All Chapters of Runaway Heiress: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

The news of Cross Empire's withdrawal from the Kensington bid hit the market like a meteor strike. It was 8 AM. The London Stock Exchange had just opened, and the ticker was already flashing red for Cross Empire and green for AVA. But in the penthouse on Park Avenue, the silence was absolute. Aurora sat at the kitchen island, her phone in her hand. She was staring at the press release Adrian had sent to Elias, which Elias had immediately forwarded to her. Cross Empire respectfully withdraws its bid... ...Maison AVA represents the future of the industry... ...do not wish to impede innovation. It was impossible. Two hundred million dollars. A contract she had been fighting for, bleeding for, losing sleep over for months. And he had just... given it to her. "Maman?" Ethan asked, tugging on her sleeve. "Why is your face like that?" Aurora looked down at him. "Like what?" "Like you saw a ghost," he said. "No," she whispered. "Not a ghost. Just... a surprise." She looked back

The jazz club was a memory, a smoky, golden haze in Aurora’s mind. The reality was the morning after. Aurora sat at the kitchen island in the penthouse, a cup of coffee cooling in her hand. She was wearing her "weekend armor"—jeans and a sweater—but she felt exposed. She had kissed him. She had let him hold her. She had let him whisper "I love you." She had let herself believe, for one dangerous, intoxicating night, that they could just be "Liam and Aurora." But now, the sun was up. The city was awake. And the truce was being tested. Liam had sent a text at 8 AM. I meant everything. Just three words. Simple. Terrifying. He wasn't backing down. He wasn't retreating into the "business partner" role. He was pressing his advantage. "Maman?" Ethan asked, interrupting her thoughts. "Are we going to see Liam today?" "No," she said, too quickly. "Liam is working." "But it's Saturday," Ethan argued. "He said he doesn't work on Saturdays anymore. He said Saturdays are for tigers."

The morning of July 14th broke over Montauk with a clarity that felt like a promise. The sky was a brilliant, unblemished blue, the ocean a shimmering expanse of diamonds. The beach house, usually a solitary outpost against the elements, was transformed. It was a fortress of joy. A massive white tent had been erected on the dunes, its flaps open to the sea breeze. Inside, long tables were draped in navy blue linen, set with silver cutlery and vases of wildflowers. A station for face painting. A bouncy castle shaped, inevitably, like a dragon. And in the center, a cake that defied gravity—a three-tiered masterpiece of fondant and sugar, depicting a knight fighting a dragon, with a small, marzipan boy standing triumphantly on the battlements. It was Ethan’s dream, made manifest by the combined forces of AVA’s design team and Cross Empire’s logistics department. Aurora stood on the deck, watching the caterers set up. She wore a white sundress, simple and elegant, her hair loose. No

The beach house deck was a stage, and the players were a strange, beautiful, and complicated cast. The red Corvette sat in the driveway, a gleaming symbol of the past. The bouncy castle in the dunes was a symbol of the present. And the two men standing by the paint table... they were the future, colliding. Aurora watched from a distance, her heart a metronome set to a frantic pace. Liam and Michel. The "bad papa" and the "soup man." They were sitting side-by-side at a low, plastic table meant for six-year-olds. Ethan was between them, a small king holding court with two very different knights. "This," Ethan instructed, handing Liam a tube of cerulean blue, "is for the sky. But not a happy sky. A storm sky." "A storm sky," Liam repeated, uncapping the paint with a reverence usually reserved for signing billion-dollar contracts. "Understood. Do we need gray?" "Yes," Ethan said. "Like your eyes." Michel, sitting on Ethan’s other side, let out a bark of laughter. "He has you the

The bubble of Montauk was perfect. It was a world of salt air, dragon cakes, and a "Papa" who slept in the guest room but made pancakes in the morning. But bubbles, by definition, are temporary. It was Sunday evening. The sun was setting on the weekend of Ethan’s sixth birthday. The guests were gone. The bouncy castle had been deflated, a sad puddle of vinyl on the lawn. Aurora stood in the kitchen, packing the last of the leftovers. Liam was outside, helping Ethan find "treasure" (sea glass) one last time before dark. Her phone buzzed on the counter. It wasn't Sophia. It wasn't Elias. It was a news alert. CROSS EMPIRE STOCK SURGES ON RUMORS OF "ROYAL WEDDING." Aurora stared at the screen. Royal Wedding. The press had taken the photos from the hospital—the "united front"—and the leaks from the birthday party, and they had spun a fairy tale. They had decided that the "Secret Heir" scandal was actually a "Secret Romance." They were rewriting her life again. She felt a famili