บททั้งหมดของ Runaway Heiress: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride: บทที่ 181 - บทที่ 190

The penthouse was quiet, but it wasn't peaceful.It was 2 AM on the night of "The Arrest." The city outside was asleep, the sirens silenced, the drama over. Vanessa was in a cell. The press had their headline. The war was won.But inside Ethan’s bedroom, the battle was still raging.Aurora sat on the edge of his bed, her hand rubbing circles on his small, tense back. The star-shaped nightlight cast long, blue shadows across the room.Ethan was awake. He was curled into a tight ball, clutching Mr. Bun so hard the rabbit’s one eye seemed to bulge. He wasn't crying. He was just... staring.His gray eyes—Liam’s eyes—were wide and unblinking, fixed on the closet door."It's okay, baby," Aurora whispered for the hundredth time. "The door is locked. The bad lady is gone.""She had a needle," Ethan whispered. His voice was a tiny, jagged shard of glass. "She stuck Liam.""I know," Aurora said, her heart aching. "But Liam is okay. He's right here.""Is he?""He's in the living room," she said.

The waiting room of Dr. Aris Thorne, Child Psychologist, was designed to be disarming.It was painted a soft, soothing blue. There were fish tanks bubbling quietly in the corners. The furniture was rounded, soft, and child-sized. It was a world away from the sharp edges of the Cross Empire tower or the cold concrete of the AVA flagship.But for Liam Cross, sitting on a small, beanbag-like chair that was definitely not designed for a six-foot-two CEO, it felt like a interrogation room.Ethan was in the inner office with Dr. Thorne.He had been in there for forty minutes."He's okay," Aurora whispered. She was sitting next to Liam, her hand resting on his knee. She wore a soft gray sweater, her "armor" left at home."He saw me get stabbed in the neck," Liam said, his voice low and rough. "He saw his mother tackle a woman. He saw police cars and handcuffs."He ran a hand through his hair."How does a six-year-old process that? How does he... integrate it?""He doesn't," Aurora said. "Tha

Sunday mornings in the penthouse had become a performance art piece titled Domestic Bliss.The set design was flawless. The sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the dust motes into floating gold. The soundtrack was the low hiss of the espresso machine and the cartoon chatter of Bluey from the living room.The actors knew their lines.Liam stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with a wrist flick that was too precise for a casual cook. He wore his sweatpants and a t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders, the fabric worn soft. He looked relaxed. He looked like a man who had won the lottery and was afraid to check the ticket again in case the numbers changed.Ethan sat at the island, swinging his legs, his cast thumping rhythmically against the cabinetry. He was drawing a dragon with a jetpack.And Aurora... Aurora was the audience.She sat with her coffee, watching them. She was wearing her silk robe, her feet tucked under her on the stool. She was smiling. S

The penthouse was quiet, wrapped in the soft, indigo hush of a rainy Tuesday night. Ethan was asleep, Mr. Bun tucked firmly under his arm. The "Happy Family" was safe.But in the living room, the air was heavy with the ghosts of the past.Aurora and Liam sat on the floor, their backs against the sofa, a bottle of wine between them. They were following "Rule Number 4": We don't forget. They were talking. Not about business. Not about schedules. About the scars."You said you were a coward," Aurora said softly, tracing the rim of her glass. "That day. In the hotel room.""I was," Liam said. He was looking at the rain streaking the window, his profile sharp and shadowed."But why?" she asked. "You were the King of New York. You were fearless in business. You took risks that made other men sick. Why were you so afraid of... me?"Liam didn't answer immediately. He took a sip of wine. He looked at his hand—the hand that had worn his father's signet ring until the day he met Aurora."I wasn'

The empty apartment in Tribeca had been a tomb, but the penthouse, that night, felt like a confessional.Ethan was asleep. The city was quiet. The rain had started again, a gentle, cleansing wash against the windows.Liam and Aurora sat on the rug in front of the fireplace. They weren't touching. They were facing each other, cross-legged, like two people preparing for a séance.Liam had apologized. He had confessed his cowardice, his trauma, his regret. He had laid himself bare.But Aurora... Aurora was still holding something back."You forgave me," Liam said softly, breaking the silence. "Back there. In the apartment.""I did," Aurora said."But you're still... tight," he observed. "You're still holding your breath."Aurora looked down at her hands. Her "working hands." The hands that had sewn coats in the dark."Forgiveness isn't a magic trick, Liam," she whispered. "It doesn't make the memories disappear.""What memories?" he asked. "Tell me. Tell me what you see when you close yo