All Chapters of The Billionaire's Hidden Vows: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

She awoke not to the sound of birds or the warmth of morning light, but to the sterile silence of too-perfect climate control and silk sheets that smelled like lavender and bleach. The room around her was expansive, opulent—a designer’s dream—but there was something deeply wrong beneath the perfection.Savannah sat up slowly in the four-poster bed, her pulse catching. The windows were wide and gleaming, revealing a landscape that seemed manicured to an inch of its life. But when she rose and approached them barefoot, the glass resisted her touch. No hinges. No grooves. A low digital tone emitted when she pressed her palm to the surface.Locked.She moved methodically from room to room—each as exquisite and deadened as the next. There were no handles on the doors, only flush panels that hummed softly beneath her fingertips. A sliding door opened into a private dressing suite with a mirrored vanity and rows of carefully selected clothing, none of which she recognized. The labels were Fr

The lock clicked in the quiet.Savannah didn’t move, though her whole body tensed with instinct. She had been waiting for this moment—braced for it with every slow breath, every silent scream into the pillow. Now the door opened not with a dramatic swing but a calculated hush.Jaxon stepped in first.His silhouette was familiar now—always in control, always smiling with that polished civility masking something feral beneath the skin.But he didn’t speak.He stepped aside.And Colton walked in.It was like being struck.Savannah didn’t rise from the couch. She stayed where she was, spine rigid, heart shuddering. Her eyes devoured him even as her mind recoiled—he was thinner, a shadow of the man who once touched her like she was his religion.His eyes locked on hers.He looked haunted. Unshaved. Worn at the edges.But the worst part?He said nothing.Not her name. Not a whisper. Not a question.Just walked two steps in, and waited.“Colton,” she said, her voice raw, uncertain.He blinke

The hallway outside her door no longer echoed.It breathed.Savannah followed the gray-clad woman through a corridor she hadn’t seen before—past velvet curtains and carved crown moldings that seemed to tilt with the weight of time. There was no security escort this time. No locked doors. Just the sound of her own footsteps trailing too slowly behind.The woman said nothing.Until they reached a door at the end of the hall—one so tall and black it felt like the entrance to a cathedral or a tomb.“She’s waiting,” the woman said, then opened it without knocking.The room was dim, the air perfumed with something bitter and old. A single chandelier hung over a round table, and beneath it sat a woman in a cream shawl, her posture too still to be casual.Savannah froze.It was like looking into a mirror warped by thirty years and mourning.Her mother.A woman she hadn’t seen since she was seventeen, since the last bitter court date, since the custody battles left bruises no one dared touch.

The city awoke under a glassy sky, sunlight filtered through high clouds like light through smoked crystal. Savannah stood with her back to the balcony doors of the penthouse, her gaze fixed on the men in front of her. Colton’s jaw was cut from stone, his shoulders rigid beneath the tailored charcoal suit. Beside him, Julian was almost the opposite—a lean, restless energy that seemed to hum through his hands as he sorted encrypted files across the sleek surface of the dining table.The summit would begin in less than six hours. Representatives from the largest biotech corporations in the world would gather inside the Helix Tower, a structure that gleamed like a blade above the city’s skyline. To Colton, it was a war front. To Julian, it was an opportunity to detonate a truth bomb so vast it could shatter Echo’s hold in one day.“We lead with proof of Legacy children,” Julian said, his voice low but sharp. “Not rumors. Not testimony. Genetic proof and full lab footage from inside Echo’

The doors were heavy oak, carved with twisting vines and shapes that, on closer inspection, were not leaves at all but strands of DNA spiraling into crowns. Savannah pushed them open with both hands, her breath catching as the hinges moaned.The air in the chamber was thick—stagnant, smelling faintly of cedar, candle wax, and something sharper beneath, a sterile tang that didn’t belong in a place that looked like a cathedral.Weston’s throne sat in the center, not on a dais but in a pit of light, illuminated by a circle of suspended bulbs that swayed almost imperceptibly. It was not a king’s seat. It was a god’s chair—high-backed, built of blackened steel with veins of gold running down its arms.Savannah’s eyes moved to the walls, and that was when her knees almost buckled.There were portraits. Three of them.Magnolia—painted in warm golds, her eyes lowered, her face serene as if she were the Madonna herself. Mira—captured in profile, her dark hair braided back, a halo of silver lea