All Chapters of Breaking The Spotlight: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

The elevator ride to the tenth floor felt different than it ever had before. Luna used to avoid this wing entirely. Vega’s wing. His domain. His kingdom, if you asked him, but now the hall was empty, silent, stripped of the energy he used to poison the air with. Power has a sound, everyone who’s ever lived under someone else’s reign knows that. Today, the silence felt louder.Luna exhaled slowly as she stepped out. Her boots clicked against the dark marble floors in a rhythmic echo that followed her all the way to his old glass office.The door was unlocked. That alone felt like a ghost exhaling.She pushed it open and paused. The room looked wrong. Too bare. Too exposed. The desk was cleared, shelves empty, walls naked where awards and photographs used to hang. Vega used to pack every inch of space with proof of his own greatness. Now, he was gone. All that was left was a hollowed-out room, no shadow, no threat, just a shell.Luna didn’t realize her hand was trembling until she reach

Steam curled beneath the bathroom door, rolling into the master suite in soft waves. Adrian was still in the shower, the low rumble of water against tile echoing like a private storm. Luna moved quietly through the penthouse, barefoot, hair tied up, heart racing in a way no spotlight, no crowd, no performance had ever made it race.Her hands trembled, but not from fear. From anticipation. From love. From the kind of life-shifting moment she had never dared to picture for herself.The dining table was already set.She had spent the last hour preparing everything Adrian adored, grilled lamb seasoned exactly the way he liked it, garlic butter prawns, roasted baby potatoes, sautéed vegetables, warm baked bread, and a rich red wine breathing beside the centerpiece. It looked like a feast meant for royalty.Because it was, and in the center of the table, between the plates, positioned exactly where his eyes would land first wad a small white box wrapped in silver

Los Angeles didn’t just shimmer at night. It strutted. It flaunted. It demanded to be seen. And tonight, it bowed, because Valerie Sinclair was back.The door, to the Ferrari Roma, opened, and the air shifted, not with sound, not with movement, but with silent recognition. Paparazzi didn’t dare flash cameras here; the Global Fashion Council’s annual summit was sacred ground, invitation-only, reputation-protected. But whispers still broke like sparks along the entrance as Valerie stepped out.Black velvet gown. Structured shoulders sharp enough to wound ego. Diamonds dripping down her spine like captured constellations. A face sculpted for magazine covers and boardroom victories.Valerie didn’t walk.She arrived.Two years ago she’d left the U.S. after annihilating every major fashion house in Paris, Milan, Tokyo, and Seoul. Two years of expansion, domination, and evolution. And now, finally, she was the youngest fashion billionaire in global history.Tonight wasn’t a return. It was a

Sebastian Hart’s gaze didn’t waver, not once. It was the same calm, piercing look that had once undone her completely, the same eyes that could see through every carefully constructed wall she had built over seven long years.“Someone is framing me,” Valerie whispered, her voice tight, brittle, yet sharp enough to cut glass.Hart’s jaw tightened. “Framing you?” His voice dropped, serious, low, dangerous. “Valerie, if anyone thinks they can touch you, they’re about to find out what that really means.”She stared at him, every nerve on fire. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just someone leaking rumors. This is a full-scale attack. On my empire. On me. On you, by proxy.”His lips twitched in that infuriating, half-smile. “On me?”“Yes, on you, too.” Her voice hit a growl. “Because this partnership? They expect us to crumble in the public eye, and if they succeed, it’ll be catastrophic.”Hart’s eyes darkened, the kind of storm that had made her knees go weak years ago. “Then we make them reg

Sebastian Hart moved through the vaulted glass lobby of Hartstone Agency like a predator on a mission. The polished floors reflected his sharp Oxfords, the angular cut of his suit, the meticulous control he exuded. Cameras tracking arrivals, assistants hovering, phones buzzing, butcnone of it distracted him. He had always been the storm behind the glass. Unseen, unshakable, untouchable.His office awaited, perched on the forty-second floor, panoramic view of L A stretching into a gold-tinged horizon, but the city below, glittering, chaotic, hungry, was nothing compared to the storm that brewed behind his eyes. He had returned from a business trip hours ago, and the echoes of Eclipse, of Valerie, of the conversation that had left both of them unshaken yet electrified, still hovered in the air around him.He let the elevator doors close with a soft chime and exhaled, a controlled release that betrayed nothing. Everything in his world had a place, a purpose, a schedule. Everything except