All Chapters of Bound by Fortune :A Scandalous Heir Billionaire Romance : Chapter 271 - Chapter 280

The city’s cacophony faded with every mile, replaced by the hushed, solemn quiet of the cemetery. Davidson came alone, dismissing his security at the gates with a quiet word. This was not a meeting for an audience. The black car idled at a distance, a speck of modern anxiety in a landscape of eternal peace. He walked the familiar path, the gravel crunching under his shoes, a sound that seemed to echo in the vast, sleeping silence.The Brian mausoleum stood as it had before, a stark, modernist monument of granite against the green hill. It was no longer a raw wound in the earth, but a settled, permanent fact. The grass had healed around its base. Yet, to Davidson, the air around it still crackled with memory. He could still feel the biting cold of the all-night vigil on his skin, the phantom weight of Victor’s fury, the crushing finality of the earth receiving its king.He stopped before the sealed marble door. The name JOSEPH ARTHUR BRIAN was carved deep and clean, without epitaph or

The lull in the days following the meeting in the library was a different creature than the one that had preceded it. It was no longer a wall, but a space, filled with the echoes of painful truths and the fragile possibility of something new. Davidson did not push. He had laid his soul bare before his children, and now, he had to respect the process of their own hearts. He sent simple, undemanding texts. The cherry blossoms on the plaza are in bloom. Thought you might like to see. Or, I remembered that book you loved when you were ten. I found the first edition. He was not trying to buy their affection, but to remind them—and himself—of the connective tissue that existed before the world fell apart.It was Sarah who broke first.She arrived at the Brian Energies tower unannounced on a Saturday afternoon. The building was quiet, a skeletal weekend crew manning the desks. She didn’t call ahead. She simply walked into the lobby, her backpack slung over one shoulder, and told the security

The air in the Palexpo convention center was a controlled climate of power. It was chilled, filtered, and thick with the unspoken languages of geopolitics and finance. The Geneva Energy Conference was not a place for the faint of heart or the newly crowned; it was a gladiatorial arena for established titans, a place where handshakes could shift global supply lines and a carefully chosen word could send markets into a tailspin. For decades, the name that had echoed through these halls with the most weight was Joe Brian’s. This year, the world watched to see if the echo had a successor.Davidson Ekon entered not with a conqueror's swagger, but with a sovereign's calm. He was flanked by a small, efficient coterie of advisors, but he walked alone at their center, a solitary figure in a perfectly tailored, understated navy suit. The scars of his recent wars were invisible beneath the fabric, but they were present in the new stillness of his face, the measured certainty in his gaze. The boy

The federal courthouse was a fortress of a different kind, its authority not derived from commerce but from the cold, dispassionate weight of the law. Davidson did not attend in person. To sit in that gallery would have been to make it a spectacle about himself, to insert his presence into her final public unraveling. Instead, he watched from his office on a single, muted screen, the scene playing out like a grim, silent film.Melissa Ekon sat at the defense table, dwarfed by her own lawyers. The dramatic black costumes were gone, replaced by a simple, dove-gray suit chosen to project an air of respectable victimhood. But the garment hung on her; the fight had hollowed her out. The vibrant, spiteful energy that had fueled her cathedral outburst and the tape leak had evaporated, leaving behind a brittle shell. She was a queen whose kingdom had been reduced to this: a wooden chair, a glass of water, and the unwavering gaze of the state.Wire fraud. Conspiracy. Illegal surveillance. The

The loneliness was a fact, incontinently a new and permanent part of the landscape of his life, as if it were a mountain range on the horizon. In the dark, Davidson had owned up to it; and in the cold light of morning, he didn't retract. What he did, as he always used to do when faced with an immovable obstacle, was to take stock of it, get to know its features, and begin construction in its shadow.The idea had been seeded in Geneva, mentioned as a strategic plank in his speech. But it had remained an abstraction, a line item in a corporate manifesto. Now steeped in the quiet of his sovereignty, he saw it for what it could be: not a strategy but an antidote. Not a defense, but a creation.He called the inner circle not to the boardroom but to the sun-drenched atrium at the top of the tower. The setting was deliberate-open, airy, looking toward the sky, not down at the conquered city.“We've spent a year fighting over a legacy,” he began, his voice calm, devoid of the fierce passion o