All Chapters of The Ultimatum Wife: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

Elena’s answer was a kiss, slower this time, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as a quiet smile curved against his mouth.The sharp edge she carried everywhere softened in his presence, melting into something gentler, something she rarely allowed herself to feel.Roman guided her toward the bed, his movements unhurried, every step heavy with unspoken promises. When they sank down together, Elena felt warmth rush to her cheeks, and she briefly hid her face against his chest.He chuckled softly. “You’re still adorable when you’re flustered.”She lifted her head, eyes warm and shining. “Don’t ruin the moment.”“I wouldn’t dare.”He took his time easing her out of her dress, fabric whispering to the floor.His lips followed, pressing slow kisses along her bare skin, from her chest down to her stomach, lingering just enough to make her breath hitch.Elena’s fingers curled around herself, a soft, instinctive touch as sensation built.Roman’s hands followed, deliberate and reverent, and

Marcus’s fist slammed into the counter.“I paid for it,” he growled. “I paid in blood. In bone. In identity.”Evan’s voice softened. “And now you’re back… expecting what? Forgiveness? Recognition?”Marcus straightened slowly, the alcohol burning through his veins like fuel instead of sedation.“I expect her to remember who she was with me,” he said coldly. “Who she became. Before Roman. Before safety. Before comfort.”Evan stared at him. “You’re not trying to get her back.”Marcus lifted his gaze, something unhinged flickering there.“I’m trying to remind her,” he said. “That she was never meant to belong to a man like Roman.”Evan swallowed. “This ends badly.”Marcus picked up the bottle again, pouring another drink.“It already did,” he said. “Years ago.”He took a slow sip, eyes distant, fixed on a memory that refused to stay buried.“And I didn’t survive all of that,” he added quietly, “to watch her choose someone else.”The bottle lowered.His hand steadied.Resolve replaced the

Marcus leaned back in his chair, chest heaving, sweat dampening his shirt. His hands shook once before he clenched them into fists.“You’re fast,” he breathed, staring at the screen. “Faster than I expected.”A slow, humorless smile crept across his face.“But not fast enough.”He wiped his hands on his jeans and leaned forward again, rebuilding firewalls even as he spoke under his breath.“You shouldn’t have started this, Elena.”Because now he knew.She was awake.She was suspicious.And she was hunting.Marcus cracked his neck, eyes hardening as the last of the panic bled away and something colder took its place.If Elena wanted answers, he’d make sure she found exactly what he wanted her to see.And next time?He wouldn’t be reacting.He’d be ready.Meanwhile, deep inside the Thorne estate, Elena’s calm finally cracked.“Son of a...”Her fingers flew across the keyboard, screens reflecting sharp light across her face as lines of code collapsed in on themselves. One firewall fell.

Across town, Senator Vauxhaul stood in his study, jacket draped over the back of a chair, tie loosened, expression carved from irritation and ambition. He had been watching the news cycle shift all week, watching Elena Sinclair’s name fade from suspicion and begin its slow rehabilitation.He didn’t like it.His phone buzzed.Mrs. Harrow.He answered with a measured calm that didn’t touch his eyes. “You’re calling earlier than planned.”“They’re covering for her,” Mrs. Harrow said, venom sharp in every syllable. “Your precious systems. Your careful delays. It’s not enough.”The senator exhaled slowly. “We agreed on pressure, not chaos.”“My detective is gone,” she hissed. “And I will not be patient while they erase my husband.”A beat.Then Vauxhaul’s voice hardened. “What did you do.”“I moved,” she said simply. “You should do the same.”He closed his eyes briefly, already calculating the fallout. “If you’ve triggered what I think you have...”“Then you’ll finally get results,” Mrs.

The door opened without a sound.Not a creak.Not a click.Just the quiet surrender of a lock that had already been defeated.The first man slipped inside, gun raised, movements precise and unhurried. The bedroom lights were low, shadows pooling thick in the corners. The bed dominated the space, a figure beneath the covers, still and unsuspecting.Target acquired.He lifted two fingers and gestured once.The second man entered, already scanning. His gaze flicked to the bed, then to the bathroom door, then to the open walk in closet.Movement.The faint rustle of fabric.The first man adjusted course instantly.“Not the target,” he murmured, voice barely air.Roman Thorne stood inside the closet, pulling on a shirt, back half turned, mind still on the woman he believed was waiting for him in bed.He sensed it a split second too late. The shift in the air. The pressure. The instinct that screamed danger.He turned... and saw black.A figure lunged out of the shadows.Roman reacted on re