Semua Bab The Billionaire's Hidden Vows: Bab 71 - Bab 80

Colton hadn’t moved in almost an hour. He stood by the wall-length window, the skyline burning behind him in twilight bruises—purple, gold, and the ash-blue of dying light. His reflection hovered in the glass like a ghost: shirt unbuttoned at the throat, collarbone taut with tension, sleeves pushed past his elbows as though he needed his hands free to break something.Savannah waited in the silence, watching him. The folder she’d handed him lay open on the table between them, its contents scattered like the bones of a dismembered history. Her father’s name. Echo’s signature. Her birth certificate—her real one. Nothing whispered anymore; everything screamed.He finally spoke, low and raw, as though his voice had been cut from stone. “They built an empire out of our fathers’ blood. Used their trust. Used their grief.”Savannah’s heart felt too full, too brittle, like a glass of wine trembling near the edge of the table.Colton turned from the window, and his eyes were darker than they h

The sky bled with copper and smoke. A shadow sliced through it—Colton’s helicopter hovering like a demon’s chariot above the flaming yacht. From inside, the vessel shrieked with the sound of fire devouring its own ribs. Metal groaned, glass cracked, and the sea boiled at its base like a cauldron of cursed intentions.Colton stood at the open hatch of the aircraft, not armored but alive with fury. The headset crackled with warnings—“Too close, sir. We can’t hold altitude.” But he had already dropped the cable. Already gripped the descent rope with gloved hands, eyes locked below, onto the floating mausoleum where the woman he loved—and the child who saved him—were trapped in a casket of fire.Smoke tore at his lungs as he lowered himself through the blazing chaos, the scent of diesel and char blending with some foul sweetness. The flames had character now, almost memory. They danced like Magnolia’s laugh.And there, through the broken glass of the lower deck’s porthole—he glimpsed her:

The house was unnaturally quiet.Savannah sat cross-legged in the attic room, surrounded by boxes that hadn’t been touched since the Quinn estate changed hands. Her fingers trembled as she opened the last of Magnolia’s journals—the cover cracked and dry like parchment, as if the truth inside had aged faster than the paper itself.The entry was dated seventeen years ago.“There were two of us. There was always two. Mira and me. We were born into a family that needed secrets like air. One to survive. One to disappear.”Savannah blinked at the looping script. Mira? The name repeated like an echo from some ghost-thin memory, buried under years of false smiles and misdirection. The next entry spilled the details: identical twins, hiding behind a singular name. Mira Quinn and Magnolia Quinn had traded places since childhood—for protection, for power, for mischief. But at some point, the switch had become permanent.“He didn’t even notice. None of them did. Not Daddy. Not Rhett. Not Colton.

The ward was cloaked in clinical sterility, but Mira’s voice made it feel like a cathedral of confession. Savannah sat stiffly on the visitor’s chair, her knuckles pale as she clasped her bag. Mira sat across from her, cradling a mug of untouched tea, eyes bloodshot but unblinking."She died because I let her," Mira said flatly.A silence fell that pulsed like thunder in Savannah’s chest."During childbirth. I could’ve helped. I didn’t."Mira tilted her head, her dark hair falling like a curtain between them, shadowing the intensity of her expression."Weston deserved to be punished. He let Magnolia suffer. He created this legacy of silence and fear. And Magnolia... she begged me to help her escape. So I did—by letting her go."Savannah felt the air evacuate her lungs. "You let her die? Your twin sister?"Mira smiled faintly, as though relieved to say it out loud at last. "She died in my arms. She said, ‘Tell Eva the truth. Protect her from them.’ But I didn’t. I buried her. And I bec

The air in Echo’s underground headquarters was chilled with recycled secrecy, thick with the clinical scent of bleach and quiet dread. The walls pulsed with low-level server hums, and the hallways seemed carved not just from steel and concrete, but from decades of buried sins. Surveillance monitors blinked in rows—glowing orbs that blinked like mechanical gods.Inside the central operations room, files were being shredded behind bulletproof glass. Operatives in black murmured over encrypted transmissions, their eyes darting. There was movement everywhere, and yet no sound beyond the digital heartbeat of the building.Then the reinforced door hissed open.She entered like a bloodstain spreading across white silk—draped in crimson, her silhouette long and exacting, like a blade hidden inside a prayer. Every footstep echoed. Every breath in the room seemed to still.The woman in red didn’t need to speak. Her presence alone created silence.Even the most hardened operatives stiffened. One