All Chapters of Forced To Be The Billionaire’s Bride: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

Weeks passed, days melted, and gradually, almost imperceptibly, the magnificent Sanchez home started to hum with a familiar rhythm again. Two young maids, Elena and Clara, were carefully polishing the marble floor in the grand foyer where a gigantic chandelier dripped crystal tears from the vaulted ceiling. Elena said in a whisper I'll get it as though she didn't want to break the delicate silence. She walked quickly and lightly as she hurried to the library. “Hello," she said in a clear, courteous voice with a hint of curiosity. “This is the Sanchez residence.” There was a heavy silence that lingered on the line for a short while, full of meaning that could not be expressed. Elena's brow furrowed slightly as she scowled. The silence was then broken by the deep, gravelly voice of a man. Then she recognised it: Detective Miller, the man who had been in and out of the mansion so often during the recent unrest. “Good morning, young lady”, the detective's voice growled, lacking th

The hours that followed Aaron's icy quiet were a haze of private fear and deep sorrow. Marie stayed on the couch, her quiet sobs now broken by infrequent, broken whimpers. Aaron, after finally dropping the phone with a clatter, had sunk to the floor beside her, his face buried in his hands. The doorbell rang in the late afternoon, a firm but courteous sound that broke the stifling silence. Everyone was aware of the identity. With his face still drawn and pale, Aaron got up from the ground. His steps were heavy as he approached the front door, which he opened to reveal Detective Miller. The detective, a tall commanding man in a dark suit, stood on the doorstep. His normally stern face was softened by a deeply sympathetic expression. With a solemn nod toward Aaron, he expressed a silent comprehension of the agony that now engulfed the home. “Mr. Sanchez,” said the detective in a low, dignified voice. “I sincerely apologise for having to be present in these circumstances.” Unable to

Aaron woke up abruptly from his nap in an armchair in Marie's room. With a hurried response, his voice was still rough from worry and sleep. Detective Miller was the one. “Mr. Sanchez,” the investigator said in a firm but kind tone. “I understand that you and Marie must visit the city mortuary today, even though I know this is extremely difficult. You must identify the body of your father-in-law. This step is essential.”Aaron's abdomen tightened. It was a terrible idea to consider seeing his father in that state, dead. He glanced at his sister, who was stirring, her face drawn and pale and wondered how she could possibly bear it. There was no way he could protect her from this. It was an unpleasant but inevitable aspect of their new world. Aaron said, “We’ll be there” in a quiet yet determined tone. After hanging up, he gently explained their next course of action to Marie. The mention of the mortuary caused Marie's already full eyes to well up with more tears. There was a solemn,

Aaron stood across the street from the elegant brownstone home of Clement Denton, the longtime neighbour and godfather to Marie. The late afternoon sun reflected off the windows, but all Aaron could see was the shadow of suspicion cast by Detective Miller’s file.Clement wasn’t a suspect because he had a motive. He was a suspect because he had proximity and a complicated history with the victim.Aaron crossed the quiet street and rang the bell.A housekeeper answered and gave him a curious look. “Yes?”“I need to speak with Mr. Denton. Tell him Aaron Sanchez is here,” he said firmly.Minutes later, Clement appeared, slightly startled by the unannounced visit but still managing his usual calm demeanour.“Aaron,” he said, opening the door wider. “Come in. Is everything all right?”“No,” Aaron replied flatly as he stepped inside. “It’s about Richard.”They moved into the study, the same place Marie had spent so many childhood afternoons — back when life felt simpler and trust hadn’t shat

Detective Miller dropped heavily into his seat at the precinct, the weight of exhaustion pulling at his shoulders. The clock on the wall read 12:43 a.m., but it felt later. Across from him, Detective Davies let out a long sigh, running a hand over his face.“I’ve seen a lot of liars in my time,” Davies muttered, “but Kara Thompson isn’t one of them. Not this time.”Miller didn’t respond at first. He stared at the open file on the desk between them, filled with notes from the interrogation, still photos from the security cameras, and Kara’s custody records.“She’s been locked up for weeks,” Miller finally said. “No contact with the outside world. No phone, no letters, no visitors. If someone killed Richard Carter, it wasn’t her.”“Then someone wanted us to think it was,” Davies added. “Someone who knew her history with Marie and counted on the connection drawing our attention.”Miller nodded slowly. “It almost worked. But Kara was surprised. She didn’t fake that reaction. She was scare