All Chapters of The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

The door to Alina's hospital room opened. Richard entered first with Emma and Adrian. They visited Alina not long after Daniel left. Alina who had been sitting quietly on the bed slowly raised her head. Her face was still pale. Her eyes swollen—traces of tears after Daniel's visit hadn't completely disappeared. Seeing the three of them come somehow made Alina's chest feel even tighter. A mixture of relief and fear. Relief because they came. Fear because Daniel's threats still echoed in her head. "Sweetheart..." Richard's voice immediately softened with full concern. "Papa heard from the nurse that Daniel came earlier?" Alina tensed. Her hands slowly gripped the blanket. Knuckles turning white from the pressure. Emma immediately noticed the change in Alina's expression and felt her own chest ache. Adrian stood a few steps from the bed with a sharp gaze—observing every detail of Alina's body language. "We just want to make sure he didn't do anything to you," Richard said wit

Marcus continued his report in a voice kept deliberately steady. "Mrs. Sterling hired a journalist from one of the tabloid media outlets," he explained carefully. "Based on our investigation, this journalist is known to work on anything as long as he's paid. Regardless of ethics. His specialty is sensational news with anonymous sources." Daniel's jaw hardened. The muscle in his face moved slightly—the only sign of the anger he was pressing beneath the surface. But he was silent. A dangerous silence. The kind of silence Marcus had learned to fear more than any explosive rage. "I've already begun suppressing the coverage, Sir," Marcus continued quickly. "We've already contacted several platforms to remove posts. Threatening legal action against major gossip sites. The results are already showing—most articles have been taken down, though some people are still leaving negative comments about Mrs. Alina." He paused briefly. "What should we do next, Sir?" Daniel didn't answer imme

Meanwhile at Blackwood mansion, Clarissa stood at the window staring at the quiet mansion garden below. Her mind was spinning. Margaret was angry. But Clarissa didn't regret spreading Alina's photos. Margaret was too patient, too methodical, too convinced that time would solve everything on its own. Clarissa didn't have that kind of patience. Every day Alina still breathed was one day longer than it should have been. Footsteps in the corridor made Clarissa turn. Heavy. Regular. Too familiar. Daniel was home early. Clarissa felt something move in her chest—something uncomfortable. She picked up her wine glass again and pretended to be busy with her phone, looking down at the screen as if reading something important. Those footsteps stopped in front of her bedroom door. No knock. The door simply opened. Daniel stood in the doorway with his jacket still on and his tie slightly loosened—a sign he had been at the office for a long time. But what truly made Clarissa freeze was hi

At two in the morning, Daniel's phone vibrated once on the nightstand.He hadn't slept. Couldn't.The screen lit up in the darkness, illuminating half of his face that was flat without expression.A short message. No sender name. Only a sequence of words chosen carefully so they would mean nothing to anyone who didn't know their meaning.*Done. Clean. Nothing to worry about.*Daniel stared at that screen for a few seconds.Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly—not a smile, just a kind of cold acknowledgment of something that had gone according to plan."Good," he muttered to the darkness.He typed one word as a reply, then deleted that message from his phone as if the conversation had never existed. As if a man named Steven Walsh had never existed, had never written anything, had never dared to touch something that belonged to Daniel.It was done.But that satisfaction didn't bring the peace he had hoped for.Daniel lay on his large and cold bed, staring at the dark ceiling of h

The outskirts of the city in the morning felt different from the night that had given birth to it.The empty lot was now filled with yellow police lines stretching between rusty iron posts. Several patrol cars were parked at angles, their lights blinking weakly under the newly risen sun. A gray sedan—Steven Walsh's car—was still in the place where it had been found, its door open, surrounded by forensic officers working with routine movements that were almost monotonous.Adrian stepped out of his car, adjusted his jacket, and walked closer.He hadn't come by coincidence.Last night, one of his subordinates had managed to trace who first published the article about Alina. The name Steven Walsh appeared after several hours of searching—a freelance tabloid journalist, specialist in sensational news with anonymous sources. Adrian had intended to find the man this morning to dig out who had paid him.But before he could do that, news of Steven's death had already spread.And Adrian's insti