documents with Detailed records of offshore accounts, shell companies, and financial transactions linking my father and Uncle George to Justin

The flight to Zurich was tense. Leon barely spoke, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon outside the private jet’s window. Dorian was on his laptop, going over the intel they had gathered, while I sat quietly, my mind racing.Everything felt like a trap, but it also felt like the moment I had been waiting for—the one where the past and present collided in a blaze of truth and revenge.I turned to Leon. “You’re sure about this?”His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his temple. “I’ve never been more sure. Vincent Leclerc won’t see us coming.”“And when we get there?” I asked, my voice low. “What then?”“We take the drive. We make him pay for everything he’s done. To you, to your family, to everyone he’s destroyed.” Leon’s voice was filled with raw determination, but there was something more in his eyes—a promise of justice that had been a long time coming.I nodded, but doubts swirled in the pit of my stomach. As much as I wanted to destroy Vincent, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he ha

By the time night fell, I was standing in front of the gates of the Ashbourne Estate—my family’s former home.The place looked smaller now. Older. The paint was chipped, the garden overrun. It had been sold after my parents’ deaths, passed from one private owner to another, but Leon’s team had pulled strings, and the current occupant was conveniently out of the country.Still, stepping onto the grounds felt like walking through a graveyard.Leon followed silently behind me, flashlight in hand. “You sure you want to do this tonight?”I nodded. “If Elise’s father ever came back here… if he left something, it’s going to be hidden. I’ll know where to look.”And I did.The moment I stepped into the dusty main hall, memories hit me like a tidal wave. Laughter. The scent of my mother’s perfume. My father’s voice calling me to dinner. I paused, closing my eyes for a long moment, then moved deeper into the house.We headed toward the study.The one room always locked when I was a child. My fat

The emergency lights strobed red across the corridor walls as we sprinted down the sterile passage. My heart pounded in rhythm with the alarm, the locket around my neck thumping against my chest like a second pulse.Leon held tight to the drive, his jaw set, every muscle in his body coiled for a fight. Dorian moved ahead, gun drawn, scanning each turn. Behind us, the footsteps were getting louder—boots, multiple, synchronized.“They’re trained,” Dorian muttered. “Probably private security. Not Elise’s father’s usual crew.”“He brought in outsiders,” Leon said grimly. “He doesn’t care who dies as long as he gets what he came for.”I stopped short at a T-junction. The hallway split—one side dark and narrow, the other marked with a glowing Emergency Exit sign.“Which way?” I asked, breathless.Dorian checked the map on his device, then cursed. “They’re blocking both exit tunnels.”“We can’t let them corner us,” Leon said. “We need a choke point.”“There’s an archive vault,” I said, memor

The storage facility looked almost exactly as I remembered it—though older now, more worn around the edges. Rows of beige units lined the gravel path, each padlocked and still in the steady drizzle of dawn.Unit C-113 sat in the middle of the third row. My heart pounded as we approached, the key slick with rain in my hand. It slid into the lock with an unnerving ease.The door creaked open slowly, revealing the interior cloaked in shadows and dust. Stacks of boxes, covered furniture, and a rusted file cabinet filled the space. I stepped inside, the smell of mildew and time washing over me.Dorian stayed at the entrance, scanning the perimeter. Leon followed me, flashlight beam sweeping the room.“This could take hours,” he murmured.I didn’t care. I needed to see.We sifted through boxes labeled with old handwriting—“Wedding China”, “1989–1995 Taxes”, “Holiday Ornaments”—until Leon stopped suddenly.“Margarette,” he called, pulling aside a tarp.Behind it sat a small, locked safe—bolt