All Chapters of Forced To Be The Billionaire’s Bride: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

Although the funeral was over, Marie's suffering had just begun. Back at the expansive Sanchez mansion, the once-comfortable silence felt oppressive and oppressive. Normally, a hive of activity, the house appeared to hold its breath, reflecting the deep sadness that had descended upon its occupants. Overshadowed by the overwhelming darkness of her grief, the memory of Howard's unexpected appearance and his peculiar gift was a faint, perplexing flicker. The mansion became even quieter as night fell. In order to avoid disturbing the delicate tranquillity or possibly the deep sadness that pervaded every nook and cranny, the staff spoke in low tones and walked on tiptoe. Then, deep in the night when everything outside was shrouded in silence and complete darkness, Marie awoke. She gasped when she woke up, her eyes already stinging from the new wave of tears and her heart racing. She felt extremely alone because the room was completely dark and the silence was deafening. He was in her m

Susann’s mind raced, reliving the events of the day: the startling news, Marie's unfiltered, excruciating screams, the cold, sterile mortuary, the grim finality of the burial and finally Howard's completely perplexing appearance. There could be no peace because every memory was a jagged fragment. The silk sheets were tangled around her as she tossed and turned again. It was too hot on her pillow, then too cold. Her mind refused to stop spinning in a frantic tornado. She made a fruitless attempt to shut her eyes and subdue her thoughts. An image of Marie's teary face or the detective's solemn statement would always wake her up as she was about to nod off. Her bare feet sank into the soft carpet as she got out of bed. Slowly, she made her way to the large window overlooking the well-kept gardens, which were now engulfed by the night's darkness. She stayed there for a while, looking out at the unbreakable blackness with her arms encircling herself. Without knowing about the chaos go

Susann was overcome with a deep sense of fear as she walked out of Howard’s office, the heavy oak door thumping softly behind her. There was a chilling residue that clung to her like a shroud, the cold dread that had seized her in his presence. Even though she now knew that her hands were shaking, they felt clammy, and her heart continued to beat wildly against her ribs. Howard's last words, his terrifying threat, reverberated in her ears: You will die if you even accuse me. Her thoughts were racing as she moved slowly and erratically down the hallway.Normally a source of solace, the mansion's exquisite surroundings felt oppressive now, and the quiet exacerbated her inner turmoil. She was extremely afraid—not only for herself but also for Marie Aaron and the tenuous harmony that had been upended. Now she was at a loss for what to do. Howard had only given her a terrifying warning in exchange for no confession. But even with his fierce denials and his terrifying threats, Susann coul

Detective Miller had been waiting for the breakthrough—the DNA match to Stephen Hart. It was the first tangible indication that something more serious than a straightforward terrible accident was involved. They found a section of the city that the wealthy Sanchez family rarely visits, thanks to their cunning. It was a maze with winding small streets, dilapidated brick structures and abandoned alleys. It was a run-down, unkempt part of the city where the air smelled of stale exhaust fumes and wet concrete and dirt stuck to everything. Detective Miller and a dozen plainclothes detectives and uniformed officers moved with a practised stealth. Stephen Hart's hiding place was located in a run-down apartment complex on the third floor with gloomy and unwelcoming windows. The plan was straightforward: wait, cover all exits and encircle the structure. Without knowing if he was armed or if there were hostages, they couldn't take the chance of a direct attack. The secret was to be patient. W

The air in the interview room had shifted.Stephen Hart sat across from Detective Miller again, this time with his attorney beside him—an older man with thin-rimmed glasses and a weary expression, the kind who had seen too many guilty men try to save themselves too late.A recorder on the table was already running. A representative from the DA’s office leaned against the back wall silently, arms folded. The stakes had officially risen.Detective Miller sat straighter now, his hands clasped calmly in front of him, but his eyes were sharp. “You said you’d talk, Hart. We're listening.”Hart’s jaw clenched, the muscles working beneath his skin. He looked down at his cuffed hands resting on the table, then gave a shallow nod.“I didn’t do it for myself,” he said quietly.“Then who did you do it for?” Miller asked, voice level.Hart raised his eyes and met Miller’s. “I was sent.”“By who?”A long pause stretched. Hart’s lawyer adjusted his glasses but didn’t stop him from speaking. Hart’s v