บททั้งหมดของ The lost Morrison Heiress: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Lena's POV My heart wouldn't stop pounding. I pressed my palm flat against my knee and held it there. It didn't help. My leg kept bouncing anyway, the plastic chair squeaking under me every time I shifted. The woman two seats down glanced at me again. I ignored her. I bit down on my thumbnail and stared at the door to the doctor's office. What if it comes back negative? What if I'm wrong about all of this? "Oh, Lena, knock it off," I muttered under my breath. I sat up straight. Pulled my hand away from my mouth. Pressed both palms flat on my thighs and breathed. Six years. Six years of sitting in rooms exactly like this one, plastic chairs, antiseptic smell, machines beeping behind closed doors, and waiting for news that never went the way I needed it to. Six years of going to hospitals with Aiden, of undressing behind curtains, of lying on paper-sheeted beds while doctors pressed cold instruments against my skin. Six years of holding my breath in waiting rooms just like thi

Lena's POV I stared at all three of them and tried to keep my face from giving anything away. The first name was mine. Always had been. But the second one, Morrison, that wasn't anything I'd ever been called. Not once in my entire life. And yet something about the way he'd said it, quiet and careful, like he already knew the answer and was just waiting for me to catch up, made my stomach tighten. "I don't know what you mean," I said. "And why are you asking me that?" My hands were shaking under the blanket. I kept them there. "We want you to be calm," the warm one said. He had kind eyes. The kind that made you want to trust them, which was exactly why I didn't. "We're not here to frighten you. We found something out, and we came to confirm it." "You want me to be calm." I looked at all three of them. "Around three men I've never seen in my life. In a hospital bed. With a drip in my hand." "Fair point," he said quietly. I kept shifting backward until the headboard stopped me. M

Lena's POV I stayed against that wall for a long time. Long enough to hear the shape of it. Long enough to understand that this wasn't a conversation they were just starting, this was a conversation that had already been going on. Decisions already made. Wheels already turning. Damien had pulled three of Aiden's contracts. Just like that. One phone call, probably. Maybe not even that. Maybe just an email from an assistant and the thing was done. Abel had a file. A full one. Bank records, business history, every person Aiden had ever shaken hands with. Abel said it the way you'd say I made breakfast, like it was just something he'd done between other things. Henry was tracking Aiden's remaining partners. Quietly. Methodically. The way Henry did everything. They weren't asking my permission. They weren't even telling me. They were just, doing it. Because someone had hurt their sister. And apparently that was simply not something a Morrison allowed to go unanswered. I stood the

Lena's POV The stylist arrived on Monday morning with four assistants and enough bags to stock a small boutique. Her name was Sophia. She was forty, French-Nigerian, and she looked at me the way a sculptor looks at a block of marble, not at what was there, but at what was inside it waiting to come out. She walked a full circle around me without speaking. I stood very still and tried not to feel like livestock. "The bones are excellent," she said finally, to no one in particular. "The posture needs work. The hair needs everything." She tilted her head. "But the eyes." She pointed at my face. "Those stay exactly as they are. Don't let anyone touch those." "I wasn't planning to," I said. She smiled for the first time. "Good. Spine. That's what we're working with." The first three days were overwhelming in a way I hadn't anticipated. It wasn't the clothes. The clothes were actually the easy part, Sophia had an instinct for what worked that removed all the guesswork. She put things

Lena's POV Abel came to my training session on Friday morning with a folder and the particular expression he wore when he was about to enjoy himself. He dropped it on the table in front of me. "Aiden Norman," he said. "Current status." I looked at the folder. Then at him. "You're enjoying this." "Professionally." He sat down and crossed his arms. "Open it." The picture was not pretty. Five contracts gone in the first week alone. Three more had quietly declined to renew in the days following, not cancelled, just not renewed, which was somehow worse because it gave Aiden nothing to push back against. You can't fight a door that simply stops opening. His calls to the Hartley Group had gone unanswered for nine days. He'd tried going through intermediaries, two of them had called Morrison Corporation directly afterward to report the contact, which told me everything about where the loyalties in that industry now sat. He was digging. Abel's sources said he'd hired someone to look in