THE BILLIONAIRE SECRET TWIN HEIR のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 131 - チャプター 140

I barely made it through my apartment door before the tears started. Three days. Three days since the gala, since I'd walked away from both of them on that terrace, and I still felt like I was drowning.The flowers started arriving the next morning. White orchids from Alex. Sunflowers from Austin. Each arrangement more elaborate than the last, as if they were competing even in their apologies. I'd stopped opening the cards after the first day.My phone buzzed constantly. Texts, calls, voicemails I couldn't bring myself to listen to. Nora had threatened to fly in from Chicago if I didn't start answering, but I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready for any of it.The knock at my door came at eight PM on Thursday. Soft but insistent. I considered ignoring it, but something made me look through the peephole.Alex stood in the hallway, still in his work clothes but rumpled, like he'd been running his hands through his hair. He looked... tired. More tired than I'd ever seen him.I opened the door bu

~ Isabella POV ~"You're killing yourself." Tessa's voice cuts through the silence of my apartment like a blade. She's standing in my doorway, holding two cups of coffee and wearing that expression that means she's about to say things I don't want to hear.I don't look up from my laptop screen. "I'm working.""At three in the morning? On a Saturday?" She kicks the door shut behind her and sets one cup on the table next to me. The ceramic clinks against the wood, too loud in the quiet space. "When's the last time you slept?"The question hangs there while I stare at the email I've been typing for the past hour. Something about scheduling a meeting with potential donors. Words that should matter but feel hollow now, like everything else."Isabella."I finally look at her. Tessa's makeup is smudged under her eyes, her usually perfect hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looks like she's been up all night too, probably dealing with some crisis at another event. But she's here, in my apart

Alex's phone cuts through the silence of his office like a blade. He doesn't look up from the acquisition reports spread across his mahogany desk, just reaches for it with one hand while making notes with the other."Walton.""Mr. Walton, it's Leo. Marco Moretti just made contact with your curator."The pen stills in Alex's hand. He sets it down carefully, each movement deliberate and controlled. "When?""Five minutes ago. Outside the gallery. I have photos."Alex's jaw tightens. He's been waiting for this call for weeks, ever since Leo first reported that Isabella's father was in the city. Waiting and watching, like a hunter tracking wounded prey. "Send them to me. Now.""Already done. Sir, it didn't look friendly. She was shaking when he left."Something cold and sharp twists in Alex's chest. He pulls up the photos on his phone, and there she is. His Isabella, pressed against the gallery door like she's trying to disappear into it. The man facing her is thin, desperate-looking, wear

"All of it. But Alex?" I catch his hand as he reaches for his phone. "I'm not choosing you because you're saving me. I'm choosing you because I love you. Because you're giving me the choice at all."The smile that spreads across his face is worth every moment of fear, every sleepless night, every tear I've shed over this nightmare."Then let's end this," he says, and I can hear the predator in his voice again. "Your father is about to learn what happens when someone threatens a Walton."He's already dialing Leo's number, and I know my father's reign of terror is about to come to a very abrupt end. But for the first time, I'm not afraid of what comes next.Because I'm not facing it alone anymore.—Austin pushes through the gallery doors with two cups of coffee and a smile that dies the moment he sees us. Alex and I spring apart like we've been burned, but it's too late. The intimacy of the moment, the way Alex's hands were cradling my face, the tears still drying on my cheeks, it's al

~ Madeline Royce POV ~The coffee shop on Fifth Avenue smells like burnt espresso and desperation. Perfect. I slide into the corner booth, my recorder already running in my purse, and wait for the man who says he has a story worth my time.Marco Moretti looks exactly like what I'd expect from a washed-up art dealer. Expensive suit that's seen better days, manicured hands that shake slightly when he reaches for his coffee cup. The kind of desperation that makes sources either gold mines or complete wastes of my afternoon."Ms. Royce." His voice, probably cultivated for charm back when he could afford charm. "Thank you for meeting me.""You said you had information about Isabella Moretti." I lean forward, notepad ready. "The woman who's got both Walton twins wrapped around her finger."His jaw tightens. "She's my daughter."Bingo. The recorder in my purse practically hums with satisfaction. "And you're here because?""Because she's not who they think she is." He pulls out a worn manila