All Chapters of Embraced By The Billionaire: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The afternoon light slanted through the tall, imposing windows of Ashton’s study, illuminating the restless energy that seemed to radiate from him. Avery paused at the doorway, a tray with two cups of tea in her hands. She had come to offer a moment of quiet, but the atmosphere inside was anything but calm.Ashton was pacing behind his desk, a phone pressed hard against his ear. His back was to her, but she could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the frustrated way he ran his free hand through his hair. His voice was a low, controlled growl, the sound of a powerful engine forced into neutral.“I understand the analysis, Marcus, but I don’t accept the conclusion,” he was saying. “There has to be another way in. A different approach. Financial records? Old neighbors?”Avery remained silent, listening to the one-sided conversation. There was a long pause as Ashton listened, his pacing slowing to a stop. He stood staring out the window, his reflection a dark, brooding silhouett

The car door closed with a soft, solid thud, a sound that seemed to shatter the quiet of the Havenwood evening. Avery stood for a moment on the sidewalk, the last vestiges of sunset painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and orange behind her. The air was cool and smelled of damp earth and distant woodsmoke.From inside the car, she could feel Ashton’s gaze on her, a silent, protective weight that was both a comfort and a burden. She knew his hands were likely clenched, every muscle in his body coiled and ready. She gave him a single, small nod she hoped he could see, a reassurance for him as much as for herself, and then she turned to face the house.The walk from the street to Clara’s front door felt a hundred miles long. Her own footsteps, soft scuffs on the cracked concrete path, sounded like drumbeats in her ears. The rose bushes Clara tended so carefully seemed to watch her, their blooms dark and velvety in the fading light, their thorns like tiny, silent warnings.The hou

Avery leaned forward in her chair. The image of the kind, artistic boy Clara had painted felt so real, so vivid. It was a stark and painful contrast to the cold, oppressive world of the Reed family she knew. “What do you mean, Clara?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “What happened when he tried to bring his light into the open?”Clara took a shaky sip of water from a glass on the table beside her. Her eyes held the weary look of someone who had replayed these memories a thousand times in the dead of night.“Rose Reed,” Clara began, her voice low and filled with a quiet venom, “believed that anything she could not control, she had to destroy. And Julian’s soul was something she could never truly own.” She looked at Avery. “So, she decided to break it. Not all at once. But piece by piece. Chip by chip. She started where it would hurt the most, in front of his father.”The lamplit room dissolved once more, pulling them back into the chilling opulence of the Reed Corp boardroom.*

Avery shifted slightly on her seat, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. The story had moved beyond a simple tragedy; it had become the tale of a meticulously planned imprisonment. She could barely bring herself to ask the next question, her throat tight with dread.“So… that day…” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. “The day of the accident. What happened?”Clara didn’t answer immediately. She closed her eyes, and a shudder ran through her frail body. When she opened them again, she was no longer in the dusty, quiet room with Avery. She was back in the cold, cavernous halls of the Reed mansion, on a day the sky itself seemed to be grieving.*The weather was a reflection of the house’s cold, grey, and turbulent soul. A storm was brewing on the horizon, the wind whipping through the ancient oak trees in the garden with a mournful howl. Clara was in the grand library, a room adjacent to the rear veranda, polishing a silver tea set that was never used.Sh

Avery sat frozen beside Clara, her arm still wrapped around the old woman’s frail shoulders. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes staring blankly at the opposite wall, but her mind wasn’t there. Her mind was on that windswept veranda, witnessing a scene of horror that had just been painted with words. Housekeeping. It wasn't an accident. It was housekeeping.Across the room, Ashton who later joined them stood by the window, a sliver of the darkening street visible through the curtains. He said nothing. His face was a hard mask, but Avery, who could now read his silences, saw it. The storm in his eyes. His strategic brain was no longer just listening; it was at war, calculating variables, assessing threats, compiling the next moves.Finally, Avery moved. She took a deep, shuddering breath, the first full breath she felt she’d taken since Clara’s story began. The shock inside her began to recede, replaced by something much hotter and more dangerous, a cold, pure rage.“We have to do some