บททั้งหมดของ Runaway Heiress: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride: บทที่ 131 - บทที่ 140

The press conference at Cross Empire had been a hammer. Aurora’s response needed to be a scalpel. Twenty-four hours had passed since Liam had stood on that stage, his hand holding hers, and declared war on anyone who dared to call her a mercenary. The clip was playing on a loop in Times Square. It was on every phone, every laptop, every screen in the city. Aurora Vale is the bravest woman I have ever known. It was the kind of declaration that launched a thousand think pieces. Was it romantic? Was it patriarchal? Was it a PR stunt? Aurora sat in her office at the AVA flagship. The "wolf" suit was gone. Today, she wore the "Phoenix" blouse—the blood-red silk that had started it all. She looked at the press release Sophia had drafted. Ms. Vale is grateful for Mr. Cross's support and looks forward to their future together. It was safe. It was boring. It was exactly what a "future wife" would say. "It's too passive," Aurora said, pushing the paper away. "It's standard," Sophia ar

The Vale family lawyers were a different breed than the "sharks" Liam employed or the "wolves" who worked for the state. They were quieter. Slower. They were the kind of men who wore three-piece suits in July and spoke in whispers that carried more weight than a shout. They arrived at the penthouse on Wednesday morning, a phalanx of gray-haired men led by a woman named Beatrice Sterling (again, no relation, the name seemed to be a prerequisite for Manhattan law). Aurora sat in the living room, Ethan playing quietly in the corner with his "star machine." Liam was there, too, standing by the window, his presence a silent, protective force. "We have reviewed the petition," Beatrice said, placing her briefcase on the coffee table. "It is... aggressive. But flawed." "Flawed how?" Aurora asked, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "The allegations rely heavily on the testimony of a witness—Ms. Sophie Laurent—who has since fled the jurisdiction," Beatrice said. "And on the premise tha

The Cross Empire tower, usually a bastion of ruthless, unified ambition, was fracturing. It wasn't visible from the street. The glass facade was as impenetrable as ever. But inside, on the executive floors, the fault lines were widening. Adrian Cross sat in his office, the door closed. He was the CFO. The "numbers guy." The brother who kept the lights on while Liam built the kingdom. He was also, according to the whispers in the hallway, the "Successor." Sterling—the investor who had tried to oust Aurora—had been whispering in Adrian's ear for weeks. "Liam is compromised, Adrian. He's distracted. He's emotional. The scandal... the trial... it's a liability. The board needs a steady hand. It needs you." It was a seductive song. Adrian had lived in Liam's shadow his entire life. He was the younger brother. The "beta." The one who cleaned up the messes. And now, he was being offered the crown. All he had to do was vote "no." He looked at the document on his desk. The Vote of Co

The penthouse was no longer quiet. It was a construction site of a new life. It was Wednesday afternoon. Three days after the "engagement" press conference. Four days before the wedding. The living room was filled with boxes. Not for moving out, but for moving in. Liam’s things were arriving from his apartment in the tower. Books. Art. A leather armchair that looked like it belonged in a gentleman's club, sitting incongruously next to Aurora’s white minimalist sofa. And in the center of it all, sitting on the floor amidst a sea of bubble wrap, was Ethan. He was holding his one-eyed rabbit, Mr. Bun, by the ear. He wasn't playing. He was watching the movers carry in a massive, flat-screen TV. He looked... small. Aurora was in the kitchen, reviewing the catering menu for the beach house wedding. Lobster rolls. Clam chowder. Pain au chocolat. A menu of truce and memory. She looked up and saw him. The stillness of him. "Ethan?" she called softly. "Are you okay, baby?" Ethan didn'

The beach house "visitations" were one thing—organic, fluid, mediated by sand and waves. But a court-mandated supervised visit was a different beast entirely. It was Tuesday afternoon. 4 PM. The location was neutral: The Children's Museum of Manhattan. Aurora stood by the entrance, holding Ethan’s hand. She was wearing her armor—the black coat, the sunglasses—because the press knew about the visit. The "Family Court" victory hadn't stopped the paparazzi; it had just given them a schedule. Liam was waiting inside. He was not alone. Standing a discreet ten feet away from him was Mrs. Higgins, the Guardian ad Litem. She was there to "observe." To take notes. To ensure that the "reconciliation" wasn't endangering the child. It was humiliating. "Maman?" Ethan asked, tugging her hand. "Why is the lady with the clipboard here? Is she inspecting the dinosaurs?" "She's just... watching, baby," Aurora said, forcing a smile. "Like a referee." "But we aren't playing a game," Ethan said