Semua Bab The Billionaire She Rejected.: Bab 21 - Bab 30

Riley's POVI woke before the sun.Not because of nightmares, but because silence had finally settled like a stone in my chest. The kind that comes when you stop hoping for peace and start planning war.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. 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

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. Waiting.“Open the file,” I said.She laid the hardcopy folder on the steel table. I flipped it open.Page after page of fire and pure heat.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 later handed to me.Timestamped and enhanced.Their faces were clear.Next: employment abuse files from Langford Media. Dozens of reports. Underpaid contractors. Labor law violations. Two suicide notes. 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 signed nondisclosure with his name s

Clarisse’s POV***At Langford Conference Room***The conference room smelled like cold coffee and panic.The lights overhead buzzed faintly. Someone had turned the air conditioning up too high, and Clarisse’s hands felt cold.She sat stiffly at the long table, arms crossed, a legal pad in front of her with nothing written on it. Around her, the lawyers were no longer huddled, just scattered, quiet, some checking their phones, some avoiding her entirely.Across the room, her mother sat in a low chair by the window, a half-wrinkled tissue clutched in one hand. She wasn’t crying anymore, just staring blankly through the glass as if waiting for something to undo itself.Her father stood near the far wall, arms folded, jaw working. He hadn’t spoken in fifteen minutes.Then finally, his voice, low and sharp.“They have the footage of the drink. You’ve sunk the company.”Clarisse flinched. “That wasn’t...Dad, it was both of us. You said...”He turned. His eyes didn’t burn. They were cold. “

Clarisse's POVThey 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 even the downtown one. That was already swarmed. This one was dim, windowless, and smelled like paper and panic. The walls felt closer every time I blinked."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 stomach 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. I didn’t pour it. He did. I can testify quietly in private without cameras

Celeste POV (Third Person)At Celeste’s Private Residence The knock echoed once.Then again, but more firmer.Celeste West stood motionless in the center of her penthouse suite, the hem of her satin robe brushing her ankles like a whisper. The TV behind her still played muted headlines, her own face now accompanied by phrases like “investigation,” “fraud,” and “leaked recordings.”She didn’t move to answer the door. She already knew what was coming.Three more knocks. Then a voice, calm but official:“Federal agents. Ms. West, please open the door.”A slow inhale. Then another.She stepped toward the door, unhurried, still poised, still polished. Her reflection in the glass was perfect, high cheekbones, calm eyes, controlled elegance.But when she opened it, everything changed.Two agents stood on the threshold. No swat gear or 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, ob