Lahat ng Kabanata ng The CEO’s Secret Triplets: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

The air in the penthouse felt thinner as the elevator doors closed behind Silas, leaving the echo of his accusations and Dante’s cold ultimatum vibrating in the room. Bella didn't move. She stared at the document on the table—Addendum D—a sheet of paper that had effectively turned her home into a detention center. Ten minutes to pack. It was a bluff, or a test, or perhaps the final move in a game she hadn't realized was being played on a second, hidden board."I’m not getting in the car, Dante," Bella said. Her voice was thin, but it didn't shake. She kept her eyes on the silver pen resting near the edge of the table. "You can’t remove me. Not without a public spectacle that would tank the stock by thirty points before the opening bell. You want the board to see a stable reconciliation, not a CEO whose wife was escorted out by security an hour after the welfare observer left."Dante stood across from her, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. He didn't look angry. That was the

​The executive boardroom was a cage of glass and high-tensile steel, and Bella was the only occupant who didn't have a vote. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows as the elevator doors hissed shut, the sound of Dante’s voice—cold, flat, and final—still echoing in her ears. He had just muzzled her in front of the most powerful people in the city. By reclassifying her life in Geneva as a "corporate trade secret," he hadn't just saved her from a subpoena; he had converted her history into Blackwood intellectual property.​She turned slowly to face the long mahogany table. Silas looked as if he had just watched a prize horse trip at the finish line, while Evelyn Blackwood sat motionless, her eyes tracking Bella like a hawk watching a field mouse.​"The CEO said you were dismissed, Isabella," Evelyn said, her voice like the dry rustle of old parchment. "Unless you have something to add to the record that doesn't violate your new non-disclosure agreement?"​"I’m not leaving," Bella said

The red light on the camera lens was the only thing Bella could see. It felt like a small, unblinking eye, recording the way her fingers brushed against the fabric of her trousers. She forced her hands to remain still. In the periphery of her vision, Evelyn Blackwood stood by the library door, her presence a silent, suffocating weight. Marcus Thorne hadn't moved; he was waiting for the impact of his announcement to settle."The board doesn't have the authority to authorize a medical screening of my children," Bella said. Her voice didn't rise, but the words were sharp, clipping through the quiet of the room. "Not without my signature. And certainly not for a television special.""Actually, Isabella," Evelyn said, stepping further into the room, "they have every right. Section 8.2 of the Trust agreement. The board can mandate an independent health assessment of all primary heirs if there is a perceived risk to the succession's viability. Given the rumors regarding Geneva, the risk is q

Dante watched Bella move through the conservatory of the Blackwood estate, her every step a calculated defiance of the expectations set by his aunt Evelyn. She hadn't worn the high-necked, pearls-and-tweed ensemble the family "consultants" had suggested. Instead, she had chosen a dress of deep, midnight navy that fit her with the precision of a tailored suit. She looked less like a grateful newcomer and more like a woman who had come to inspect the property before deciding whether to buy it.The air in the Hamptons house was thick with the scent of lilies and old money—a heavy, suffocating atmosphere that Dante had spent his entire adult life trying to ventilate. Every guest in the room was a cousin, a trustee, or a strategic ally, and all of them were watching Bella with the clinical detachment of jewelers looking for a flaw in a diamond."She’s poised," a voice murmured beside him.Dante didn't turn. He knew the dry, rasping tone of his Great Uncle Julian, the oldest living member o

The air in the private conference room of the Blackwood estate smelled of beeswax and expensive stationery. It was a cold, windowless space tucked behind the main library, designed for conversations that the walls weren't supposed to hear. Bella sat in a velvet-backed chair that felt far too soft for the clinical discussion taking place across the table.Marcus Vane, the inheritance lawyer, was a man who seemed to be made entirely of sharp angles and grey pinstripes. He didn't look at Bella as a person; he looked at her as a legal complication. Beside him sat Julian Blackwood, who hadn't moved a muscle since the meeting began, his hands folded over the silver head of his cane."The Geneva deposition is quite clear, Isabella," Vane said, sliding a thick folder across the polished oak. "It was filed through an intermediary—a Swiss advocate acting on behalf of an 'unnamed guardian.' It alleges that the medical interventions performed on the heirs were not merely life-saving, but were exp