Semua Bab The Billionaire's Hidden Vows: Bab 31 - Bab 40

Savannah couldn’t remember when the house began to hum.Not in a mechanical way—no, not like the polite murmur of an old estate adjusting to weather and time. This was something more organic, more deliberate. A presence, as though the air itself had developed a rhythm, a breath. The long corridors exhaled cool drafts behind her neck. Shadows gathered too long beneath the doorways. She told herself she was imagining it. But then, late at night, with the marble floors cold beneath her feet, she heard it.Magnolia’s voice.A whisper so soft it curled at the edge of her consciousness, always just behind her. Savannah. Sometimes it was sharper: He knows. Or strangled: I begged him. She turned—again and again—and found nothing but the black glass of the hallway mirror, her own eyes wide and unblinking.In the bedroom, she sat at the foot of the bed with her arms wrapped around her belly, her fingertips pressed lightly as though the child inside might recognize her touch and anchor her to re

It began with a sound that didn't belong.Savannah stirred from uneasy sleep, tangled in silk sheets and sweat-slick skin, her senses slow to catch up with reality. A distant, rhythmic drip had pulled her from the dark. Not the erratic clatter of rain, not the whir of faulty plumbing—but something far more deliberate. Measured. Like time counting backward.She sat up slowly, head aching as though someone had threaded iron through her thoughts in the night. She pressed her hand against her temple, trying to decipher the source. The sound called her like a whisper. She slid from the bed, the cold tile shocking her bare feet awake.Drip…She followed it to the bathroom, where the light flickered once before illuminating the mirror—fogged at the corners, though no shower had been run. Her reflection appeared pale, stretched thin across the silvered surface like a ghost of herself. She leaned in closer, and that’s when she heard it again.Drip.She dropped to her knees and opened the cabin

It was nearly dawn, and the pale, ashen light filtering into the hospital room felt like smoke—thin, heavy, choking. Savannah stared at the slow rise and fall of Colton’s chest where he sat hunched beside her hospital bed, still gripping her hand as if it were the only thing tethering him to the world.His knuckles were bloodless with tension. His eyes, when they finally opened, were drenched with exhaustion—two hollow storms that had weathered too many truths.She didn’t speak right away. The IV in her arm was cold. Her body was drained, wrung out, but her mind was coiled tightly around everything she couldn’t unsee: the silhouette of Magnolia in the woods, the blood-stained pacifier in the box, the second child that no one had spoken of until now.“I dreamed I drowned in roses,” she murmured. “They weren’t red. They were black. And every petal whispered your name.”Colton blinked. “You were burning up. You had a fever—”“Stop protecting me, Colton.” Her voice cracked. “Stop hiding b

Savannah arrived at the asylum under a pseudonym.The air beyond the wrought-iron gates was thick with sea salt and silence. The old rehabilitation center squatted atop a cliff, flanked by fog and crawling ivy. It had been renamed since the scandal—no longer Magnolia Hills, but something sterile. But Savannah knew better. The walls remembered. The floors still creaked with the weight of secrets.She wore black from neck to wrist. No makeup. Her hair pulled tight like armor. A nurse checked her ID, eyes dragging suspiciously over the name "Vanessa Cordell."“Who are you here for?”“My sister,” she lied smoothly. “Magnolia.”The nurse blinked. “Miss Briggs?”“Yes.”There was a pause. A hesitation.“You know she doesn’t speak anymore.”Savannah didn’t flinch. “She will for me.”Inside, the corridors were painted white and smelled of detergent and damp wool. Savannah passed rooms filled with women staring into corners, men who spoke to unseen gods. The quiet here was unnatural. Muffled, l

Rain-soaked cobblestones glistened beneath distant streetlamps, reflecting jagged city lights in trembling shards. The penthouse felt like an overlit mausoleum—every gleaming surface choreographed for farewell. Savannah paused at the entryway, suitcase forgotten beside the door, coat dripping ink-black rain onto marble.Every overhead light had been dimmed—deliberately—so that the fixtures themselves could not betray how empty the place had become.Colton emerged from the drawing room, trailing shadow and regret. His suit was damp at the lapels, sleeves rolled as if he had spent hours in intimate mourning. His eyes met hers without promise, just fractured devotion.“I’ll send for you when it’s over,” he said. The words were brittle as bone, final as a dirge.She stepped forward, her breath a trembling prayer. “If something happens to Magnolia… I’m not leaving.”He swallowed. His voice broke into the shards of his façade. “Then stay. But be ready to lose me, too.”Tears glinted in her