Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE EXTRAORDINARY BRIDE OF THE WYNDHAM FAMILY : Kabanata 381 - Kabanata 390

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Victor remained standing, rooted to the spot as if the ground might shift beneath him if he dared to move. His chest rose and fell in uneven lunges, his eyes locked onto Evelyn as the word "alive" echoed through his mind. It was no longer a haunting memory or a desperate wish; it was a solid, undeniable truth. Evelyn could not take her eyes off him. Her son was standing, a sight she hadn't witnessed in years. When she finally found her voice, the usual authority was gone, replaced by a quiet, trembling shock. “Since when?” she asked again. This time, her voice was softer. Victor exhaled slowly, feeling as though the very air in the room had changed. “I should be asking you the same question,” he replied. His voice was steadier now, carrying a newfound weight that demanded respect. Evelyn took a step forward, her eyes searching his face for a sign of the man he used to be. “You can walk,” she breathed. Victor gave a faint, solemn nod. “Yes.

For several seconds after Victor spoke, the room was suspended in an absolute, heavy stillness. It was as if everyone present understood that the air had shifted, and no one dared to breathe for fear of shattering the moment. Mercy stood paralyzed, her heart hammering against her ribs. She searched Victor’s face, moved not just by his words, but by the raw, unguarded way he delivered them. There were no conditions in his tone and no hidden agendas in his eyes. He had simply, finally, claimed her. Her lips began to tremble as the weight of the realization hit her. This wasn't just a powerful man making a speech; this was her father. The thought didn't register in her mind so much as it bloomed in her chest, a warm, overwhelming ache that spread until she could no longer contain it. Her vision blurred, and the tears she had been holding back finally broke free. They weren't the quiet tears of polite society, but a torrential release of years of missing pieces and unanswered questio

Cindy placed a hand dramatically over her heart. "That is officially the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." She grabbed a wine glass from the side table and took a long, necessary sip. "I need this. First, I walk into this palace of a house. Then I find out my best friend is marrying the most powerful man in Richbouph. And then—" She paused, turning a pointed look toward Mercy. "And then I find out you’re also a secret billionaire?" Mercy sighed. "I’m still processing that part myself." "I’m going to faint!" Cindy declared, dropping dramatically into a plush armchair. "My entire life has shifted. I arrived here in a luxury car, Mercy. Do you have any idea what that does to a person?" "You’re impossible," Mercy laughed. "I’m iconic," Cindy corrected proudly, reaching for the bottle. Aurelian’s phone rang, breaking the moment. He checked the screen and stood up. "I need to take this," he said, stepping away to answer in a low, controlled tone that immediately signaled he was

The convoy moved in a silent, synchronized sweep as the black luxury vehicles glided down the long private road leading to the Townsend estate. Before they even reached the perimeter, the massive iron gates swung wide, as if the house had been holding its breath in anticipation of their arrival. Inside the lead car, Mercy sat beside Aurelian, her hands resting in her lap. Though she appeared composed, her fingers traced restless patterns against her fabric, a subtle mirror to the thoughts racing through her mind. She turned to the window, watching as the estate revealed itself. It was more than just expansive; it was imposing. The architecture was a heavy blend of history and cold modernity, featuring soaring stone walls, vast glass panels, and sculpted pillars that gave the mansion a commanding, almost predatory presence. The gardens were manicured to a fault, but they lacked the organic warmth of the Wyndham estate. Here, every leaf and stone felt measured and controlled. Mercy

The private conference room of the Townsend estate was not large. The power of that magnitude required presence, not square footage. Every inch of the Townsend private boardroom was designed with a singular, heavy intention. A long, polished table anchored the center of the space, flanked by high-backed chairs that felt more like thrones than office furniture. Dark wood walls with subtle gold detailing caught the soft light, while a wide glass panel offered a sweeping view of the estate grounds. Everything here spoke of legacy and the quiet, iron-fisted decisions that shaped global empires. One by one, the invited guests arrived. These were men and women whose names carried immense weight: senior executives, long-standing allies, and board members who had stood by the Townsend name for decades. Their conversations were low and measured, a practiced hum of professional courtesy that lasted only until the heavy door swung open. Evelyn Townsend walked in first, and the room fell into