All Chapters of Masked By Millions : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The sirens hadn’t even stopped screaming when Alec kicked the door down.Geneva’s tribunal headquarters—once a fortress of law, order, and Blackwell corruption—was now a blazing ruin in the making. Alec didn’t bother with stealth. He wanted them to hear him coming.Zara clutched his hand tightly as they rushed down the hallway, her breath ragged, her heartbeat louder than the alarms.“Are you armed?” she gasped.Alec didn’t answer. He just smiled—a slow, merciless thing—and drew a gun from the back of his waistband. “Stay close, Milli Lane. I’m not in a forgiving mood tonight.”They turned a corner and ran straight into two Blackwell guards.BANG. BANG.Alec didn’t flinch.The guards dropped.He tossed the smoking gun to the floor and pulled another from his coat. “Let’s go.”⸻The escape was a blur of gunshots, flashing lights, and blood.Zara had never seen him like this—not just powerful, but terrifying. He wasn’t a billionaire right now. He was a weapon.But what stunned her more

The morning headlines came with a slap, not a whisper.ZARA MILLI LANE: FROM STREET STYLE TO STOLEN DESIGNS?Zara’s phone buzzed nonstop on the table, vibrating like a trapped wasp, while Alec stood shirtless by the espresso machine, reading his own phone with a jaw clenched so tight it could crack marble.“Zara,” he said darkly, turning the screen toward her. “You need to see this.”The article was from Vanity Beat—a notorious tabloid that never missed a scandal, especially not when a billionaire’s name was attached. But this wasn’t just Alec’s world being dragged into the dirt.It was hers.A full exposé on ZML, complete with side-by-side comparisons of Zara’s latest “Urban Blush” collection and a line from a Paris-based designer named Vivienne René—who claimed Zara had stolen her sketches two years ago.Photos. Claims. A leak of “insider messages.” Even a video.“I never even heard of her,” Zara whispered. Her hands were trembling as she scrolled through the avalanche of filth. “Th

Zara Milli Lane had never worn a crown. But today, she wore something far more dangerous.Power.It draped across her skin like silk, humming beneath her new line of haute couture—a crimson gown sculpted to her curves, high slit, deep plunge, and a stitched-on vengeance that wrapped her in fire. Her own designs, handcrafted under moonlight and fury. Her brand—Milli—was about to debut at the De La Mère gala, and it wouldn’t just be fashion walking the runway.It would be war.The media buzzed with confusion. She’d been the scandal—the mistress, the gold-digger, the broke girl with a billionaire in her bed. But now? She was rebranding herself in real time.CEO. Survivor. Untouchable.She stood backstage at the iconic venue overlooking the bay, the wind curling around her figure like prophecy. Models wearing her collection slinked around in shimmering red, black, and silver. Zara’s assistant buzzed beside her, breathless.“They’re all here,” the girl whispered. “Fashion house execs. Roya

The rain lashed against the glass walls of the penthouse like it was trying to claw its way inside, but Alec Blackwell didn’t flinch. He sat back in the shadows of his private office—no suit, no mask, just sweat-slicked skin and the ghost of Zara’s touch still burning through him. Her lipstick stained his collar, and her teeth had marked his chest like a signature no contract could match.He wanted to keep her. But he also knew the world he was dragging her into was darker than anything she’d faced. And it was closing in.“Juliette knows,” Zara whispered from the sofa, where her bare back faced him, spine a ribbon of tension. Her dress lay discarded like a memory. Her phone buzzed on the table. Another anonymous message. Another veiled threat. “She’s behind it. The raid on my warehouse, the photos leaked to the press. She’s trying to destroy my label before it even launches.”Alec approached slowly. “She’s not going to win.”Zara’s laugh was bitter, broken. “She already is. Do you kno

Zara Milli Lane stood on the edge of the Palais de la Lumière in Paris, her gaze fixed on the tumultuous crowd gathered in the square below. The city’s night sky was alive with neon and smoke, a living gallery of fractured hopes and roaring ambition. Tonight wasn’t merely another fashion launch; it was the moment every lie, every betrayal, every burning secret would be laid bare before an unsuspecting world.She wore a gown of midnight blue, its fabric a cascade of intricate lace and strategically placed metallic embellishments that caught every flicker of light. Yet for all its beauty, the dress was her battle armor—a symbol that she had risen from the ashes of every humiliation thrown her way. Every stitch, every thread, bore witness to the struggles of a girl who fought not just for survival, but for her rightful place in an empire built on blood, sweat, and uncompromising passion.Alec Blackwell arrived moments later. No longer the faceless billionaire in disguise, he stepped forw