Semua Bab Back in His Arms, Back in His Game... a Billionaire's Price: Bab 161 - Bab 170

Across the city, consequences were already in motion.Sebastian went straight to his study the moment he got home. No pause. No detour.John followed, tablet in hand. “We have confirmation. Natasha’s legal team tried to delay this afternoon. The court denied it.”Sebastian nodded once. No reaction, just acknowledgment.“The judge also moved the pre-trial conference up,” John continued. “Three weeks sooner.”Sebastian paused, not in surprise but calculation.“Good,” he said. “File supplemental motions tonight. Narrow discovery. No fishing, no extensions.”John hesitated. “That forces them to respond immediately.”“That’s the point.”Sebastian turned toward the window. The city below glittered, money, power, influence, none of it durable when pressure was applied correctly.He didn’t mention Gideon. He didn’t need to.Gideon had asked for time because he was already running out of it. Sebastian had no intention of giving him any.Emilia sat on the edge of the hotel bed, phone still warm

Across the city, preparations moved with quiet urgency.Alina stood at the center of the conference room, not as counsel, but as the one person who understood the evidence most completely. Medicine was her first language. Systems were her second. Years of experience had taught her that truth only endured when it was documented precisely.When her father, Jonathan, died, she had been fifteen. Too young to question doctors. Too young to notice missing entries. Too young to know how easily records could be altered without being erased.She had accepted the explanation because the system told her to.Now, years later, she could see exactly where it had failed.Medical charts, pharmacy logs, and audit trails covered the table. Alina moved through them with calm precision.“These aren’t random changes,” she said, pointing to a projected timeline. “Incremental. Small enough to avoid alarms. But cumulative. Enough to destabilize cardiac rhythm over weeks, appearing sudden only in retrospect.”

A few days after the final judgments, Sebastian’s office was quiet, the city’s hum muted behind the tall glass windows. Paul Rowan sat across from him, shoulders heavy with the strange mix of grief and relief that followed justice.Sebastian slid a thick folder across the desk.“This is separate from the court-ordered restitution,” he said evenly. “It’s intended to give you a legitimate starting point. Housing. Stability. A way forward. Use it correctly.”Paul looked at the folder, then up at him. “I will,” he said quietly.Sebastian’s tone didn’t soften. “This support is conditional. No gambling. No alcohol. No debts, no relapses, no explanations after the fact. If I learn that you’ve returned to either, my involvement ends immediately.”Paul swallowed and nodded. “Understood.”“I helped you see this case through,” Sebastian continued. “I’m helping you rebuild because it’s the right thing to do, for Tessa’s memory. That does not make this an open-ended arrangement. You get one clean

After their quiet intimacy, Sebastian and Alina stepped into the shower together. Water cascaded over them, steam curling around the edges of the glass enclosure. Their touches lingered, deliberate and tender, hands exploring with care, lips finding lips in soft, urgent kisses. Every brush of skin, every whispered word, carried the weight of months, burdens finally lifted.The water traced their bodies, washing away tension, leaving only presence. When the shower ended, they stepped out, towels wrapped loosely, still holding each other close. The suite’s warm lighting reflected off the glass, the room scented faintly of soap and lavender. Every glance, every brush of a hand, was a quiet affirmation: they had chosen each other, fully, without distraction.Later, Sebastian approached her with a playful, steady smile. “Get ready,” he said, his tone deliberate. “We’re going somewhere tonight. Just us. I told John to arrange a private dinner. Formal. No exceptions.”Alina’s eyebrows rose i

Emilia didn’t go far.She moved slowly down the corridor, past rooms that no longer reacted to her presence. The house continued as if nothing had changed, quiet, orderly, indifferent. That hurt more than if it had resisted her.She entered her bedroom and closed the door. Only then did the composure she’d maintained fracture.She stood still, hands at her sides, breath shallow, as though her body hadn’t yet accepted what her mind already understood. Then she crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.The tears came silently. Warm. Unrelenting. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, instinctively stifling even that small release, as if grief still required permission.She had lost more than a marriage. She had lost position. Voice. Identity.For years, Emilia Vaughn had been necessary. She had been consulted, deferred to, trusted. The one who smoothed tensions, hosted with effortless grace, and quietly held the family together while Arthur focused on leverage and strategy. She ha