Semua Bab Falling for the Disgraced Heir: Bab 151 - Bab 160

The leak hits before dawn, sharp and merciless.By the time Julia’s phone starts vibrating across the nightstand, the headline has already metastasized—screenshots, legal language stripped of nuance, phrases like annulment filing and corporate risk bolded for maximum damage. She doesn’t open anything at first. She lies there, staring at the ceiling, listening to Brandon’s breathing beside her, uneven even in sleep.When she finally sits up, the room feels colder.“Julia?” Brandon murmurs, waking as if he felt the shift in the air. He reaches for her without opening his eyes, fingers brushing her wrist. “

Brandon’s fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving, as if the screen might bite.The statement is already drafted—measured, careful, designed by three advisors and a crisis consultant who keeps saying words like mitigation and optics. The cursor blinks at the end like a dare. Julia stands behind him, close enough that he can feel her warmth through the thin cotton of his shirt.“Say it,” she murmurs.He exhales. “They’ll burn every bridge I have left.”“You mean,” she corrects softly, “they’ll burn the bridges they think they own.”He turns in the chair, looking up at her. There’s no fear in her face. No tremor. Just that steady calm she’s worn like armor since the board walked away from them. It does something to him—tightens his chest, pulls heat low and sharp, makes him want to touch her just to reassure himself she’s real.“They’re warning me,” he says. “If we go public like this, there’s no soft landing.”Julia steps closer, one hand resting on the desk, the other brushing his s

The numbers glow red on Brandon’s tablet, harsh against the early morning light. He scrolls, jaw tight, shoulders drawn inward like he’s bracing for impact. Julia watches from the kitchen doorway, coffee cooling in her hands, the quiet between them weighted but unbroken.“We can cut back,” he says finally, voice careful. “Personal spending. Travel. Staff. If it buys us time—”“It won’t,” Julia says gently.He looks up, startled not by disagreement but by certainty. She steps closer, sets the mug down, and rests her hip against the table. Outside, the city hums as if nothing is wrong, as if foundations aren’t being tested.“Cash flow’s tightening,” he continues, trying again. “Donors pulling out creates a narrative. If we show restraint—”“—they’ll smell fear,” she finishes. “And keep pushing.”He exhales, fingers raking through his hair. “I hate that this is on you.”“It’s not on me,” she says. “It’s with me.”The words land differently. He studies her face, searching for strain, find

The whiteboard is already crowded when Arthur arrives, lines and arrows crossing like scars that refuse to fade. Sophia stands with her sleeves rolled up, marker poised, eyes narrowed at the web she’s drawn. The room hums with the low buzz of servers and rain tapping the windows—pressure made audible.“Run it again,” Arthur says, setting his coffee down untouched. “From the first leak.”Sophia exhales through her nose. “The tone is careful. No accusations. Just questions. Concern masquerading as neutrality.” She circles a cluster of names. “That’s what makes it effective.”Arthur leans in, shoulder brushing hers. “Vanessa’s style.”“Exactly,” Sophia says. “She doesn’t swing a hammer. She loosens screws.”They move through the data together, voices low, the rhythm practiced. Donations paused without explanation. Editorials that ask instead of accuse. Analysts who suddenly discover skepticism. Each piece alone is harmless. Together, it bends the story.“Influence radius?” Arthur asks.“

Julia steps onto the temporary stage with the sound of folding chairs scraping behind her and the smell of dust and coffee in the air. The community hall is too small for the anger it holds. Faces lift—wary, skeptical, bruised by promises made elsewhere. She grips the podium, feels the tremor in her fingers, and steadies it with a breath that tastes like courage.She sees Brandon at the edge of the room before she sees anyone else. Backstage, half-shadowed, jacket off, sleeves rolled, watching her as if the world narrows to this square of light. His gaze lands on her mouth, then her hands, then her eyes. It warms her spine. It reminds her why she’s here.The lawyer’s warning echoes, unwelcome and precise. Don’t admit fault. Don’t invite liability. Don’t speak without counsel. Silence is safety. Silence is control.Julia leans closer to the microphone. “Thank you for coming,” she says, voice steady enough to pass. “I know why you’re angry.”A murmur ripples. Someone scoffs. Someone els