Semua Bab Runaway Heiress: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride: Bab 121 - Bab 130

The "New Normal" was not normal. It was a high-wire act performed without a net. Aurora Vale stood in the center of her kitchen, staring at the remnants of breakfast. Three plates. Three mugs. One with dinosaurs, two with minimalist white porcelain. Liam had stayed. Again. This was becoming a pattern. A dangerous, addictive pattern. He would come over for dinner. He would play with Ethan. He would read a story. And then, he wouldn't leave. He didn't sleep in her bed—not yet. He slept in the guest room, a respectful distance down the hall. But his presence filled the penthouse. His coat on the rack. His shoes by the door. The scent of his coffee in the morning. It was everything she had ever wanted. And everything she was terrified to lose. "Maman?" Ethan was pulling on his backpack, his face serious. "Are we going to the park today?" "No, baby," she said, shaking off her thoughts. "Today is a school day." "But Liam said we could go to the park," Ethan argued. "He said he wo

The waiting room of the Legal Aid office in Queens smelled of floor wax and desperation. Vanessa Leigh sat on a plastic chair, her legs crossed. She wasn't wearing red. She was wearing gray. A cheap, off-the-rack suit she had bought at a discount store. Her hair, once a sleek, expensive ponytail, was loose and slightly frizzy. She looked like a ghost of the woman who had once ruled the 80th floor. But her eyes were the same. Sharp. Hungry. Unbroken. She had been out on bail for a month. Her assets were frozen. Her reputation was incinerated. The "arson" charges were sticking. The embezzlement charges were airtight. Her lawyer, a court-appointed public defender named Miller who looked like he hadn't slept in a week, walked out of the back office. "Ms. Leigh," he sighed, sitting down next to her. "The DA isn't budging. They have the DNA on the bag. They have the financial trail. They're offering a plea. Five years. Minimum security." "Five years," Vanessa repeated, her voice fla

The office of Maison AVA was a kingdom without a queen. The staff walked on eggshells. The seamstresses whispered in corners. The "Secret Heir" scandal, which had briefly been a victory, was now a looming storm cloud. Aurora sat in her office, staring at the documents Miller had drafted. Transfer of Voting Rights. Resignation of CEO. Appointment of Interim CEO: Vanessa Leigh. The pages were heavy. They smelled of legal toner and surrender. She had done it. She had agreed to Vanessa’s terms. She had traded her empire for Liam’s freedom. It was the noble choice. The romantic choice. The choice a "heroine" would make. But Aurora Vale... she wasn't feeling particularly noble. She was feeling... cheated. She looked at the pen in her hand. She looked at the signature line. Ariane Rousseau. She had built this name. She had carved it out of nothing. She had bled for it. And now, she was supposed to hand it over to the woman who had tried to burn it down? To the woman who had st

The "Fortress" collection was a shield, but even the strongest armor couldn't stop the sound of a thousand voices screaming. The media storm that had begun with a single, ugly headline in The Daily Mail had metastasized. It was no longer just a story. It was a feeding frenzy. Aurora sat in the penthouse living room, the curtains drawn against the helicopters that still buzzed overhead like persistent, mechanical wasps. The TV was off—she had banned it after Ethan saw the "royal wedding" segment—but her phone was a window she couldn't close. She scrolled. Page Six: THE 50 MILLION DOLLAR QUESTION: DID SHE TAKE THE MONEY? TMZ: EXCLUSIVE: INSIDE THE 'ATTIC' WHERE THE HEIR WAS HIDDEN. The Cut: MOTHERHOOD OR MERCENARY? THE ETHICS OF AURORA VALE. The narrative Vanessa had planted—the lie about the payoff, the "transaction"—was taking root. The public, who had adored the "Phoenix," were now confused. They were asking questions. Did she sell him? Is Ethan just a pawn? "Stop reading,

The press room at the Cross Empire tower was a coliseum. It was a cavernous space designed to intimidate, with floor-to-ceiling screens, tiered seating for three hundred journalists, and a podium that looked more like a pulpit than a lectern. Usually, it was used to announce mergers, acquisitions, and quarterly earnings. Today, it was being used to announce a life. It was 10 AM on Friday. Two days before the "wedding." The room was packed. Every major network, every newspaper, every gossip blog was represented. The air was thick with the smell of coffee, tension, and the predatory anticipation of a scandal about to be dissected live on air. Liam Cross stood in the wings, adjusting his tie. He wore a suit of midnight blue—a subtle nod to Aurora’s "Reconciliation" gown. He looked calm. Immovable. But inside, he was burning. He had watched the coverage for the last week. He had seen the headlines calling the mother of his son a mercenary. He had seen the pundits debating whether