Semua Bab Billionaire Bentley's runaway princess: Bab 281 - Bab 290

Bentley’s hand came to rest on Nova's back, silently urging her to move. His jaw was clenched, his expression stoic though the tension in his frame was evident. The guards around them shifted into position, forming a protective wall as Bentley gently guided Nova toward the exit. Her steps faltered, her wide eyes darting back to the scene behind her, the chaos refusing to fade from her mind.Keon, standing a few feet away, pulled out his phone with trembling hands. His face was a mask of worry and guilt, his lips pressed tightly together as he dialed the number he never thought he would call in a situation like this.The line clicked, and his mother’s familiar voice came through, soft and unsuspecting. "Keon, is everything alright?""Mom…" Keon’s voice cracked, and he turned away from the lingering crowd, his free hand raking through his hair as panic seeped into his tone. "It’s Savannah. She’s—" He paused, squeezing his eyes shut as though trying to will the words out. "She’s been sho

Outside the courthouse, the chaos was deafening. The press swarmed like vultures, their cameras flashing incessantly, microphones thrust forward in an effort to capture any stray word. Reporters shouted questions over each other, their voices blending into an unintelligible frenzy.“Mr. Bentley, what are your thoughts on Savannah Anderson’s sentencing? Do you think justice was served?”“Nova! How do you feel knowing Savannah will be in prison for 25 years?”“Do you fear any repercussions from the Anderson family?”Bentley’s hand tightened protectively around Nova’s waist as they navigated the throng of reporters. His jaw was set, his face unreadable, but the tension in his body spoke volumes. Nova kept her gaze down, her expression muted but clearly overwhelmed. She clung to Bentley’s side, her fingers digging lightly into his arm as the barrage of questions continued.“We won’t be making any statements,” Bentley said curtly, his voice carrying enough authority to silence the crowd mo

The cold stone walls of the cell were unforgiving, just as the world outside had been. Savannah sat on the hard cot, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and stale air. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt warmth—real warmth, not the kind that burned from the inside, threatening to tear her apart. Her face was swollen, the result of her latest fight. Her right eye was nearly shut, a purple bruise spreading across her temple like ink spilled on paper. The lump on her cheekbone, ugly and throbbing, made her feel like she was wearing her failure for all to see.She reached up, gingerly touching the tender skin, wincing at the pain. Her fingers traced the edges of the bruise as if trying to understand the depth of her humiliation. Her reflection in the small, grimy mirror above the sink only served to remind her of what she’d become—once a force to be reckoned with, now a broken mess locked away in the dark. She barely recognized herself.The harsh lights above flickered o

The air inside the courtroom was heavy with anticipation. Everyone had gathered—Bentley, Nova, Austin, Chloe, Chelsea, and most importantly, Franco, whose tense posture and tight grip on the arms of his chair betrayed his emotions. His mother, Lucia, sat at the defendant’s table, her usual poise strained beneath the gravity of the moment.Judge Williams entered, her presence commanding immediate silence."All rise," the bailiff announced, and the room stood as the judge took her seat."Court is now in session," she declared, her voice firm but measured.Everyone resumed their seats, but the tension remained.The prosecution was the first to present its case, citing Lucia’s illegal acquisition of a firearm and her decision to discharge it in a public setting. The state attorney emphasized that no matter the circumstances, owning and using an unregistered weapon was a criminal offense."The fact remains that the defendant, Lucia Santoro, was in possession of an illegally acquired firear

The music was loud, the bass vibrating through the ground as people danced under the open night sky. The scent of grilled jerk chicken and rum lingered in the warm air, mixing with the salt from the nearby ocean. Castiel sat comfortably on a wooden bench, a drink in his hand, surrounded by a group of stunning Jamaican women who had taken a particular liking to him.They were all laughing, the kind of laughter that came easy with alcohol and good company. One of the women, a curvy goddess with dark skin and long braids, playfully tapped his shoulder. "Mi seh, yuh haffi learn fi talk like wi, yuh cyaan jus' siddung suh an' look cute."Castiel smirked, tilting his head. "Alright, alright. Teach me somethin’."Another girl, her hair in tight curls and eyes filled with amusement, leaned in. "Say, 'Wah gwaan, mi deh yah chill.'""Wah… wah go-wan?" he attempted, his American accent butchering the smooth rhythm of the words.The women burst into laughter, one of them even clapping her hands.