The Billionaire's Hidden Vows의 모든 챕터: 챕터 61 - 챕터 70

The compound rose in the Louisiana pines like a cathedral of glass and tempered steel, fierce and delicate, hidden from prying eyes. Rain slid down the blackened windows in bright beads, beading against walls that seemed immune to the past. Inside, the drone of last-minute repairs—electricians rewiring, technicians testing motion sensors—filled the air with hums of new life.Savannah entered the foyer, holding little Eva close to her chest. Eva’s hair was damp and curly, her cheeks full of soft promise. Each rise and fall of her chest felt like a quiet heartbeat of defiance. Savannah was dressed in templequiet colors—offwhite sweater, jeans. She felt as raw and exposed as the walls around her.Colton followed behind, dressed in a dark shirt and jeans, his eyes circling every corner with an odd reverence. His jawline was shadowed, face drawn, but still enough to anchor them both. He carried with him a small cardboard box of notes and legal pads.“This is ours now,” he finally said, v

The dawn light filtered through the compound’s crystalline glass walls, softening the hardened angles of surveillance cameras and reinforced doors. Inside the nursery, Savannah reclined in a high-backed chair, its upholstery trimmed with velvet and erased storylines. Little Eva lay asleep across her chest, her tiny breaths a lullaby of fragile hope. The air smelled faintly of lavender and fresh sheets—an intentional attempt to heal what had been burned away.Delaney stood at the door, silhouetted in morning glow. Her blouse still smelled faintly of antiseptic. Her skin bore new bruises—purple bruises that testified to nights of torture, yet also to survival. She knelt, the weight of legible scars pressed into her bones, anchored by raw regret and stubborn intention.Savannah beckoned uncertainly. Delaney closed the distance, tracing trembling fingertips across bare skin near the baby’s ankle. The moment hung suspended—bruised trust meeting open palm.Savannah slipped off her shoe and

The villa was not sleeping—it was holding its breath.Outside, moonlight smothered the gardens in silver gauze, catching the last dew from a midnight storm. Inside, silence moved like something animate, crawling over cold marble and warm velvet, slinking into corners, watching. It pressed against windows like a predator who’d once been invited inside.Savannah was unconscious. She lay like something buried, limbs heavy, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as if the dreams beneath were too wild for even sleep to contain. Her lips were pale, parted slightly, and Colton sat beside her like a man at vigil. No prayers, no words—just the broken cadence of his breathing.Eva, oblivious, slept curled up beside her mother, her small form a fragile symmetry in the chaos. A thumb still in her mouth, her breath came soft and even—proof that something in this house remained untouched.Colton had stopped watching the child hours ago. His gaze never left Savannah.“She’s stable,” Rhett said from th

At 12:03 a.m., the phone rang.Not with urgency. Not with panic. But with a slow, dreadful rhythm—like a whisper rising from beneath the earth. One soft vibration. Then another. Then a silence so complete it felt alive, like something watching her from the shadows.Savannah was already awake.She hadn’t slept in three nights. The bedroom glowed faintly from the hallway light that bled in under the door, just enough to cast long, silvery lines across the walls. Her daughter, Eva, lay on her chest, curled like a sleeping question mark—warm and impossibly still, her breath ticking against Savannah’s collarbone with the clockwork of a metronome. Only it wasn’t soothing. It was too precise. Too quiet.The hum of the phone cut through her thoughts like a scalpel. She sat up without thinking, her arms tightening instinctively around Eva. Her skin prickled with a premonition she hadn’t invited. The world, for one sharp second, felt glass-thin.She answered.No number. No name. No greeting.Ju

The morgue archives were an echo chamber of death and secrecy. Cold tiles underfoot, glass cabinets holding remains labeled only by numbers. The air tasted faintly of formaldehyde and regret.Julian lifted the lid of Draw 317 with gloved hands that quivered—not from morbidity, but from the weight of erasure. He expected the body to be there, the one believed to be Magnolia Quinn's. Instead, files had been scrubbed.Jane Doe #317: originally logged as a drowned blonde, unconscious recovery, transported for postmortem. The monitor showed a blank space. No file. No record. No physical evidence. Everything purged as though she’d never existed.Julian scrolled through backup archives, version histories, chainofcustody logs… nothing. The deletion timestamp matched to an anonymous root access. Someone with clearance had removed the corpse entirely.In the kitchen’s corner of surveillance room, he found a personal log flagged as irregular. It wasn’t automated—it was a handwritten note inse