All Chapters of Savage Reborn: Dumped Him to Marry the Billionaire: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The front door of the Thorne Mansion—solid oak, imported from France, worth twenty thousand dollars—shuddered under the force of a heavy fist.BANG. BANG. BANG."Sheriff’s Department! Open up!"Inside the foyer, the scene was one of absolute bedlam."They can't do this!" Mrs. Thorne shrieked, running down the grand staircase clutching a Louis Vuitton suitcase that was spilling silk scarves. "This is my home! I have rights! Lysander, call the Mayor!"Lysander stood by the window, staring at the three police cruisers parked in the circular driveway. He wore the same clothes he had been arrested in yesterday—rumpled, stained, and reeking of defeat."The Mayor won't take my calls, Mother," Lysander said hollowly. "He blocked my number an hour ago."The door banged again. "Mr. Thorne! You have a writ of possession executed by the bank. You have thirty minutes to vacate the premises!"Thirty minutes.Thirty minutes to pack a lifetime of arrogance into a few bags.Elara sat on a velvet bench

The blades of the helicopter sliced through the night air, a rhythmic thwup-thwup-thwup that vibrated in Vespera’s chest.She sat in the leather passenger seat, wearing a noise-canceling headset. Below them, the glittering grid of Neo-Veridia was shrinking. The Hale Fortress, the ruins of the Thorne factory, the hospital where Elara lay screaming—it all looked like a toy set from up here."Where are we going?" Vespera asked into the microphone. "You said we needed to discuss the next phase of the acquisition strategy."Cyprian sat in the pilot’s seat. He wasn't wearing his usual armor of a three-piece suit. He wore a black linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and dark trousers. His hands moved deftly over the controls.He glanced at her, his grey eyes warm in the dashboard lights."The acquisition is complete, Vespera," he said. "The strategy is over. Tonight isn't about business."Vespera frowned. If it wasn't about business, why the helicopter? Why the secrecy? A small, traumatize

The music began.It wasn't the traditional "Here Comes the Bride." It was a live string quartet playing a haunting, melodic version of Debussy’s Clair de Lune—the song Vespera had once told Cyprian was the only thing that calmed her mind during the nights in the attic.The heavy oak doors of the Hale Fortress’s Great Hall swung open.The guests—three hundred of the world’s most powerful people—stood as one.Vespera stepped onto the aisle runner.The air smelled of heaven. Fifty thousand white orchids lined the walls, but the aisle itself was strewn with white rose petals. Cyprian had remembered. “Orchids are for the show,” he had said. “Roses are for you.”Vespera gripped her bouquet of white peonies. Her hands were trembling, but not from fear.She looked down the long aisle.At the end, standing beneath an arch of interwoven crystal and blooms, was Cyprian.He was wearing a black tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, tailored to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders. His hands

The sirens didn't wail. They chirped—sharp, authoritative bursts of sound that cut through the night air.The courtyard of the Hale Fortress, which had been designed to welcome diplomats and royalty, was now a sea of flashing red and blue lights.Six squad cars were parked on the manicured lawn, their tires digging into the turf.On the terrace, the silence was heavy. The guests—tech giants, politicians, and socialites—stood near the walls, watching the end of the drama unfold with morbid fascination.Oryn and his security team had hauled Lysander and Elara down the main steps to the waiting officers.It wasn't a dignified exit.Elara was screaming. Her zip-tied hands were behind her back, her mismatched, stolen clothes making her look like a frantic scarecrow."It wasn't my idea!" she shrieked, thrashing against the grip of two officers. "He had the gun! I tried to stop him! I’m a victim! Check the hospital records! He hit me!"She was throwing Lysander under the bus, the train, and

The sun was setting over Neo-Veridia, painting the skyline in strokes of bruised purple and burnished gold.Vespera stood on the terrace of the new Vane-Hale Headquarters. It was the tallest building in the city, towering over the old Thorne tower like a queen looking down on a pawn.The wind up here was fierce, but Vespera didn't shiver. She wore a coat of soft cashmere, cream-colored and warm.She rested her hands on the polished steel railing and looked down at the streets below.Somewhere down there, cars were moving in gridlock. People were rushing to dinner. Life was happening in all its messy, chaotic glory.And somewhere down there, on a cold, wet intersection five miles away, a ghost was fading.Vespera closed her eyes.She could still remember the sensation of the asphalt. The grit against her cheek. The cold rain soaking through her cheap dress. The sound of Lysander’s engine revving as he drove away, leaving her to die.I died there, she thought. The weak, desperate girl w