บททั้งหมดของ Falling for the Disgraced Heir: บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

The photos were everywhere by noon.Julia saw them first on a muted screen in the corner of a café, then again on her phone, then again in the reflection of someone else’s device as she passed on the sidewalk. The algorithm had decided. Brandon and Vanessa—too close, too angled, the crop too precise to be accidental. A hand near an elbow. A smile mid-sentence. The illusion of intimacy sharpened by timing.Two lies. One camera.She didn’t stop walking. She didn’t open the article. She let the images exist without feeding them oxygen, felt the familiar itch rise—confront, clarify, correct—and resisted it. The day pressed on regardless, and Julia pressed back, choosing quiet as a form of control.By evening, the apartment felt like

Brandon didn’t raise his voice when he closed the door behind them.The sound was soft—controlled—but it carried weight, like a decision being sealed. Julia felt it in her chest before she turned to face him, still holding her phone like a shield she no longer believed in. The room smelled faintly of rain and the citrus cleaner the staff used, a sterile calm that made the silence sharper.“I saw the photos,” he said.Not who, not why. Just the fact. A quiet blade laid flat between them.Julia nodded once. “I assumed you would.”

The notification landed like a slap.Julia was halfway through answering an email when her phone vibrated, screen lighting up with a headline so bold it felt physical. Charity Funds Questioned—Executive Director Under Review. Her name followed, clean and merciless, stitched to words like irregularities and misallocation. For a moment, the room tilted. Sound thinned. Breath shortened.She read it once. Then again.“No,” she whispered, though the article didn’t hear her. The evidence displayed beneath the headline looked frighteningly rea

Arthur’s screen flickered as another data set loaded, the room lit by the cold blue glow of evidence trying to become truth. Sophia leaned over his shoulder, close enough that her breath warmed his collarbone, close enough that the tension between them sharpened the silence. Numbers scrolled. Names blurred. Time compressed into a narrow tunnel of focus.“Here,” Arthur said. “Pause it there.”Sophia’s finger hovered, then tapped. The ledger froze, a constellation of transfers branching out like veins. Her pulse thudded in her ears. “Those aren’t donations,” she said. “They’re consulting fees. Too regular. Too clean.”Arthur nodded. “And too small to trigger alerts. Someone wanted them invisible.”

The microphones were already angled toward her when Julia stepped up to the podium.Flashes erupted—white, blinding, relentless—and for a split second her vision blurred. She steadied herself by placing both hands on the cool edge of the lectern, shoulders straight, chin lifted. The city’s breath seemed to pause with hers, waiting to see if she would break.“I will answer questions,” she said, voice clear. “But I won’t perform grief for anyone.”A murmur rippled through the press pool. Someone laughed under their breath. Someone else leaned forward, hungry.A reporter didn’t wait to be acknowledged. “Ms. Bailey, are you denying the allegations of charity mismanagement?”