Semua Bab Falling for the Disgraced Heir: Bab 31 - Bab 40

Dust rose with every swing of the shovel, clinging to his throat, his hair, his skin. Brandon’s palms burned beneath worn gloves, the rough handle biting deep. He hadn’t felt this kind of pain in years—honest, grounding, humiliating. The clang of steel and the smell of sweat mixed with concrete dust around him. Men shouted orders. Engines roared. It was chaos, but it was real.He bent, heaved another bag of cement over his shoulder, and felt something give in his wrist. The pain shot up his arm, but he kept moving. Pride wouldn’t let him stop. Not here. Not where no one knew his name.At least, that’s what he thought—until a familiar voice cut through the noise.“Brandon?”

The market was already alive when Julia arrived—voices rising, carts clattering, and the smell of rain-soaked fruit mixing with diesel fumes. She wasn’t looking for him. At least, that’s what she told herself.But then she heard it.“Good guy, that one,” a vendor said, stacking crates of oranges. “Didn’t take the bonus, said it belonged to the rest of the crew.”“Yeah,” another added, chuckling. “Said he’s just grateful for honest work. You don’t hear that much these days.”Julia’s hand froze over her bag of rice. The air seemed to thicken around her.They were talking about him

The scream of the morning alarm wasn’t what woke Julia—it was her phone. Buzz after buzz, the vibration rattled against the nightstand like a desperate pulse.She groaned, dragging herself upright. One glance at the screen, and the air left her lungs.Breaking News: “Disgraced Heir and Mystery Woman—Caught in the Rain.” Under the headline—her face. Blurry, but recognizable. And Brandon’s—too close, too raw.The world tilted.She scrolled down. The photo showed them outside the apartment last night—her hand clutchi

The morning light broke through the clouds like forgiveness that refused to land. Brandon balanced on the slanted roof, hammer in hand, the metallic clang echoing through the sleepy street. Sweat streaked down his temple, catching flecks of dust that shimmered in the sun. Each swing of the hammer was deliberate—measured, rhythmic, as if he could pound out every regret buried in his chest.He paused only when his breath grew ragged, the ache in his shoulder a dull reminder of the man he used to be—someone who signed checks, not built shelter. He stared at the skyline, where glass towers pierced the horizon, distant and cold. His father’s towers.Across town, in one of those towers’ shadows, Mr. Hughes sat alone at a long mahogany table, the kind meant for grand dinners and power deals. The food in front of him steamed quietly, untouched. His gaze rested on a framed photo propped beside his plate—two boys with matching grins, one arm slung around the other. Brandon at twelve. James at

Julia’s scream sliced through the thin walls of the apartment, sharp enough to stop Brandon mid-step. He dropped the mug in his hand, porcelain shattering against the floor, and sprinted toward the door.“Julia?”She stood frozen by the entrance, pale as the walls around her. Her trembling finger pointed upward. There, tucked behind the edge of the molding, a tiny red light blinked—steady, unblinking, alive.Her voice came out strangled. “They’re watching us.”The air seemed to drain from the room. Brandon stepped closer, the pulse in his throat hammering. He reached up, fingers brushing the hidden lens. The light reflected in his eyes—small, intrusive, merciless.This was his world. The one he’d fought to leave. And now it had crawled straight into hers.===“Stay back,” he said quietly, pulling a small screwdriver from the drawer. His movements were calm—too calm. Julia wanted to scream again, to rage or cry, but the steadiness in his voice held her there.He twisted the screws,