บททั้งหมดของ You Are Mine : บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

Bianca’s gaze flicked across the room, her eyes catching the faint tremor in Adrianna’s hand as she set her glass down. That subtle, almost imperceptible break in posture… Bianca noticed it instantly.“You look… off,” Bianca said lightly, her head tilting as she studied Adrianna’s face. “Something happen?”Adrianna’s pulse spiked. The question was too close, too direct. Her mind scrambled, searching for something—anything—that would keep her from uttering the truth. The hospital call replayed in her head, but she couldn’t voice it. Not here. Not in front of them.“I—It’s nothing,” she stammered, her words slipping like sand through her fingers. “Just… a long day.”Bianca’s brows arched, a delicate mask of concern settling over her expression. “Oh? Long days don’t make people look like that. What happened?”Before Adrianna could answer, Adrian’s voice cut through the air like a steady blade.“She had a tragic night,” he said, stepping forward slightly, his gaze settling on his sister.

The sky hangs heavy, cloaked in a blanket of thick gray clouds. The air carries a biting chill, as though the heavens themselves are mourning. The cemetery is a sea of black—long coats, veils, gloves, and polished shoes pressing into damp earth. The scent of wet grass and roses lingers in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of incense that drifts from the priest’s censer.The coffin lies at the center, gleaming dark mahogany framed by sprays of lilies. A dozen men take turns with the shovels, their movements slow and deliberate. Each scoop of earth lands with a muted thud against the coffin lid. Every sound feels like a hammer striking Adrianna’s chest. Her hands tremble, her lips quiver, and without realizing, she leans into Adrian for support. His hand is steady on her back, a quiet anchor in her storm.From the corner of her tear-blurred eyes, she sees him—Lance. He is still, tall and commanding even in grief, dressed in a tailored black designer shirt and trousers that fit him li

“Make your choice, live—and fight me, fight your way to the top or die here… like a coward.”Lance’s words echo mercilessly in Adrianna’s head. Even as she sits in the grand shareholder hall of the Houston Group, her fingers keep clicking the pen in her hand—click, click, click—like a metronome to her unsteady heartbeat.The venue is packed with power. Rows of shareholders in tailored suits and jewel-toned gowns sit beneath the gleam of crystal chandeliers. The long oval conference table at the center is filled with board members, advisors, and attorneys. A massive screen dominates the front wall, currently lit up with bar graphs, pie charts, and glowing numbers.And at the podium—radiating pride and arrogance—stands Wade.“Ladies and gentlemen,” Wade says smoothly, his voice amplified by the microphone, “under my stewardship, Houston Group has experienced a twenty-one percent growth in revenue this quarter, exceeding projections.” He clicks his remote, and the next slide appears—chart

Adrianna gulps down her third shot since stepping into the club. The tequila burns down her throat, leaving behind a bitter sting that does nothing to quench the storm inside her. The bass-heavy music rattles through her bones, lights flashing across the VIP lounge like broken promises. But the fury in her chest is louder than anything the DJ could play.“Careful,” Adrian leans close, his breath brushing her ear. His tone is warm, protective, but worried. “Don’t drink too much, Anna. You’re lightheaded already.”She forces a shaky smile. “I’m fine.”He sits close beside her, his arm a quiet reassurance, while opposite them, Lance and Bianca occupy the leather sofa like a royal pair. Bianca is glowing, satisfied, tucked into Lance’s side. Lance, however, looks carved out of stone—his presence sharp, suffocating, unmovable.Adrianna still can’t believe it. Not only had he dragged Bianca to the dessert table earlier, but now despite the gynecologist waiting for them at the mansion, he’s

The scent of fried bacon drifts through the air before Adrianna even opens her eyes. It’s so strong, so warm, her stomach growls before her feet touch the floor.By the time she walks into the dining hall, the table is already overflowing — baskets of croissants still warm from the oven, stacks of golden pancakes, a platter of smoked salmon and brioche, even bowls of strawberries and blueberries glistening like little jewels. Coffee steams in silver pots. Crystal glasses of orange juice sparkle against the morning sun streaming through the tall windows.It feels less like breakfast and more like a banquet.Adrianna lowers her gaze, quietly slipping into a chair. She reaches for the bacon, taking just two strips, trying not to think about the watchful eyes. They’re always there — maids, relatives, strangers pretending not to stare. Here, every small movement feels judged.Mrs. Vallerand breaks the silence first, her voice sharp but carrying that practiced warmth she uses when the staff