Semua Bab Bound by Fortune :A Scandalous Heir Billionaire Romance : Bab 171 - Bab 180

The universe was shrunk to the size of a sickroom. The broad, sweeping narratives of empires and scandals, of plummeting stocks and deserting allies, were quashed into inactivity by the thick carpet and drawn drapes of the penthouse bedroom. Only the beat of strained breath and the gentle, insistent beep of the heart monitor, a small, fine counter-melody to the stillness of a life fading away.Davidson sat in the new, permanent chair beside the bed, his own body weary to the bone. He held Joe's hand, tracing his thumb over the distended veins, a tender prayer for more time. Joe had been going in and out all day, his moments of consciousness shorter, sweeter, and more tortured. Each time his lids fluttered up, the blue was a little grayer, the light in them flickering like a candle in a gust.It was in one of these fleeting instants of consciousness, as twilight tinted the room in gray and purple tones, that Joe's fingers quivered in Davidson's grasp. His morphine-induced dreamy eyes c

The penthouse was a silent cave, a dramatic anomaly to the storm raging outside its walls. Tomorrow was the board vote. A ritual, everyone had said. A coronation for Victor, an execution for him. But a ritual required a final declaration. A last, public statement before the axe fell.Davidson posed before his mirror in the dressing room, a teleprompt app on his tablet placed in a chair. The words of his speech shone, a set of vapid, corporate statements typed out by a PR team already thinking about mentally rewriting their resumes."For the last eight years, my only concern has been the growth and stability of Brian Empire Holdings," he started, his voice resonating flatly in the vacant room. It was a stranger's voice repeating lines from a play he didn't subscribe to. "The current challenges, though real, do not represent the underlying strength of the company or the commitment of its people."He hesitated. Ash between his teeth. A lie. The challenges framed it. Framed him. The shame

The invitation was a vellum and silk gauntlet, hand-delivered to every board member, to every competitor, to every spurned ally, and to every influential gossip columnist. It was not an invitation. It was a summons, signed in the fading but still commanding hand of Joseph Brian.You are cordially invited to a Banquet,to honor my husband and successor,Davidson Ekon.Black Tie.Regrets Only.The sheer, bold-faced cheek of it took the city's breath away, at least for a little while. As the financial pages bled red ink and the Inquisitor salivated over stolen intimacies, Joe was planning a coronation.Davidson had attempted to argue him out of it. "Joe, it's a death wish. It's a room full of people who'd like to kill me, wielding steak knives."Joe, propped up in bed, his body shattered but his eyes burning with one last, defiant gleam, had been immovable. "Exactly," he'd rasped. "You don't go into hiding from the wolves. You throw open the doors of your hall and you make them witness y

The tension in the ballroom was a palpable presence, a crystal goblet that had been tapped and was holding its breath, waiting to shatter. Victor's public challenge hung in the perfumed silence, a toxic cloud. Every gaze was a microscope, every camera a cannon, all trained on Davidson. They were waiting for a flinch. A stutter. The blind, enraged rage of a cornered animal or the breaking wave-front of a man finally outmaneuvered. They were waiting for the crack that would signal the end.It never came.Davidson Ekon didn't flinch for the first time.He did not rush to fill the silence Victor had made. He let it stretch, let the tension coil to a breaking point, let every individual in the room stir in the discomfort of his or her own anticipation. He stood up from his chair in a slow, controlled elegance that was not born of theatrics, but of an inner, profound conviction. It was the rising of a mountain, not the leaping of a brawler.He did not look at Victor. He looked past him, out

The stillness in the penthouse was a fragile, golden thing. For a few precious hours, the world and its noise had been held at bay. The echoes of the banquet, of Joe's drunken anointing, had faded into a quiet, domestic peace. Joe slept in their bed, his breathing a soft, rhythmic whisper that was the only sound Davidson wanted to hear. He was in the adjoining room studying, the lights dim, a single glass of water in his hand, allowing himself, for the first time in months, to just exist without the pressures of an empire actively bearing down on him. The crown weighed less in the darkness, and was more of a secret.His phone, set to Do Not Disturb, began to vibrate. Not a ring, but a persistent, buzzing spasm, skittering across the smooth wood of the desk like a scared insect. Then his tablet screen flickered to life, filling with notifications. Then the landline, the sharp, old-world ring a clashing intrusion.The tranquility was broken.A cold knot tied in his stomach. This wasn't