All Chapters of The Billionaire's Hidden Vows: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

The lab no longer felt like a lab.It had been stripped of its sterile chill, its medical precision replaced by something more ancient, more ceremonial. Someone—Savannah never asked who—had dimmed the overhead fluorescents until the room was bathed in a low red-gold, the color of banked embers. It made the walls tremble with slow-moving shadows, as though the place itself were breathing.The cables that fed the shutdown rig curled across the floor like veins drawn toward a mechanical heart. At the center, on a dais of brushed steel, the apparatus sat waiting—sleek, cold, merciless. It looked less like a machine and more like an altar to an old god no one dared speak of.Savannah sat beneath that soft, glowing gloom, her back impossibly straight, hands resting in her lap. Her fingers were laced so tightly that the knuckles had gone white, bone pressing through skin as if trying to escape. She didn’t shiver. She didn’t blink. The stillness around her was the stillness of someone who had

The silence that followed was not peace. It was the silence of aftermath, where something vital had been extinguished but left a shadow behind. Savannah sat propped against the pillows in the sterile white room, her body weak, her pulse still irregular, her skin pallid with the sheen of fever. The machine beside her bed ticked with a pulse she no longer trusted—every beat now an alien echo of itself.Rhett stood at the foot of the bed, his usual irreverence erased, his face carved into lines of sorrow and reluctant knowledge. His voice trembled, though he tried to make it steady.“The shutdown worked,” he said softly, as if speaking too loudly might undo the fragile state she was in. “E0’s override signal—the core programming—was purged. You’re free of her commands.”Savannah blinked, her throat dry, her mind floating between lucidity and something fractured. “Then why… why does everything feel hollow?”Rhett exhaled sharply, as though the words themselves tasted like iron. “Because t

The ruins of Echo’s heart spread around them like the skeletal remains of a dead cathedral. Walls of black glass jutted upward like the ribs of some long-buried beast, cracked and glittering in the broken light of storm clouds overhead. The air reeked of ozone and scorched metal, the silence beneath it broken only by the slow groan of fallen beams, the faint hiss of dying wires sparking in the dust.Savannah stood among the rubble, her breath shallow as she looked at the chamber where it had all begun—the place where she had been broken down, rewritten, rebuilt, and enslaved. The very nerve-center of Echo, its mainframe thrumming still with ghostly aftershocks of the shutdown.And there, across the fractured floor, came Savara.Not Savannah—not the trembling, grieving woman who had chosen love in the shadows of death—but the other. The one who had awakened when the shutdown tore the programming loose. She glowed faintly, her movements too precise, her face too composed, as though she

The villa was heavy with silence when Savannah found herself alone in the garden, the Tuscan dusk painting the hills in slow-burning amber. She sat upon the stone wall where the roses climbed and the lavender exhaled its perfume into the warm night air. Her hands, now more calloused from tending vines and kneading bread than they had ever been from a life in boardrooms and corridors of marble, trembled as Colton came toward her.He carried nothing—no mask of his authority, no burden of his empire—only a small velvet box. The one she remembered seeing in fragments, a flash of gold, a glimmer of diamond, though her mind could not stitch the memory together. Yet her heart knew it, the way a body remembers the warmth of fire without words to name it.“Savannah,” he said, and his voice was reverent, almost fearful. He sank before her, his tall frame folding with a humility she had never expected when she first knew him. He opened the box, revealing the ring—her ring, the one she had once c

The Tuscan afternoon was a hush of golden haze, the hills rolling like the backs of sleeping beasts beneath the weight of summer. Savannah sat by the window, the shutters half-open, letting in the scent of rosemary and the faint hum of cicadas. The box of journals lay open before her on the table—Magnolia’s journals, brittle with age, their pages furled like tired wings. She had been reading them slowly, carefully, as if each entry were a fragile relic meant to be held only with reverence.Her fingers hesitated on one letter, folded with a crease that had been smoothed and re-smoothed until the paper looked almost translucent. On its surface was written only one word: For Savannah.Her chest tightened. She unfolded it, and the words within seemed to rise from the page like a whisper from the dead:I made a bargain. I thought I could shield them. Weston promised safety for the girls if I gave myself over fully, if I disappeared. I did not trust him, but I trusted my love for them more.