جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 20

The room was too quiet — the kind of silence that carried memories of sharp words and unhealed wounds. The faint scent of rosewater and age-old perfume drifted through the air, clinging to the velvet curtains and the glass shelves lined with antique vases.Colden hesitated at the door before entering. His mother’s room had always felt more like a mausoleum than a living space — elegant, immaculate, but lifeless.“Come in,” came her voice, calm and distant.He stepped inside. His mother sat near the window, draped in a silk shawl, her silver hair tied neatly at her nape. A half-finished cup of tea sat before her, untouched, just like everything else in her world.“You wanted to see me,” Colden said.She looked up. Her eyes — still sharp, still assessing — met his, and for a brief second, he saw what others rarely did: exhaustion buried beneath layers of grace.“Yes,” she said softly, gesturing for him to sit. “I did.”He moved to the chair opposite hers, the old wood creaking faintly b

The morning light spilled through the tall windows of the mansion, soft and filtered through thin white curtains. The estate was quiet, the kind of silence that came not from peace but from control — a hush built by fear and precision. Every servant moved quietly, their steps muted against the polished floors.Colden was already awake.He stood before the mirror, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt with mechanical precision, his reflection as sharp and disciplined as his thoughts. The events of last night still lingered faintly — the conversation with his mother, her voice as cold and poised as ever, the reminder of vengeance pulsing like an old scar.He had slept little. Revenge didn’t allow rest.“Layla,” he said quietly, turning from the mirror.She looked up from where she sat near the dressing table, her fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of her dress. “Yes?”“We’ll be leaving soon,” he said, his tone even, clipped. “Be ready within the hour.”She nodded, swallowing hard. “Alri

Morning light slanted through the curtains of a small, cluttered house in the poorer part of town. The old television flickered as Layla’s face appeared on-screen, sitting beside a man whose very presence screamed wealth and power.Her adoptive father froze, the spoon of half-eaten porridge hovering midair. “What the hell—” he muttered, turning up the volume.Her mother’s eyes widened as she leaned forward. “That’s… that’s Layla!”Their son, sprawled lazily on the couch, snorted. “The orphan? No way. What’s she doing with the Frost heir?”There she was — their discarded girl — now standing beside Colden Frost in front of flashing cameras, dressed in luxury. The news headline scrolled boldly across the screen:“Colden Frost — The Elusive Heir Marries in Secret. Meet His Bride: Layla Hayes.”The father’s expression twisted with disbelief, then rage. “That ungrateful brat! She’s been hiding from us all these days, and now this? She married into money! But how did that poor bitch do that?

The iron gates slammed shut behind them with a final, echoing clang. Outside, the last remnants of chaos faded — the voices, the flash of cameras, the clamor of reporters. It all dissolved into silence. She turned toward Colden. His suit was immaculate, not a single hair out of place, as though the scene outside hadn’t just exploded into scandal and humiliation. He stood in that same calm posture — one hand in his pocket, the other at his side, his gaze somewhere far away.For a moment, she didn’t recognize him. The man who had silenced her parents with a few words — who had ended the spectacle with chilling authority — looked more like a storm disguised in human form.“You didn’t have to do that,” she said finally, her voice small, fragile. “I would have handled them myself.”Colden’s eyes shifted to her, unreadable as always. “They were an eyesore.”Layla blinked, not expecting the bluntness. The way he said it — flat, dismissive, like her family’s cruelty was nothing more than dir

The bar was alive with noise and smoke, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air in a chaotic symphony. Neon lights cut across the room in harsh streaks, highlighting the faces of those lost in their own temporary indulgences. The scent of alcohol mixed with perfume and the faint metallic tang of spilled drinks. To most, it was a place of fleeting pleasure, an escape from responsibility. To Colden, it was nothing more than a temporary distraction, a place to observe the frivolity of others without becoming part of it.He entered quietly, his coat draped over his shoulders, shoes clicking sharply against the polished floor. Heads turned, whispers circulated — the Frost heir. Even in a place built on excess and spectacle, his presence commanded a hush. The air seemed to bend subtly around him, as if acknowledging his dominance without question. He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t need to. He had never sought admiration; he had always commanded it.He chose a corner booth, distant from