บททั้งหมดของ Falling for the Disgraced Heir: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

Julia stared at the image until the room felt too small to hold her breathing.Vanessa’s lips against Brandon’s cheek. The angle intimate, the framing cruelly precise. Cropped so that Julia’s hand—interlaced with his only seconds earlier—was gone. Cropped so that the moment looked chosen instead of staged.She sat on the edge of the bed, phone balanced in her palm like a weight. The apartment was dark except for the city glow bleeding through the windows, rain ticking softly against the glass. Each drop felt counted. Each second stretched.It’s nothing, she told herself.That was the problem. Nothing had never been this loud.Her mind did what

Arthur leaned over the glass conference table, palms braced, eyes locked on the cascading lines of data reflected in the darkened windows. The city glimmered beyond the tower like a million indifferent witnesses, but inside the room, the air was tight with calculation and something sharper—anticipation edged with dread.“Run it again,” he said, voice clipped.Sophia didn’t look up. Her fingers moved fast, precise, nails tapping a rhythm she’d learned to trust more than her pulse. Screens shifted, timelines collapsing and reassembling, numbers bleeding into one another until patterns emerged like ghosts. “I already did,” she replied. “Twice.”Arthur straightened, jacket sliding back from his shoulders. “Then explain how seven figures vanish without triggerin

The voices reached Julia before the faces did—threaded through the clink of glass and polite laughter, sharpened by the confidence of men who assumed the room belonged to them. She paused near a column draped in white, champagne flute cooling in her hand, and listened without meaning to.“We need a Hughes wife who understands legacy,” a board member murmured. “Not… this.”Another chuckled softly. “She’s temporary. Optics. Brandon will come to his senses.”Julia stood very still. The word wife pressed against her ribs, heavy and cold. She didn’t look down. She didn’t turn. She let the whisper finish carving its line through her.

The conference room smelled like citrus polish and old money. Julia noticed it immediately as she stepped inside—how the long table gleamed too brightly, how the chairs were already filled with people who hadn’t expected to see her. She moved to the screen at the front, scanning the projected agenda with a calm she didn’t feel.Her name wasn’t there.She let the moment pass without comment, slid into a chair beside Brandon as if nothing had shifted. Around them, voices murmured, papers rustled. The meeting was already in motion, and the omission sat between her ribs like a deliberate bruise.Vanessa entered last, composed and unhurried, heels clicking once before stopping at the head of the table. “Thank you all for being prompt,” she said pleasantly. “Given recent… s

Mrs. Bailey’s hands shook as she set the spoon down, porcelain clicking too loudly against the mug. The sound echoed in the small kitchen, sharp and wrong, and Julia felt it land in her chest before her mind could soften it.The tea had gone cold.Julia watched her mother carefully—the way her shoulders stayed lifted as if bracing for impact, the way her eyes flicked toward the phone on the table and then away again. Fear, Julia realized, had a posture. It curved inward. It made even familiar rooms feel temporary.“They sent another one,” Mrs. Bailey said at last. Her voice was steady, practiced. Her hands were not. “Different account. Same… language.”Julia reached across the table, covering her mother’s fingers with her own. The tremor didn’t disappear, but it slowed, like a pulse finding rhythm again. “You don’t have to read them,” Julia said softly.“I know.” M