All Chapters of The heart Beneath the Thorn : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

You can’t bury the past when it walks into your boardroom wearing your blood.The air at the corporate office felt heavier that morning. Max knew power. He knew how it shifted. And today, it clung to the walls like smoke before a fire.When the elevator opened onto the executive floor, his jaw tightened. No assistant greeted him. The usual hum of keyboard clicks and phone calls had gone silent.He could hear voices.Low, professional… confident.Coming from the boardroom.Without me?Max’s walk turned into a stride, his designer shoes clicking like gunfire across the polished floors. No one stopped him. No one even looked up.He shoved open the heavy boardroom doors without a word.And there he was.Sitting at the head of the table—his seat—was a man Max didn’t recognize.Not at first.He looked like something pulled from a luxury fashion shoot. Blonde, pin-straight hair parted cleanly, falling just below the cheekbones. His skin was smooth, golden, sculpted. His icy blue, almond-shap

There was something oddly comforting about seeing Sebastian again—unexpectedly, almost like fate, or the universe giving her one consistent variable in a world that kept shifting beneath her feet.The first time had been coincidence.The second… maybe not.By the third time, she’d stopped questioning it.The Charity Auction – Downtown Medical FundraiserEmilia stood near the silent auction tables, her navy gown cascading around her heels as she checked off last-minute logistics on her clipboard. She was in event mode—half nurse, half administrator—and the nerves that came with wearing something expensive and formal never quite faded.She was adjusting a floral centerpiece when his voice broke through the ambient chatter.“I was told there would be wine. All I see are overpriced art pieces and a bronze horse.”She looked up and blinked. “Sebastian?”He looked devastating in a black suit with a wine-colored pocket square, his tie perfectly knotted. His hair had a windswept quality, like

– Lena’s Apartment, Saturday AfternoonRain slicked the windows in slow, teary streaks as Emilia curled into the corner of Lena’s couch, wrapped in a blanket she wasn’t sure she deserved. Her makeup had long since smudged, leaving traces of black beneath her eyes like bruises of emotion.Lena sat cross-legged across from her, her phone face-down, untouched. No distractions. Just presence.“So,” Lena said softly, breaking the silence. “You called off the engagement.”Emilia nodded, clutching the hot mug of tea Lena had placed in her hands an hour ago. It had gone cold, but she hadn’t taken a sip.“He told me everything,” she whispered. “The underwear. The rumors. The plan to—” her voice faltered, “—to film us.”Lena’s face twisted with horror. “What?”“He didn’t go through with it,” Emilia said quickly. “Because Max found out. Beat him bloody before prom.”Lena sat up straighter. “Max knew?”Emilia nodded. “And he never told me. He let me hate him.”Lena exhaled hard. “Jesus…”“I feel

The letter came printed on creamy parchment paper, its elegant seal cracked the moment Emilia unfolded it with trembling fingers. Congratulations, Miss Grace. You have been selected to tour the Florence campus for early international candidates. The lines blurred as tears swelled at the corners of her eyes.She’d done it. Somehow, she’d been chosen.“You’re quiet,” Sebastian’s voice cut gently through the stillness of the café where they sat, surrounded by warm brick walls and the comforting scent of espresso and almond biscotti.Emilia blinked and set the letter down beside her cup. “I—I got in. Well, not in. A tour. But still.”“That’s more than most people ever get,” Sebastian said, his smile soft, his gaze burning with a flicker of something unreadable. “So why do you look like someone just handed you a rain check to paradise?”She let out a breath. “Because even paradise needs plane tickets. I can’t afford this. Not the flight, not the hotel, not the stupid passport stamp.” Her v

The study smelled of paper and regret.Stacks of manila folders lined the shelves beside him—financial reports, merger projections, unsigned contracts—but Max Carter ignored them all. He sat at the desk he rarely used, the mahogany surface cleared of corporate clutter, save for a black journal and a fountain pen with a gold nib.The window beside him was half-open. The night bled in—cool, quiet, and dark.A single candle flickered.The glow was too gentle for the man sitting before it, but he found himself craving softness in every form these days. The harsh fluorescent light of boardrooms, the camera flashes of press junkets, the cold chrome of his penthouse suite—none of it brought peace.But this?This sacred hour when the city hushed and no one watched—this was when he could write.This was when she still felt near.Max dipped the pen into ink and began.Letter 1 –Emilia,I don’t know if I’ll ever send this. I probably won’t.But there are words trapped in my chest, and they only