Semua Bab Bound by Fortune :A Scandalous Heir Billionaire Romance : Bab 91 - Bab 100

The air in the courtroom was a stale combination of lemon polish, worn wood, and seething rage. It was a civil proceeding, a dispute of ownership and guardianship that ought to have been as dry and formulaic as dust. But Melissa Ekon, at the plaintiff's table, had transformed it into a battleground. Her weapon of choice was testimony.Davidson, sitting at the defense table, watched the woman he'd vowed to protect and love. Gone was the poised, available wife of countless charity affairs. Present instead was a queen whose throne had been usurped, her eyes blazing with a cold, sacred fire. Her lawyer, a man with the greasy demeanor of a mortician, grilled her emotionally, in gentle, piercing questions."Mrs. Ekon, how has your husband's behavior altered over the last eighteen months?" Melissa's eyes, which were stuck on her hands, looked up and wandered around the room to land on Davidson. It was not a look of love or even one of hate. It was one of depth, of shocked betrayal."It was

The law, Davidson had once believed, was an asylum of reason. A place where facts were dissected, arguments weighed, and justice argued in some sterile vacuum, apart from the world's din. The courtroom was a secular cathedral, and the judge was its high priest. He had been naive. The hearing to decide on the initial visitation schedule was to be a closed-door, procedural nicety. A bleak but necessary step following the temporary custody ruling. Arthur Crighton had assured him it would be quick, quiet, and agony-free. But as Davidson approached the courthouse that morning, a shiver of dread grabbed his heart. There was a small crowd lingering on the steps, not the usual sudden stream of lawyers and clients, but a knot of individuals with notebooks, phones, and cameras with telephoto lenses.Their heads swiveled in tandem as he approached, predator species recognizing its prey.There was a charge in the air now. No longer the musty scent of justice but the charged, ozone scent of an unf

The study was a sanctum of power. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves contained leather-bound volumes of geopolitics, mineralogy, and economic theory among them, dotted with artifacts from five continents' oil fields—a piece of North Sea drill bit, a Permian Basin geological map, a yellow image of a derrick set against the Alaskan sunset skyline. It smelled of aged paper, good leather, and the very faint, bitter scent of single-malt scotch.This was not a place of leisure; it was a place of decision that altered markets and made destiny.Davidson stood in front of the towering mahogany desk, weighed down by the weight of history in the room crushing him. The passionate declaration of the previous night—You can choose me—had hardened to stone, cold, hard, and unreturnable. On the shining surface of the desk was a sheet of paper. It was not thick, but its weight was expressed in the heavy linen paper and the black, unyielding lettering.At the very top of the first page, it read: CONFIDENTIAL

The drive from Geneva was a subdued, winding ascent into another realm. The tidy, contemporary sheen of the city had given way to the severe, timeless grandeur of the Alps. They arrived in Zurich as the sun was starting to set, sending long, dark blue shadows across the cobblestones of the Altstadt. The air was crisp, with the scent of cold stone and distant woodsmoke.Joe's wasn't a penthouse apartment, but an ancient guild hall tucked away on a narrow alley off the Limmat River. It was a house that knew discretion, its gold-fronted facade holding centuries of secrets behind leaded glass windows. Within, it was a paradox of medieval bones and ascetic modern comfort—exposed beams, an enormous stone fireplace, and furnishings so minimalist that they appeared to accentuate the weight of history in the walls.The housekeeper, a grey-haired, uncomplaining old woman called Frau Heller, had brought them in, deposited a tray containing coffee and bread and cheese, and withdrawn. The heavy oa

The New York penthouse was a different place upon their return. Zurich, with its subdued promises and mountain exactitude, had been a dream. New York was reality, harsh-edged and unforgiving. The city's skyline, which they could see through the sweeping windows, was no longer a promise of triumph but a mesh of watchful eyes and looming threats. Victor's whispers had solidified into a persistent, low-grade rumble of examination in the financial press. Custody was a frozen front, a cold war of legal battles and supervised visits. The weight of it all was a constant load in Davidson's chest.He stood in Joe's study, the place where he had signed away his future. The air was still redolent with the smell of leather and old money, but the stakes seemed immeasurably higher. He was no longer just the protégé considering an offer. He was the husband. The heir. The scandal. Every decision now had the ability to affect the legacy of two families whose fates had become intertwined.Joe was stati