All Chapters of Inherited Chaos: The Billionaire’s Legacy: Chapter 1 - Chapter 7

The rain began the instant her plane kissed the tarmac, as if the city itself was weeping for her return.Elara Monroe stood beneath the flimsy awning of Terminal 4, clutching a coat too thin for a New York November. Rain lashed sideways, cold needles against her cheeks. Taxis hissed past in blurred streaks of yellow, headlights slicing through the gray like whispered warnings she couldn’t quite translate. She had come back for one reason and one reason only: sign a few papers, unlock the modest trust fund her mother had left, and vanish again before the skyline could remind her why she’d stayed away so long.Raised in sleepy college towns and forgotten suburbs, Elara had built an entire life on the belief that Victoria Monroe had died owning nothing but a paid-off house and a handful of regrets. Wealth had always felt like something that happened to other people—people who belonged under these lights. Yet the moment the wheels touched down, an ache bloomed behind her ribs, the kind t

The orchestra launched into a bright, glittering foxtrot, but the sound felt miles away.Adrian crossed the remaining distance in four long strides. Up close he looked taller than memory allowed, broader in the shoulders, the boyish softness she once loved replaced by sharp angles and expensive tailoring. His blue eyes were bloodshot at the edges, as if he had not slept properly in weeks.“Elara,” he breathed. The single word cracked open two years of silence.Serena’s grip on her wrist tightened. “Adrian, this really isn’t.”“It’s okay,” Elara heard herself say. Her voice sounded foreign, thin. “I can handle it.”Serena hesitated, then released her with a worried glance before melting back into the crowd. The circle around them widened instinctively. People scented drama the way sharks scent blood.Adrian swallowed hard. “You look… God, you look incredible.”“Don’t.” The word left her lips sharper than intended. “Don’t do small talk. Not after two years of nothing.”His jaw flexed. “

Elara’s hand trembled so violently she nearly dropped the phone.Damian Locke’s voice slithered through the speaker, smooth and poisonous.“I can be at your hotel in fifteen minutes, Miss Monroe. Or we can do this the hard way. Your choice.”She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her body was still humming from Cassian’s touch, her lips swollen, her thighs aching in the most delicious way. And now this.“I… I need time,” she managed.“You don’t have time,” Damian said, almost kindly. “Cassian Vale is on his way to you right now. And when he discovers what that key actually opens, sweetheart, he will not be gentle. I, however, can still be reasonable. Fifteen minutes.”The line went dead.She stood frozen in the middle of the suite, wrapped only in Cassian’s discarded white dress shirt, the scent of him still clinging to the fabric. Her pulse roared in her ears. She had exactly two options: wait for Cassian and whatever storm he was bringing, or run.She chose the third.She threw

Morning arrives without ceremony.There is no dramatic intrusion of light, no cinematic awakening. Just the quiet insistence of day pressing against the windows, pale and persistent, reminding Elara that time does not negotiate. The night she claimed for herself has passed. The aftershocks remain.She wakes before her alarm.Her body feels alert in a way that is almost irritating, like it has already decided something her mind has not finished processing. She lies still, staring at the ceiling, cataloging sensation the way she always does when she needs control. The sheets are cool. Her breathing is steady. Her chest does not hurt, which feels like a small victory.The phone is still off.That matters.She turns onto her side and lets herself stay there a moment longer, not avoiding the day, just pacing it. Control is not about denial. It is about timing.Eventually, she gets up.The house looks different in daylight. Less theatrical. Less judgmental. The marble no longer echoes. The