All Chapters of The Billionaire's Hidden Vows: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

The world cracked apart in an instant.A single gunshot tore through the night air, shattering the tension that had been stretched taut for far too long. Savannah did not see who pulled the trigger at first—the thunderclap of violence echoed against the marble walls of the villa, swallowing sight and sound in its dreadful rush.Jaxon staggered back, a bloom of crimson spreading across the expensive white shirt he had worn like armor. His hand, always so quick to command, to strike, to hold her throat in his grip, now flailed helplessly, reaching for the wall as though stone itself could steady him. His lips moved but no words came, just a wet gargle that betrayed the inevitability of his ruin.Savannah’s breath caught in her chest. She had imagined Jaxon’s death a thousand ways—each more merciless than the last—but nothing had prepared her for this sudden collapse. He looked almost human, almost pitiful, with his wide, bewildered eyes fixed on her as though she had been the one to bet

The city felt oddly hushed in the wake of Jaxon’s fall. For weeks, his name had been the ghost that stalked Savannah’s every step, the shadow that poisoned every breath of safety. Now, in the strange vacuum left by his absence, the silence felt both liberating and unnerving, as though the world held its breath in anticipation of something worse.Savannah stood at the penthouse’s vast windows, gazing over the skyline at twilight. The glass reflected her pale face, her dark eyes, and the faint tremor in her lips. The city glowed like an ember, restless, hungry, alive. Yet within her, there was nothing but the echo of gunfire, Presley’s desperate final act, and the sight of Jaxon’s body collapsing to the floor.Freedom should have tasted sweet. Instead, it was tinged with blood, with grief, with the uncanny sense that nothing truly ended—that power only shifted, like smoke through unseen corridors.Colton approached her from behind, his presence a steady flame against the chill. He didn’

The mansion had never felt so cavernous. Not even in those sleepless nights when Savannah had walked its halls like a ghost, when the walls themselves whispered of Magnolia’s betrayal, Weston’s schemes, Jaxon’s hunger. Now, in the aftermath of blood and fire, silence pressed against her chest like a coffin lid.The funeral had been quiet, stripped of spectacle. No cameras. No investors. No glossy magazines to catch her in mourning black. Presley’s sacrifice had burned through the city like a rumor in a storm, but here—inside the brittle marble heart of the estate—it was grief, raw and unadorned.Savannah sat in the library, where shadows collected in the velvet drapes and dust motes drifted like ghosts. In her lap lay a sealed envelope, one Presley had scrawled her name across in a fevered, trembling hand before he pulled the trigger that had saved her life. She had not yet opened it.Colton entered without sound. He no longer carried the sharp edges of a tyrant; there was no need. Hi

The boardroom at Briggs Industries had always felt like a sanctum carved out of glass and steel, suspended high above the pulse of the city. Today, however, it pulsed with unease, each polished surface reflecting suspicion and hunger. The men and women seated around the long obsidian table shuffled papers, exchanged wary glances, and whispered as though plotting in the shadow of a throne.Savannah sat at Colton’s side, her dress a muted navy that set off the ivory of her skin, her fingers folded neatly in her lap. The air was electric, weighted with the anticipation of a verdict. For months, Briggs Industries had been splintered—its crown contested, its empire bled by vultures. Weston’s disgrace and sudden death had left fissures in its foundation, while Jaxon’s shadow still lingered like smoke.Now, all eyes were on Colton.He entered not as a supplicant but as a sovereign. His tailored suit was dark, his expression unreadable, his stride deliberate. Power clung to him like an aura,

The ocean glistened like poured silver beneath the molten afternoon sun, its waves spilling with the patient hush of eternity. Seagulls traced wild arcs overhead, their wings flashing white against the horizon, and the air itself was perfumed with salt, jasmine, and the faint char of torches already staked into the sand for the evening to come.Savannah stood barefoot on the veranda that overlooked the stretch of shoreline chosen for the wedding. The gown hung against her form in whispered folds of ivory silk, a creation less ornate than the gala dresses of her past, yet infinitely more profound. Its hem whispered over the wood as if it carried the voice of her ancestors, ghosts interwoven with fabric. The veil, sheer and gauzy, brushed her shoulders like the hand of a departed friend.She could hear the workers below, arranging the white-cushioned chairs in precise rows facing the sea. An arch of roses and lilies was being erected, vines twisting up the poles as though nature itself