All Chapters of The heart Beneath the Thorn : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The boutique held its breath.The man standing in the doorway wasn’t the polished, brooding billionaire from magazine spreads. He wasn’t the Max Carter who smiled for cameras or threw perfectly rehearsed parties.No—this was the Max who had once broken a boy’s nose for whispering Emilia’s name like a curse.This was Max unhinged, and everyone in Maison LaRue felt the chill of it.“I said,” Max growled again, voice like a storm trapped in a throat, “let her go.”The security guard stepped back, startled by the authority in his tone. His grip on Emilia’s wrists slackened, and she stumbled into Maya’s arms.The crowd watched in stunned silence as Max strode forward like a man with nothing left to lose. His eyes scanned the room, landing squarely on Grace.Her face didn’t change—but her posture shifted. Just enough to reveal she hadn’t expected this.Max stopped in front of the boutique manager, eyes still locked on his former fiancée. “Check the cameras.”The manager blinked. “Excuse me?

They said it would be a wedding to remember. No one realized why.The VenueThe cathedral was not just sacred—it was staged.The Basilica of St. Aurelia, a private estate retrofitted into a marvel of stained glass and soft-lit arches, had been transformed into a surreal vision. Every petal, every candle, every whisper of fabric had been approved by a committee of stylists, planners, and PR execs.Outside, paparazzi swarmed. Inside, it was eerily perfect.Hundreds of guests sat shoulder to shoulder in pews lined with silk. The air smelled of lilac and legacy. Security was tight. The music, live. The lighting, engineered to flatter Grace from every angle.High above, drones captured aerial shots, while photographers crouched along the aisles, lenses locked like rifles.The whispers were already spreading.“Do you think it’ll last?”“She’s radiant.”“He looks… vacant.”“Where’s Emilia?”And then, as if summoned by rumor—She arrived.Not in a gown. Not in defiance.Just in silence.Emili

Emilia tugged gently at the hem of her emerald-green dress, its silky fabric whispering around her ankles like a secret being passed from petal to petal. The color—her mother’s favorite—felt like armor and vulnerability all at once. She glanced again at the handwritten invitation that had arrived at her door just days ago: Meet me where life blooms brightest. No name. Just an address. Just enough to stir something hopeful in her chest, something foolish and dangerous.The drive over had been quiet, filled only with the hum of tires on pavement and the louder roar of her own heart. She hadn’t dared speculate. She hadn’t dared hope. And yet here she was—hope fluttering in her ribcage like wings caught in a storm.Twilight had painted the sky in shades of lavender and gold by the time she arrived. The sight of the botanical gardens—those gates she hadn’t passed through in over a decade—stole the breath from her lungs.Her mother’s garden.A sanctuary of memory, life, and grief.Emilia’s

Some wounds don’t bleed.They stay buried—under skin, under bone, under years of silence.But Max Carter had never forgotten.Not the blood.Not the betrayal.And certainly not what Johnny Danton had done to Emilia.NowJohnny sat at the bar of his favorite upscale lounge, fiddling with a half-empty glass of bourbon, oblivious to the storm walking through the door.Max didn’t hesitate.He walked past the hostess, ignored the curious glances from the suits and starlets seated around the mahogany bar, and stopped only when he stood directly behind him.“Funny,” Max said, voice low, dangerous. “I didn’t peg you for the celebratory type.”Johnny stiffened.He turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “What do you want, Max?”Max didn’t bother sitting. His arms crossed over his chest, every muscle coiled tight. “I want to know how you sleep at night.”Johnny’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Not your concern.”“You’re marrying her.”“Yes,” Johnny said simply, meeting his gaze. “I am.”Max’s jaw clen

Some storms are born on calm seas. Others begin long before the first wave.Present DayThe skies above the estate darkened, clouds building like charcoal-stained cotton. Thunder murmured in the distance, echoing the turbulent rhythm of Max’s pulse. He stood alone on his balcony, the wind playing restlessly with the edges of his open shirt. In his fingers trembled the small, neatly-folded note, the ink stark against the ivory paper, elegant and cruel.I’m coming for mine.—Your illegitimate brother.The words felt surreal, almost absurd. But the past had a cruel way of clawing itself out of graves he had forgotten existed. Max’s eyes flicked out to the sea stretching endlessly before him, waves smashing violently into jagged cliffs as if they wanted to tear away the shore itself. Just like memories, powerful, relentless, eroding his carefully constructed walls of indifference.His knuckles turned white as he crushed the note tighter, his chest tightening as his mind flashed back, carr