All Chapters of Bound by Fortune :A Scandalous Heir Billionaire Romance : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The quiet after the coronation was an illusion. It was the dangerous stillness of the sea after the gale, the surface glazing while riptools accumulated strength below. Davidson had expected Victor's wrath to be a public, fired explosion—a lawsuit, a hostile bid, a media blitz. But Victor Brandt was not the sort of man who bellowed when a whisper would do. He was an agent of darkness, and when he was brought into the light, he simply withdrew into a darker, denser part of the forest.The first sign was not an attack, but an absence. A small West Texas pipeline company, which had contracted with Brison for shipping logistics for a decade, quietly declined to extend its contract. The reason given was vague: "developing new strategic initiatives." The loss was negligible, a rounding error on Brison's financial statements. But the move didn't make sense as a business decision. The company would pay more for inferior service. It was a sign of spite, not strategy."Victor's fingerprints," J

The court document arrived by special delivery, its thick, cream-colored paper and large-type printing a disorienting contrast to the online unpleasantness that had been Davidson's routine. Not surprising, and yet, holding the actual summons in his hand was like a fresh wound. Melissa wasn't content with temporary sole custody. Galvanized by the "unholy union" myth and dossiers circulating everywhere, she was going for the jugular.The charge: Parental unfitness due to an immoral and unstable lifestyle.The custody hearing court was different from the previous formal ones. This was a huge, panelled court, smelling of lemon polish and suppressed anger. The public gallery was packed. Melissa's side consisted of a sea of smiling, serious-faced relations and church members, their presence a solid wall of unspoken condemnation. Davidson sat next to his lawyer, Arthur Crighton, and could feel the weight of their stares as if they were actual force. He was on his own. Joe's presence, he was

The penthouse was a testimony to silence. The kind of deep, city-can't-see-it silent that is dense and textural. Only the moon lit it, a chilly crescent through the glass walls, casting the minimalist furnishings in bone and ash tones. Joe was abroad in Tokyo, a week-long journey to nail down their Pacific ties, a continent and an ocean away.Alone, the vastness felt more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary. The stylishly selected paintings on the walls, the million-dollar view—it all felt like a set. A beautiful, empty shell.Davidson stood in the window but wasn't staring out at the glittering tapestry of New York. He was looking at another painting, projected onto the black glass by his own relentless projector of a mind. It was the living room of the Texas house. The faint scent of Melissa's lavender soap. The worn spot on the couch where he sat beside Mark, reading him aloud from a primer book. The circle of Lily's helpless laughter as he zigzagged around the dining table after h

The dam was never breached; it was dismantled surgically. There was no one, blow-like data dump, rather the leaks began to appear as a slow, toxic seep, one at a time carefully paced for maximum damage. It was a try at a thousand cuts, and Victor Brandt was a master surgeon.The first shot was a series of emails, published by a self-described independent finance blog with a history of "deep dives." They were real—corporate email strings between Joe and Davidson years earlier, when Davidson was a bright, ambitious mid-management staffer. They portrayed Joe's tone as single-mindedly focused, demanding perfection, excluding Davidson from high-level assignments. Taken out of context, they sounded like something else altogether."Your analysis of the Permian Basin is the one only that shows real comprehension. The others are lifeless. Meet me at the private hangar at 7 PM. We'll discuss this on the way to Houston."The commentary by the blog was an art of insinuation. "Where other executiv

The first missed meeting was a minor one, the quarterly board review with the sustainable energy department. Joe's no-show had been noticed, but without comment. An apologetic note from Eleanor had circulated: Mr. Brian is not feeling well. Mr. Ekon will chair. The boardroom, still ringing from the threat of the protests, had digested the change without comment. Davidson had chaired the meeting with an iron-like ferocity he lacked, the empty chair at the head of the table a quiet, shadowing question.His second absence was more apparent. The Vail leadership retreat, the yearly Brison tradition, was where strategy was dreamed up, coalitions were built, and morale was boosted against the stunning backdrop of the Rockies. Joe never missed attending. His presence was the pillar of the event.Eleanor's email this time was more circumspect. Mr. Brian regrets not being able to attend this year's retreat. He has full confidence in Mr. Ekon to be at the helm of affairs.The whispers started in