Semua Bab The Billionaire's Hidden Vows: Bab 11 - Bab 20

The lights of the ballroom glittered like diamonds scattered across a velvet sky. Every chandelier shimmered with gold, every corner of the grand hall bursting with wealth and status. Savannah stood in the marble entryway, her fingers trembling around the clutch Colton had chosen for her.He stood behind her, adjusting the clasp on her necklace—the very one Magnolia had worn in the photograph she’d found. The same necklace, paired with the same dress.“I look like her,” Savannah said softly, her voice bitter.Colton’s breath touched her neck. “You’re better.”She turned to look at him, but his expression was already shuttered, distant. He offered his arm like a gentleman from a gilded cage.The car ride to the charity ball had been silent and tense. Now, as they crossed the polished floors and into a room full of wolves in tuxedos and diamonds, Savannah’s spine straightened. Her steps fell into rhythm with Colton’s. She wore the mask he expected: perfect wife, elegant, untouchable.Bu

The spa Colton had arranged for Savannah reeked of lavender and control. Everything about it—private, luxurious, and watched—felt like a cage with silk cushions. She sat stiffly in the massage chair, pretending to enjoy it while her mind churned. Her heart wasn’t calm; it beat in rapid thuds that no warm towel or soothing music could erase.Then she saw Delaney.Her old roommate stood in the doorway to the lounge, dressed as a staff assistant, her blonde curls tucked under a cap. Her eyes caught Savannah’s for a split second, and in that single glance, Savannah felt a jolt—an understanding, an urgent warning.Delaney moved forward briskly with a folded towel and murmured just loud enough, "Excuse me, ma’am," as she slipped the towel under Savannah’s arm.Something thin and plastic pressed against her palm.Savannah didn’t look down. She smiled instead, a tremor in her lips, and gave a tiny nod. Delaney turned on her heel and vanished like a ghost slipping back through walls.The rest

The third-floor library was the only place in the penthouse that felt untouched by steel and surveillance. It smelt of aged paper and old secrets. Savannah wandered through it restlessly, fingers trailing along the leather-bound spines. Her skin itched with unease, and her thoughts wouldn’t quiet. Every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet sounded like the whisper of ghosts.Books lined every wall, floor to ceiling, some pristine, others warped from humidity. There was a silence here that felt ancient. Unlike the cold precision of the rest of the penthouse, this room held emotion—haunting and strangely sacred.She hadn’t been back to this floor since she’d first seen the locked door. But now, something compelled her to return—not just curiosity, but a hunch, like something was waiting. A whisper beneath the silence, a tug behind her ribs. Something unsaid. Something unfinished.She passed a dusty globe, paused beside an old chaise longue, her eyes scanning the built-in shelves li

The city hadn’t yet shaken off the storm. Rain still dripped from trees like tears, and the sky clung to a damp, brooding gray. Savannah sat beneath the canopy of a quiet café tucked inside Crestwood Park. Her hood was up, sunglasses masking her tired eyes. Around her, the world moved gently—clinking dishes, low murmurs—but inside her chest, there was only thunder.She kept stirring her tea long after the sugar had dissolved. Her fingers trembled slightly. The bruise on her wrist—Colton’s doing—peeked from her coat sleeve.Across from her sat Sawyer Langston.The same boy who once wrote her poems on the back of diner napkins was now a man worn by secrets. His golden hair, soaked at the edges, curled above eyes more serious than she remembered. His leather jacket, damp and creased, clung to his broad frame like a second skin.“You look tired,” he said softly.“I am,” Savannah answered without looking at him.He shifted in his seat, resting both elbows on the table like he might reach a

The private clinic smelled of sterile floors and hidden money.Savannah moved silently down the corridor, her heels clicking softly against marble tiles. The walls were painted in warm beige tones, artwork lining them in carefully selected frames—a false sense of comfort, masking the fact that this was no ordinary hospital. Her mother had been transferred here two weeks ago, she’d been told. Transferred without Savannah’s permission. Without a name.Something wasn’t right.She passed the nurse’s station, eyes scanning for cameras. There was one above the breakroom entrance and another pointed at the elevator—silent witnesses. Savannah’s hand slid into her coat pocket where Rhett had slipped her the temporary admin access keycard, his voice a low whisper in her memory: “Five minutes. That’s all you get.”She slid the card into the security panel. The monitor lit up.The last three weeks of hallway footage played in accelerated motion: nurses walking, patients rolling, faceless in hospi