Semua Bab Beneath the Diamond Veil: Bab 1 - Bab 9

The florist downstairs wrapped the bouquet in cream paper, tying it with a ribbon that matched the color of my engagement dress. It wasn’t even my wedding day yet, but the thought of seeing Damien tonight made everything feel real. Two days. Just two more days and I’d become Mrs. Damien Whitlock. My heart skipped a beat just thinking about it.I stepped out of the elevator, clutching the bouquet a little too tightly. His penthouse door was only a few steps away. I didn’t bother texting him; I wanted to surprise him. I’d spent all week picking the perfect scent for the reception, arguing over cake flavors, and pretending not to panic about my mother’s endless “helpful” suggestions.This surprise was for me. For us.The hallway smelled faintly of rain. It had been drizzling since morning, soft and lazy, like the world itself was waiting for something beautiful to happen. I balanced the bouquet in one arm and reached for the spare key Damien had given me last month. My fingers trembled s

When I opened my eyes the next morning, the light was too bright. It sliced through the blinds like it was angry at me. For a second, I forgot everything that happened. There was a brief, fragile moment where my brain whispered it was just another day before the wedding.Then I saw the bouquet lying crushed in the kitchen bin. The pieces of the ripped wedding invitation on the floor. And my chest tightened like someone had reached inside and squeezed it.The world hadn’t ended. But mine had.My phone was blinking on the nightstand. I stared at it like it was a bomb. Then I picked it up. There were thirty-seven missed calls, twelve voicemails, and more messages than I could count. Some were from Damien. Some from my wedding planner, Layla. A few from Maggie. And then there were the news notifications.The headlines were everywhere.Golden Couple in Trouble?Damien Whitlock Seen WithoutFiancée Hours Before Wedding Rumors Swirl Around Missing Brideto-BeI pressed my palm against my fore

The Whitlock estate was exactly as I remembered it—polished marble, quiet fountains, and walls that whispered old money. The kind of place that made people straighten their backs and lower their voices without realizing why.I shouldn’t have been here. Not after everything. But that was exactly why I came.Layla nearly had a heart attack when I told her my plan that morning.“Elara,” she’d said, clutching her coffee like it was holy water. “Going to a Whitlock event after what happened is either the bravest thing you’ve ever done or the dumbest.”“Maybe both,” I’d replied.She wasn’t wrong. Everyone expected me to disappear. Hide. Break quietly so the Whitlocks could smooth over the scandal. I could practically hear Damien’s smug little speech in my head: *She’s emotional. She’ll calm down.*But I wasn’t calming down. I was dressing up.The evening air was cool as my car rolled up the long, tree-lined drive. Spotlights washed the front steps in soft gold. Waiters in black suits moved

The morning after the dinner with Alexander Whitlock felt like waking from a dream I wasn’t sure I’d had—or a game I hadn’t realized I’d started.The news was everywhere. My face. His. Side by side.“Runaway Bride Seen With Groom’s Father.”“Is Alexander Whitlock Protecting His Son’s Fiancée—or Something Else?”I almost laughed when I saw the headlines. Almost.They called me “the scandal everyone loves to watch.” I’d become a show, a headline, a hashtag. And I couldn’t even deny that I’d handed them the script.But underneath the noise, I felt calm. Too calm. Like the quiet right before lightning splits the sky.The doorbell rang just as I poured coffee. My stomach twisted—it was too early for reporters, and Maggie always texted first.I opened the door halfway.A man in a dark suit stood there, expression unreadable. “Miss Vale?”“Yes.”He handed me an envelope so heavy it felt expensive. “From Mr. Whitlock.”I blinked. “Alexander?”He gave a polite nod. “You’ll find everything insi

The rain came harder, blurring the world into streaks of silver and noise.Damien’s car idled at the end of the alley, headlights slicing through the dark. His face was half-lit, half-shadowed — the kind of look that made it impossible to tell if you should run toward him or away.Alexander’s grip on my arm tightened. “Don’t even think about it.”I looked between them — father and son, mirror images separated by age and ruthlessness. The Whitlocks didn’t just build empires. They bred predators.And here I was, standing between them, soaked and shaking, with both pretending they were here to save me.“Get in the car, Elara,” Damien called, voice raised over the rain. “Please. You have to trust me.”A bitter laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. “That’s funny coming from you.”Alexander stepped closer, his voice a low current. “If you get in that car, you’ll regret it.”“And if I stay?”He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.For a heartbeat, I saw something raw in Damien’s expression —