บททั้งหมดของ The Disowned Heiress : บทที่ 91 - บทที่ 100

PART 2About a week ago....The prison gates swallowed Bella Reynolds whole.The first thing she noticed was the smell. Damp concrete, rusted metal, sweat, and something rotten underneath it all. It clung to her nostrils, refusing to let go no matter how tightly she pressed her lips together. This place was nothing like the holding cell she had briefly stayed in during questioning. This was permanent. This was real.Bella straightened her back the moment she stepped inside, lifting her chin the way she always did. Even in the oversized prison uniform that swallowed her curves and stripped her of elegance, she refused to look small.“I’m Bella Reynolds,” she announced loudly to no one in particular, her voice sharp and entitled. “You’d better remember that.”A few inmates turned to look at her. No one responded. Some stared with empty eyes. Others smirked faintly. Bella took that silence as fear.The first night, she demanded a different cell, claiming the mattress was too thin and

City Hall had never felt so heavy.The grand chamber buzzed with low conversations, measured laughter, and the quiet authority of people who were used to being listened to. Men and women in tailored suits filled the room, names that regularly appeared on financial headlines and global rankings. Every movement felt heavy. Every glance carried weight.Julia sat among them, her back straight, hands folded tightly on her lap.She was painfully aware of how young she looked.She tried not to fidget, but her fingers still pressed into each other, knuckles pale. Every time someone nearby spoke about mergers, global expansion, or policy influence, her heart thudded harder. She listened carefully, but a voice in her head kept whispering the same thing.What am I doing here?Oslo Hurst sat beside her, calm as ever. He leaned back in his chair, hands relaxed, eyes scanning the room like this was just another meeting. He noticed Julia’s rigid posture and turned slightly toward her.“You’re brea

The silence between them stretched until it became unbearable, filling the cramped visiting room with a tension that seemed to press against the walls themselves.Julia finally lifted her head and met Megan's eyes through the thick glass partition. Her expression was calm, stripped of anger, stripped of warmth too. It was not the softness Megan had hoped for, not the tearful embrace she had perhaps once imagined in her darkest hours, but it wasn't hatred either. It was something else entirely, something that looked like acceptance, or perhaps just exhaustion."I forgive you," Julia said quietly.The words were simple. Almost plain. Yet they carried the weight of eighteen years—eighteen years of loss, of grief, of rebuilding a life from shattered pieces. Eighteen years of nights spent wondering why, of days spent forcing herself to move forward when every instinct screamed at her to collapse.Megan's breath caught violently in her throat. For a second, she didn't seem to understand

Losing everything didn’t feel dramatic at first. It wasn’t some loud collapse with sirens and cameras. It was quiet. Slow. Like watching your own shadow disappear under fading light.I slept under a bridge in London the first night I became truly homeless. Not because I wanted to, but because every door I knocked on had already been shut long before I arrived. The Collins family made sure of that. One phone call. One statement. One sentence that erased my existence.“You are no longer a Collins.”That was it.No explanation. No conversation. No mercy.I remember standing outside the family estate gate, my phone pressed to my ear, listening to the dial tone after my father ended the call. My hand shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone. I kept staring at the gate like it might open if I stared long enough.It didn’t.That night, I walked until my legs gave out. London felt endless. Cold. Unforgiving. By morning, I was sitting on a curb with my head between my knees, wondering how s

The alarm went off at exactly 3:17 a.m.It wasn’t the loud, dramatic kind that sent sirens blaring through the entire hospital wing. It was quieter than that. A low, urgent call through the nurses’ station, the kind that made experienced staff straighten instantly, their instincts already bracing for trouble.“Room 614,” a trembling nurse said into the receiver. “Patient is missing.”At first, no one believed it.Patients didn’t just disappear from intensive recovery wards. Not ones with broken bones that hadn’t fully healed, not ones who had woken from a three-year coma barely hours ago. Doctors rushed in desperately.Bella Reynolds was gone.The sheets were twisted like she had clawed her way out of them. The IV stand lay tipped on its side, saline dripping slowly onto the floor. One of the monitoring cables had snapped completely. There was blood on the edge of the bed where she’d ripped a line out without care.“Jesus,” a resident muttered under his breath. “She shouldn’t even b