All Chapters of THE WRONG MAN'S BABY: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Damian’s POVHeadlights slice through the shattered windows, catching the dust midair like falling stars.The door creaks open.Ariana steps in.The wind outside is wild, tearing through the open space. Her eyes flick from me to Adrian, then to the gun on the floor between us. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t cry — just stares, like she’s been expecting this night for a long time.“Damian,” she whispers. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”I shake my head. “Go back to the car, Ariana. You shouldn’t be here.”“I’m not leaving you.”Adrian laughs — a low, broken sound. “How touching. The saint comes to save her hero.”“Not a word,” I warn, stepping closer.He wipes the blood from his mouth, smirking. “You don’t get to silence me anymore, brother. Not after everything you’ve taken.”“I didn’t take anything that wasn’t already destroyed.”He sneers. “Destroyed? You mean the family name, the business, the illusion that we were ever anything but enemies?”“You did that,” I say flatly

Ariana’s POVThe corridor outside the courtroom is a blur of noise , reporters, murmurs, flashing cameras. Hale stands near the exit, jaw tight, eyes scanning the crowd like he expects an ambush.Damian and I step aside into a quiet corner. His phone’s already out, his voice low and clipped.“Get me everything you can on that footage,” he says into the receiver. “Timestamp, metadata, chain of custody, I don’t care how. Just get it before we go back in.”He hangs up, breathing hard.“Who was that?” I ask.“Roth. Our tech guy.” He runs a hand through his hair. “If Adrian tampered with evidence, there’ll be traces. He’s not as smart as he thinks.”I wish I could believe that. But Adrian’s never needed to be smart, just cruel.The image of the video plays again in my head , Damian’s hand around his brother’s throat, the flash of violence frozen in the frame. Taken out of context, it looks damning. Exactly what Adrian wants.I swallow hard. “What if the judge believes it?”“She won’t,” Dam

Damian’s POVBy midnight, the room looks like a crime lab.Screens glow with spreadsheets, emails, and archived data. The air hums with the sound of quiet war — fingers typing, hearts racing, truth unraveling.Ariana’s hair falls loose over her shoulders, her eyes sharp and focused despite the exhaustion. She’s been matching timestamps and cross-verifying bank transfers for hours.“Got it,” she says suddenly, voice low but fierce.I move beside her. “What did you find?”“The payment trail. It’s all there, the money from Adrian’s offshore accounts moved through three dummy companies before hitting Judge Hart’s charity fund.” She scrolls fast, pointing to the chain of transactions. “He didn’t even try to hide it well. He thought no one would dig this deep.”I stare at the screen, the numbers glowing like confessions. “We can prove he bribed the judge.”Ariana nods, a shaky smile ghosting across her lips. “This… this could actually end it.”But something inside me doesn’t let me celebrat

The phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.I ignored it twice, thinking it was another logistics update, another problem that could wait. Then it buzzed again, Hale’s name flashing across the screen.He never called twice.I stepped out of the boardroom, throat tight.“What?”Static. Then Hale’s voice, low and shaking. “Damian… it’s Ariana. She’s gone.”The floor tilted. “What do you mean gone?”“The villa. Guards down. No signs of struggle except....” He swallowed. “Except the blood.”For a moment, all I could hear was the hum of the city outside the window. Then the sound of my own heartbeat, hammering so loud it drowned everything else.“Where’s my son?”“Missing. Both of them. We’re pulling footage now.”I didn’t remember crossing the room. One second I was standing by the window, the next I’d slammed my fist into the wall hard enough to leave a dent.“Get the chopper ready. I’m on my way.”“Damian....”“Now, Hale!”The call ended. My pulse didn’t.I grabbed my jacket, keys, gun, muscle mem

Ariana's Pov Sunlight spills across the sheets, painting soft gold lines over Elio’s crib beside the bed. He’s still asleep, one tiny fist curled against his cheek. For a moment, I just watch him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the tiny rise and fall of his chest and it feels like the world has finally exhaled with us.The clock says 7:12 a.m. I can’t remember the last time I woke up without panic in my throat.I roll over slowly. Damian’s there, on his side, arm flung over the pillow where I was lying a second ago. He’s still in yesterday’s T-shirt, hair a mess, jaw rough with stubble. He looks younger in sleep , less like the man who built empires and more like the boy I never got to meet before all the chaos began.His hand twitches like he’s searching for me, and I smile.I slide closer until our foreheads touch. He stirs, breath catching, then his eyes open — still hazy, soft, full of something that makes my heart twist.“Morning,” I whisper.He blinks, then smiles, that qu