All Chapters of My arranged marriage : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Ray Maverick The rain had started again, soft at first, then heavier, tapping against the windows like impatient fingers demanding attention. The city below glowed beneath it—restless and alive, unaware that somewhere above its streets, I was about to confront the very man who had pulled every string in the chaos of our lives. I stood alone in the shadows of the abandoned warehouse overlooking the docks. The place reeked of damp concrete and old betrayal. My Glock was loaded, steady in my grip, the weight of it a grim comfort. This wasn’t about revenge anymore. This was about justice. For Emma. For Lucas. For myself. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. A message from Emma. Be careful. I love you. I closed my eyes for a beat, letting her words settle the storm inside me. Then I tucked the phone away and moved forward. Footsteps echoed ahead. He was here. Moreau stepped into the open space beneath the rusted ceiling beams, flanked by two of his remaining men. He looked al

Ray Maverick The morning after Moreau’s arrest was deceptively quiet. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hospital waiting room, watching the city breathe under a golden sunrise. It was the kind of view that used to make me feel powerful. In control. Now, all I felt was a strange weight in my chest—something between relief and remorse. Emma was with Lucas, who was still unconscious but stable. They’d rushed him into surgery the second we arrived. I wanted to be in there with him, wanted to watch over the man who had risked everything to help me tear down Moreau’s empire—but I knew he wouldn’t want me hovering. He’d told me once that silence was its own kind of loyalty. I never understood what he meant until now. The hallway behind me echoed with the soft sounds of nurses and machines beeping in the distance. I could feel eyes on me—hospital staff, security, even the few reporters who had gotten wind of what happened last night. None dared approach. Not yet. I le

Ray Maverick The boardroom smelled like polished oak, espresso, and tension. It had been twenty-two hours since Moreau’s death. Twelve since Lucas came out of surgery. And barely five since I held Emma in my arms and let the weight of everything crash into me like a hurricane. Now I stood at the head of Maverick Global’s boardroom table, staring down the remaining members of my executive team. Some loyal. Some opportunistic. All of them waiting to see what I’d do next. And I wasn’t in the mood to play games. “As of this morning,” I said, voice steady but firm, “all accounts connected to Jacques Moreau and his shell companies have been frozen. Legal is pursuing embezzlement charges, and any board member discovered to be complicit in the siphoning of funds will be held criminally liable.” A few members shifted uncomfortably in their seats. “I’m not here to rebuild what was broken,” I continued. “I’m here to build something better. More transparent. More accountable.” “Ra

Emma Watson The sunrise looked different from Ray’s penthouse. Softer, maybe. Less like a warning and more like a promise. The city below still pulsed with its usual noise—horns, sirens, the buzz of lives continuing—but up here, wrapped in Ray’s arms beneath his crisp sheets, everything felt still. It was the first time in days I’d slept through the night without waking in a panic. The first time I hadn’t dreamed of gunfire or blood. Ray was already awake, propped up on one elbow, eyes on me like he was memorizing every freckle. He didn’t say anything. Just watched. “Staring’s a little creepy,” I murmured, voice scratchy from sleep. He smiled. “You’re beautiful when you sleep.” I laughed, ducking my face into the pillow. “Liar.” He leaned in, brushing a kiss to my cheek. “Not even a little.” It still surprised me sometimes—how gentle he could be. After everything. After Moreau. After Benita. After that final shot that silenced the war but left so many bruises in it

Ray Maverick The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only thing grounding me. I stood at the edge of Lucas’s hospital bed, my fists clenched and shoulders tight. He was alive—barely. Tubes snaked into his arms, and bruises marred the side of his face. It should’ve been me lying there. He took the bullet meant for me. Guilt was a quiet, gnawing thing, but now it roared like a beast inside my chest. I hadn’t slept. I couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Moreau’s smirk, Benita’s last breath, Emma’s wide eyes as she fought to save Lucas while I wrestled a man I’d once called a mentor. It should’ve ended with closure. Instead, it ended in blood. I ran a hand through my hair and turned away from the bed. The hospital hallway was quiet this time of night. Emma had gone to grab coffee, but I knew she was just giving me space. She’d seen it—the way I froze when the nurse updated us, the look on my face when Lucas slipped into unconsciousness. She hadn’t said it out lou