All Chapters of His Accidental Mrs : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Sleep became a luxury we could no longer afford. For nights, we lived in shifts.Granny and I covering midnight until dawn, Adrian taking mornings and afternoons, the guards rotating every six hours, and Vanessa feeding us intel around the clock. Zaya’s cries became our alarm system, her laughter the only brief balm. Even her babbling, usually innocent, echoed through the high walls like whispers from a ghost town.Evelyn had betrayed us. And Eliora? She was circling like a hawk, waiting for our next misstep. We couldn’t just play defense anymore. It was time to push back—hard.Vanessa’s first strategy: trace the money.Evelyn couldn’t move without funding. Every burner phone, every hideout, every cyber-attack left a trail. Adrian authorized a private financial investigator to tear through accounts linked to Marcus—Adrian’s uncle—and his offshore shell companies.“Eliora’s movements are being funded by the same person who tried to steal your company,” Vanessa said. “If we cut his acces

The hospital camera footage froze on the child’s face.Curly black hair.Eyes that mirrored Adrian’s too perfectly.A birthmark under the left jaw—same as Granny Elizabeth’s. Same as Adrian’s late mother.Vanessa pressed pause. The silence in the room stretched out like thread being pulled too tight.“No date stamp,” she said. “But the footage was captured yesterday. From a hospital on the outskirts of the city.”Adrian leaned closer. “Does she know we’ve seen this?”Vanessa shook her head. “She reactivated an old IP address—probably didn’t think it would ping our network.”I couldn’t tear my eyes away.The child couldn’t be older than two.But that wasn’t the most troubling part.It was the small, handwritten name tag clipped to the crib: A. VAUGHAN Jr.My heart punched against my ribs.“She named him after you,” I whispered.Adrian stepped back from the screen, hand dragging across his mouth.Granny Elizabeth’s voice cut through the tension. “Then we finally know what her endgame wa

Micah’s cry didn’t fade with the morning light.Even after the guards scoured the house, even after Adrian swore no one had broken in, I still heard it echoing—loud and sharp—rattling my ribs long after he’d fallen asleep again.The necklace she left behind was unmistakable.Rusted chain. Heart-shaped pendant. The scratch behind the silver, where she’d carved our initials when we were ten—E + E. She never took it off. Until now.Adrian held it with gloved fingers, as though it might burn.Vanessa ordered full lockdown again.Granny didn’t speak. Just stared at the mirror where the message was written in what looked like lipstick:“You raised mine. Now lose yours.”I didn’t sleep that night.I sat by the crib with my arms crossed, watching Micah’s chest rise and fall, watching shadows shift on the walls.I wasn’t just afraid of her.I was afraid of what she would become if she wasn’t stopped now.At dawn, Adrian called a meeting.Vanessa, Granny, security, and two cyber analysts sat ar

Adrian barely slept after the hearing.Neither did I.But not because of Eliora.Because of what came next.The court might’ve denied her custody, but Eliora had no intention of fading into the background. The day after the verdict, we woke up to a package on our doorstep. No return address. No courier trace.Inside: a USB drive.Vanessa ran a sweep for malware before Adrian plugged it in.The screen flickered.And there she was.Eliora.Sitting in a dark room. A single light on her face.“Congratulations,” she whispered into the camera. “You won the public. The court. Even Granny. But I’m still the blood. And legacies—real ones—don’t die with verdicts.”She held up a file.The camera zoomed in.The cover read: Vaughan Industries — Offshore Accounts. Confidential.“What’s she doing?” I asked quietly.Adrian’s jaw clenched. “She’s threatening to expose the family. Legally. Financially.”Vanessa muttered, “This could bring everything down if it gets out.”Granny walked in, saw the scree

I used to believe endings came with noise.With doors slamming, papers flying, voices raised.But this one came gently.Like a sigh.Like the last note of a lullaby.And maybe that’s what peace really is—not silence, but softness.Not the absence of war, but the return of one’s self.The morning of Zaya and Micah’s joint birthday arrived with sunshine that filtered in like forgiveness. The sky was clear, the breeze was warm, and the smell of vanilla cake floated from the kitchen before the guests evern arrived.We didn’t plan a lavish party.No media.No chaos.Just close friends, chosen family, and a promise we made long ago to celebrate life, not spectacle.Adrian was already in the garden, hanging fairy lights above the archway where we’d later place the children’s high chairs. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. His tie hung around his neck, forgotten.I stood on the porch with Granny Elizabeth beside me, rocking gently in the wooden swing as she sipped her tea.“They won’t rem