Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Ultimatum Wife: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

The crowd gasped as the golden haired bride to be fled, skirts whispering around her legs, weaving past stunned guests and bewildered servants.Roman stood rooted, his lips still burning from her kiss, his fists clenched at his sides. Fury tangled with confusion, and beneath it all, desire. He had kissed her back. He had wanted it. Needed it.What the hell is happening to me?This wasn’t supposed to happen. He hadn’t married Elena Sinclair to crave her. He hadn’t bound her to him to kiss her like a starving man. No, this union had been punishment, a cage, a lesson in obedience.But the taste of her lingered, and it made his chest ache with something he refused to name.He hated her for it.And yet, God help him, he wanted more.Roman’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing toward the direction she had vanished. Every instinct screamed to chase her, to drag her back, to demand why she ran after kissing him like that.But he hesitated.And in that hesitation, Elena slipped deeper into the

The ballroom glittered as though nothing had happened. Music swelled, laughter rippled across champagne glasses, and chandeliers sparkled like frozen stars. Roman stood at Elena’s side, his hand heavy on her waist, guiding her as if to remind her, she belonged to him, no matter what the rules said.Elena’s lips curved faintly, the perfect mask of a dutiful wife restored, though her pulse thundered beneath her skin. Every step she took felt like walking a tightrope. Behind the east wing’s marble arch, her handiwork lay cooling.And then...A scream.It cut through the music like glass shattering. Heads turned, conversations broke, and the violinist faltered mid note.Another scream followed, sharper, panicked. The crowd rippled, gowns swishing, men craning their necks. A waiter dropped a tray of crystal flutes, the crash drowned by the sound of voices rising.Roman’s hand left Elena’s waist instantly. His posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing in the direction of the east wing corridor

Roman growled low, stepping forward, but Elena’s fingers curled into his lapel again, her drunken whimper halting him. It was enough for Dante to slip back into the dispersing crowd, his laugh echoing like the devil himself retreating into the night.Roman’s chest heaved. He looked down at Elena, her lashes wet, her lips trembling as she whispered his name like a plea. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his expression hard, unrelenting.“You’re mine,” he told her, voice rough, loud enough for anyone still lingering to hear. “And I won’t let anyone take you from me. Do you understand?”She nodded weakly, her drunken mask perfect, though inside she thought. Not even you can hold me forever, Roman.The ballroom’s grandeur had collapsed into ruin. Crystal glasses crunched beneath frantic heels, spilled wine stained marble like blood, and whispers of murder threaded through every huddle of guests. Roman had shut the gala down with a single command, yet silence never truly retur

The officer’s throat bobbed. His lips parted, ready to retort, but the words withered. Roman’s stare was a prison of steel. One wrong syllable and the Captain knew he would become the first casualty of the night.Behind him, Harrow’s guards bristled, their hands twitching near weapons. The scarred one spat on the marble.“You let him walk, and justice dies here.”The Captain’s eyes flicked toward the guards. For a moment, tension trembled in the air again, two forces of power clashing under the police’s fragile authority.“The law is the law,” the Captain snapped finally, louder, his gaze sweeping his own men as much as Harrow’s. “No one raises a weapon tonight. Mr. Thorne and his wife will report to the station tomorrow. That is final.”Roman smiled then, slow and merciless, the expression of a predator humoring the cage around him. He dipped his head once in mock respect.“Wise choice.”He tugged Elena gently toward the car. She leaned into him, feigning limpness, her breath whispe

Elena closed the door of the en suite bathroom behind her and let the silence swallow her whole.She gripped the porcelain sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was disheveled, lips swollen from too many lies, and from that kiss. The woman who looked back at her was not Elena Sinclair, spoiled bride of Roman Thorne. No, this was someone else, the assassin who had walked into a ballroom dripping with diamonds and left it with blood on her hands.And yet she had nearly slipped.Roman’s hand had been seconds away from the dagger. Seconds away from shattering everything she had built. If she hadn’t woken, if instinct hadn’t snapped her alert, she would be ruined.Her pulse thudded against her throat.He suspects.He hadn’t said the words, but she had seen it in his eyes. The way his gaze lingered, not with desire alone, but calculation. He had been studying her like one of his contracts, one of his empires, searching for cracks. And she had given him one.Elena inhaled