Semua Bab The Billionaire’s Forgotten Wife: Bab 171 - Bab 180

The night was unusually silent, the kind of silence that whispered warnings rather than offered peace. Juliette stood in the dim light of her private study, surrounded by a storm of documents, maps, and surveillance photographs. The file she’d received the night before at the Conservatory Lounge lay open in front of her, its contents burning a hole in her composure.Operation Blackwood.Her father had mentioned it once, in passing. She’d assumed it was some internal government initiative from his time in the intelligence sector. But as she read deeper into the dossier, the lines between personal vendettas and political warfare blurred. This wasn’t just a corporate conspiracy – it was generational.“Damon’s family. Mine. Celeste’s Whitmore family. Vincent. They’re all woven into this,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.She traced one name again and again throughout the documents—The Cassian Group.A powerful private entity with government ties, shadow financing, and immunity from conve

The penthouse was unnervingly quiet. Rain lashed the windows in rhythmic fury as if mimicking the storm now raging in Damon’s mind. He sat in front of the fire, still dressed from his late-night meeting, Roman Vale’s flash drive resting on the table between him and Juliette like a loaded weapon.Juliette stood near the window, arms folded tightly, her expression carved from steel. “You realize what this is, right? We’re not partnering with an informant. We’re making a deal with a ghost that was once from Celeste’s empire”.Damon didn’t look at her. “Roman Vale handed us the blueprint to Project Lazarus - Celeste’s full-reset plan. He’s the first person who’s shown us the how, not just the why”.“And in return, he wants a piece of your legacy”.“He wants a stake in the Eurasian market. A foothold. Nothing more… for now”.Juliette’s voice dropped. “That’s how it starts. Roman isn’t offering help, he’s playing a longer game than even Celeste. And if we invite him in, we may never be able

Damon hadn’t slept. Not after the photo. Not after the question Juliette asked about Paris, the one he couldn’t answer.But dawn brought something even more devastating: a name from the past. One they never expected. The city pulsed under a storm-gray sky, its skyline jagged and blurred by sheets of rain that hammered down with a vengeance. Inside Damon’s penthouse, the atmosphere was no less turbulent. The floor was littered with scattered documents, decrypted files, and printed emails; each one a puzzle piece in a conspiracy they’d spent months unraveling. And now, the picture was clear.Juliette stood by the glass window, arms crossed tightly, her gaze fixed outward though her mind was locked on one undeniable truth: they had found the mastermind. And it wasn’t who they expected.Damon paced behind her, fury rising and barely contained. “Are we sure about this?” he asked for the third time, voice low and rough.Juliette turned, eyes steely. “I checked the metadata myself. The finan

The day dawned with an eerie calm. The city skyline, usually buzzing with noise and motion, stood still beneath a pink-orange haze. But inside Thorne International, the tension simmered like a live wire.In the secure war room — an encrypted, windowless command center, Juliette sat at the central console, fingers flying across her keyboard as live feeds, financial alerts, and comms data streamed in. Across from her, Damon studied a digital floor plan of the tower. His jaw was clenched, his silence a storm.“The plan’s set,” said Juliette, with a steady voice. “Our team secured the main servers. Files are mirrored to a decentralized cloud. If they breach the system—”“They won’t get far,” Damon cut in. He glanced over at her. “But defense isn’t enough. We hit back. Hard”.Juliette nodded. “The media’s prepped. If we’re ousted or compromised, the exposé drops in full. No edits. Blackwell’s name gets scorched”.“And the backup plan?”She hesitated, then pulled a small encrypted drive fro

The storm had broken not over Manhattan’s skyline, but deep within the war room of Thorne Tower.Outside, the skies were deceptively calm. A pale blue canvas stretched across the horizon, streaked with summer light. But inside Damon Thorne’s penthouse, a storm of strategy and vengeance swirled beneath polished glass and steel.They were done playing defense.Damon stood over the long conference’s table; its surface buried under folders, glowing tablets, and surveillance stills. Maps blinked on a nearby monitor, tracking Blackwell’s known assets. The war was no longer covert,it was open season.Juliette moved beside him like a storm wrapped in silk — focused, relentless. Her fingers flew across the tablet screen as she sorted through the final wave of Intel.“We have one shot at this,” Damon said, pushing a slim flash drive across the table. “Every file we’ve pulled: offshore accounts, shell companies, Celeste’s memos, asset trails, it’s all on here”.Juliette picked it up, her thumb b