All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Ethan POVThe road to the hospital felt too narrow for the rage tearing through me.My hands clenched the steering wheel so hard my knuckles burned white, veins bulging as every memory of Claire’s hollow eyes and cracked lips replayed on a vicious loop. My jaw was locked tight, teeth grinding as if holding back a scream—or a confession I’d buried for too long. Sylvester Monroe had crossed a line carved in blood. There was no undoing what he’d done.Traffic lights blurred past. Red. Green. Red again. Every second felt stolen, every breath heavy with violence waiting to be unleashed. I barely registered the speedometer climbing or the sharp honk of another car swerving out of my way. All I could see was Claire on that hospital bed. Frail. Silent. Broken by the same man who had broken my mother.By the time I screeched into the hospital parking lot, my chest felt too tight to breathe.I didn’t bother shutting the car door properly. It slammed behind me as I sprinted inside, my footsteps

Amelia POVThe days after the chaos blurred into a strange, fragile calm, like the quiet after a storm that hadn’t truly passed. I was still in the hospital, but no longer trapped between life and death. My body felt weaker than before, yet stronger too, as if survival itself had hardened something inside me. The doctors said I could be discharged today. Their words should have felt like freedom, but instead, they filled me with a restless unease I couldn’t name.Ethan sat beside my bed, his presence steady and warm. One of his hands held mine, his thumb brushing slow circles against my skin as if anchoring me to the moment. Luke lay curled against my legs, his small body heavy with sleep, his fingers clutching the hem of my gown. Every now and then, he shifted, murmuring softly, and my heart tightened painfully at how safe he looked right now. Safe because Ethan was here. Safe because Sylvester wasn’t.I stared at the ceiling, listening to the machines hum, while memories of last nig

Ethan POVSomething was different about Claire.I noticed it almost immediately, though I couldn’t put a name to it. It wasn’t something obvious—she wasn’t cold or distant, not exactly. She smiled when Luke talked, laughed softly at his jokes, thanked me when I brought her tea or adjusted her pillows. But there was a tightness behind her eyes, a guarded stillness that hadn’t been there before. Like she was holding a door shut inside herself, terrified of what might burst through if she let it open.I told myself it was normal. She’d almost died. She’d been hurt by Sylvester. Anyone would change after that.Still, the feeling gnawed at me.She watched me more closely now. Not suspiciously—no, it was worse than that. Thoughtfully. Like she was studying me, measuring me against something she hadn’t yet voiced. When our eyes met, she didn’t look away, but she didn’t relax either. It made my chest feel tight in a way I couldn’t explain.I wanted to ask her what was wrong.But I didn’t.Bec

Sylvester POVPower has a sound.Most people think it’s loud—gunshots, shouting, chaos. They’re wrong. Real power hums quietly beneath the skin, steady and controlled, like a blade sliding free from its sheath. That was the sound filling my ears as night crept over the city and my plans slid into motion.I didn’t sleep.Sleep was for men without enemies.I sat in the dark of my penthouse, city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, my reflection fractured in the glass. The man staring back at me looked older than he should have. Lines etched deep around my mouth, eyes sharp but tired. A king nearing the end of his reign—but kings did not step aside quietly. They were dragged down, screaming, or they burned the world before surrendering the crown.I chose fire.My phone buzzed again. One vibration. Controlled. Deliberate.“Status,” I said when the call connected, my voice smooth despite the tension coiling beneath my ribs.“He’s reacting,” my contact replied. “Just like

Amelia POVThere was a storm coming.Not the kind you could see on the horizon or smell in the air, but the kind that lived in silences, in pauses stretched too long, in conversations that ended before they truly began. I felt it every time Ethan’s jaw tightened just a fraction too much, every time his eyes lingered on nothing and everything at once.The city moved as usual—cars honking, people laughing, life continuing—but beneath it all, something was coiling, waiting.Sylvester.He wasn’t loud about his moves. That was what made him dangerous. But Ethan was quieter still, and watching him these past weeks had been like watching a chessboard where only one player understood the rules. To the outside world, it looked like Ethan was losing ground—scrutiny from the board, whispers in the media, subtle shifts in loyalty.But I lived with him. I saw the truth.I saw how he planned in the margins of the night, how he reread reports not once but three times, how he cross-checked informatio