บททั้งหมดของ Runaway Heiress: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

The "escape" vehicle was moving too slowly.Aurora sat in the back seat, Ethan curled in her lap, his breath hot against her neck. She was stroking his hair, a repetitive, soothing gesture that was more for her than for him.Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it.The image of Liam, kneeling in the grass. The image of Ethan, hugging him.And the image of Liam’s face as he watched them leave.It wasn't the face of a predator. It was the face of a man who had just discovered a missing piece of his own soul.He knows.The text message burned in her pocket. But Vanessa saw. She knows.He was protecting her. From his own Vice President. From the monster he had unleashed."Maman?" Ethan murmured, his voice sleepy. "Why was the lady mean?""Which lady, baby?""The lady in the red dress. She looked... angry.""She was just... tired," Aurora lied, smoothing his hair. "Sometimes grown-ups get tired and they forget their manners.""Like when I don't share my blocks?""Exactly like that."She

CThe city of New York never slept, but tonight, it seemed to be holding its breath.Eighty floors above the restless grid, Liam Cross was awake.The lights in his office were off. The only illumination came from the city itself, a cold, electric glow that washed over the leather sofa, the mahogany desk, and the man pacing like a caged tiger.He had left the gala hours ago. He had dismissed his driver. He had dismissed his staff.But he couldn't dismiss the image in his head.Ethan.The boy with the messy hair. The boy who liked tigers. The boy who had hugged his leg with a strength that defied his size.Liam looked at his hand. He flexed his fingers. He could still feel the ghost of that small body pressed against him. He could still feel the warmth.He has your eyes.Aurora’s voice, a whisper in the chaos of the children's tent, played on a loop in his mind. It wasn't an accusation. It was a fact. A biological truth she had finally, devastatingly, admitted.He walked to the window. H

The board meeting was not a discussion. It was a tribunal.Aurora sat at the head of the long, concrete table in the AVA boardroom, a solitary figure in a white, high-collared tunic. The color was deliberate. She was not the "black-clad widow" or the "ghost" today. She was a blank canvas. A fresh start.On the massive screen at the far end of the room, six faces stared back at her from the private equity firm’s New York headquarters. They were older, whiter, and richer than God. And they were terrified."The stock is down 12% in pre-market trading," the lead investor, a man named Sterling who looked like a dried apple, said. "The 'Secret Heir' headline is... radioactive. Our analysts are predicting a 40% drop in Q4 sales.""Analysts are paid to be pessimistic," Aurora said, her voice calm, though her hands were clenched in her lap."This isn't pessimism, Madame Rousseau," Sterling snapped. "This is brand suicide. AVA is built on mystery. On 'strength.' This... this is a soap opera. A

The truce was fragile, built on sugar and silence.The "shirt incident" in the AVA flagship had not been a declaration of peace. It had been a pause in the hostilities. A moment where two enemies stood on opposite sides of a canyon and acknowledged that the other was... armed.And attractive.Aurora sat in her office, the morning after Liam’s visit. The white shirt he had bought—the one she had designed for him, even if she hadn't admitted it—was gone. But his presence lingered.She touched her wrist, where he had grabbed her at the gala. The skin still felt warm.Stop it.She stood up, shaking off the phantom sensation. She was not a teenager with a crush. She was a CEO with a target on her back.The "Fortress" collection was a success. The public was on her side. But the industry... the industry was a shark tank, and blood was in the water.Her phone buzzed.It wasn't Elias. It wasn't Sophia. It wasn't even Liam.It was a blocked number.She hesitated. Since the scandal broke, she h

The invitation was not printed on heavy cream cardstock. It did not come with a wax seal or a courier.It was a single, digital line, blinking on Aurora's phone screen.From: Liam Cross To: Aurora Vale Subject: CollaborationMy office. Tomorrow. 10 AM. Alone.Aurora stared at the message. It was 9 PM. Ethan was asleep, safe in the "fortress" of Liam's guest suite, surrounded by guards he thought were "knights."She was sitting in the living room of the suite, a glass of water in her hand, her knees drawn up to her chest.Collaboration.It was a code. A lie. A trap.He wasn't asking for a meeting about fabric or distribution. He was asking for a confession.She had been living under his roof for forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours of polite, agonizing distance. He had kept his promise. He had protected them. He had hunted down the leak—Sophia's "fixer"—and he had silenced Vanessa.But he hadn't come to see her.He had sat in the hallway outside her door at night—she had seen the sha