Todos os capítulos de The Ultimatum Wife: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

"Exactly.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the dim glow of her laptop screen as she booted it up. “Think about it. The councilman dead, I’m the bride of Roman Thorne, and suddenly Dante is whispering that we killed him? No one benefits from that narrative except someone who wants us both cornered. If they can trace me as the murderer, they drag Roman down with me.”Jace exhaled a sharp breath. “And if they knew to tie you to it… then this wasn’t random.”“It was never random.” Elena’s nails tapped against the desk. “This was planted. From the beginning.”Her chest tightened with something she didn’t like to name. Vulnerability. The feeling of being a pawn in someone else’s game.“I hate this,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Being boxed in. Someone out there thinks they can pull strings on me, on us.”Jace’s voice steadied. “Then we cut the strings. I’ll start backtracking the contract trail. Whoever posted it, they left a shadow. They always do.”Elena pulled up

The room chilled.He turned fully, disbelief flickering across his features. “Excuse me?”“This wing was abandoned,” she continued, unblinking. “I cleaned it. It’s mine now. A place to breathe when I want to be alone. If you need me and I’m not in the main building, call me. Otherwise, stay out.”Roman stared at her, stunned. His house. His rules. No one had ever dared speak to him like this under his own roof. It was absurd. Silly, even. Yet when his gaze met hers, he saw no jest, no nervous smile, only cool resolve.A long silence stretched between them, tense as a drawn bow.At last, Roman’s mouth curved, half a smirk, half a threat. “You set strange terms for a bride.”“And yet,” Elena replied, her chin lifting slightly, “you always agree in the end.”His jaw ticked. To push her now would mean a fight, and something told him that this woman, fragile mask or not, would not back down. Finally, he gave the smallest nod. “Fine. But remember, Elena, walls have ears. Even abandone

Roman’s mind replayed the staircase. The sway of her hips. The soft, careless compliment that had undone him. You clean up well. She’d said it like it was nothing, while he’d been left wanting, cursing himself for it.He inhaled, long and slow, trying to bury it. But the silence was a trap, and Elena knew it.Finally, her voice cut through, light but deliberate.“Roman,” she said softly, not looking at him, “make sure they don’t keep me waiting too long in there. I’ve no intention of wasting my day listening to men ask foolish questions.”His head turned, slowly, eyes narrowing at her profile. “Make sure?” His voice was silk over steel.“Yes.” She smoothed an imaginary crease from her skirt, her tone breezy. “That’s your job, isn’t it? Protecting me from the vultures.” She finally glanced at him, lashes low. “Surely my husband won’t just sit by and let them harass his bride.”Roman’s fingers flexed on the wheel. “Careful.”“Why?” she tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips.

The moment the station doors opened, the world erupted.Flashes.Questions.Voices clawing over each other like beasts fighting for blood.“Mr. Thorne! Mrs. Thorne! Is it true you were the last ones seen with Councilman Harrow?”“Are you suspects?”“Was it a lovers’ quarrel that turned violent?”“Did the Councilman threaten your marriage contract, Mr. Thorne?”Roman’s hand instantly came up, palm slicing through the air like a blade.The flashbulbs caught the cold gleam in his eyes, the kind of fury that made grown men pause even when they thought they wanted the story.Elena froze half a step behind him, the noise hitting her like a wall of chaos. She blinked into the blinding white lights, her mask of composure settling into place.A soft gasp, a tremble at her lips. The image of the fragile bride.Roman moved in front of her automatically, his body becoming a shield.The crowd of reporters surged forward, microphones thrust out like weapons.“Step back!” His voice cracked through t

Dante’s voice deepened, cruelly calm. “You see, my dear, I know who you are. Not Mrs. Thorne, the beautiful bride society fawns over. Not the misunderstood wife they pity in tomorrow’s papers. No, I know the real you. The one who slips into rooms she doesn’t belong in. The one who kills men like Harrow and walks out smiling.”Her hand clenched around the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white.But her voice, her voice stayed smooth, laced with lazy boredom. “You’ve been drinking again.”“Funny,” he drawled. “That’s what I told the last woman who tried to lie to me. You should’ve seen how that ended.”“Threats?” she asked quietly. “That’s beneath you, Dante. You used to be much more charming.”“Oh, don’t flatter me. I’m not threatening you.” His tone sharpened suddenly, cutting clean through the playfulness. “I’m informing you. I know what you do, Elena Sinclair, or should I say, Specter?”Her breath caught before she could stop it. A small sound, but Dante heard it.He laughed sof