All Chapters of The Billionaire She Rejected.: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Riley's POV I woke before the sun, not from nightmares but from the silence that had settled like a stone in my chest, the kind that comes when you stop hoping for peace. I padded barefoot across the cool marble floor, opened my inbox without thinking. I expected press junk, backlash, maybe an apology or two. But what I didn’t expect is an anonymous email. With no subject or signature. Just a single line: "This is where it started." Below it? An audio file was attached to it. I plugged in my headphones, and pressed play. The voices were distant, but the tone was unmistakable. They didn’t know they were being recorded. It was the same unknown voice filled with contempt. But she wasn’t alone. Another voice answered with a sharp feminine voice which was too familiar. I felt a cold shill down my spine. Celeste West. My former boss and mentor. The woman who once called me "the most promising voice in corporate PR." Her voice on the recording chilled me more than the unknown voice

Michael’s POV “Midnight drop confirmed,” Miss Leighton said. I didn’t turn. I stood facing the panoramic windows, hands in pockets, the city blinking back at me like a thousand watching eyes, judging and waiting. “Open the file,” I said. She laid the hardcopy folder on the steel table. I flipped it open, page after page of shocking details. Clarisse and her father, captured on surveillance, standing in the private VIP booth at Velvet Room, holding a drink they never sipped from. A camera across the bar caught the moment Richard Langford slipped something into the glass. The same one they later handed to me, time stamped and enhanced. Their faces were clear. Next, was employment abuse files from Langford Media. Dozens of reports, underpaid contractors, labor law violations, two suicide notes, and one lawsuit buried with hush money. Then Celeste, the first folder was financial wire transfers to Riley’s ex. A private investigator’s report confirming the affair. A signe

Clarisse's POV The conference room carried the faint scent of stale coffee, and tension clung to the air. The lights overhead buzzed faintly, and the air conditioning was set too high. My hands felt cold against the long table. I sat stiffly, arms crossed, a blank legal pad in front of me. Around me, the lawyers weren’t huddled anymore. They were scattered and quiet, some scrolling through their phones, others avoiding my gaze entirely. Across the room, Mom slouched in a low chair by the window, a half-wrinkled tissue clutched in one hand. She wasn’t crying anymore, just staring out at the street as if willing something to undo itself. Dad stood near the far wall, arms folded, jaw working. He hadn’t spoken in fifteen minutes. Finally, his voice cut through the silence, low and sharp. “They have the footage of the drink. You’ve sunk the company.” I flinched. “That wasn’t… Dad, it was both of us. You said...” He turned to me, eyes cold, not burning. I told you to be careful. You

Clarisse's POV They said it wouldn’t come to this. They told me the board would panic, that Michael would fold, and Riley would cave under the weight of scandal and shame like all the others before her. But no one told me what to do when the entire city turned cold. Now I sat in a private suite in my father’s second legal office, not the downtown one, that was already swarmed. This office was tucked at the back, dimly lit, walls lined with books and files, the air heavy with stress. It felt smaller, oppressive, every blink making the space close in on me. "You're not listening to me," I snapped. Three attorneys sat opposite me, each with a laptop and dead eyes. One of them adjusted his glasses, unimpressed. "We’re listening. Just waiting for you to stop blaming everyone else." My gut twisted. "It wasn't my idea. The drugging? That night at the club? My father was the one who pushed it. He wanted Michael to agree to his terms and accept the proposal. I didn't touch the drink.

Celeste POV The knock came once at the door. Then it came again, firmer this time. I stood motionless in the center of my penthouse suite, the hem of my satin robe brushing my ankles. The TV behind me still played muted headlines, my own face now accompanied by phrases like “investigation,” “fraud,” and “leaked recordings.” I didn’t move to answer the door. I already knew what was coming. Three more sharp knocks sounded, then a firm, official voice called out: “Federal agents. Ms. West, “ we need you to open the door.” I breathed in and walked to the door. I met my own gaze in the glass, taking in my calm facade. But the moment I opened it, everything changed. Two agents stood on the threshold. No SWAT gear. No grand entrance. Just the weight of inevitability in their black coats and badges. “Celeste West,” one said. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to defame, obstruction of justice, tax evasion, and multiple counts of corporate fraud.” I blinked, and for a brief second, e