All Chapters of The Night Before Christmas: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Aria’s POV“She’s been taken.”The words did not explode. They did not echo. They landed with terrifying precision and seemed to still the air inside my lungs.For a heartbeat, I genuinely thought I had misunderstood him.“Taken?” I repeated the syllables, scraping against my throat.The officer standing a few feet away did not look uncertain. He looked trained, composed in crisis, careful with language, but there was a strain beneath the professionalism.“Your daughter was collected from school this afternoon. The pickup was authorised.”The world tilted.“Authorised by who?” I demanded.He hesitated, just long enough for the dread to deepen, before replying.“By you, Miss Whitmore.”I stared at him.“That’s impossible,” I said slowly. “I’ve been here.”“We know,” he replied gently. “The authorisation was submitted digitally three days ago. It included your verified signature and facial confirmation.”Three days ago.Three days ago, I had still been untangling the fractures in my mem

Third Person’s POVThe back seat of the police car smelled faintly of vinyl and stale air freshener.Aviel Beckham sat upright, wrists secured in polished steel cuffs, her posture impeccable despite the confinement. Streetlights slid across the window in muted streaks, catching the reflection of her face in the glass. She watched herself watching.There was no tremor in her expression.No visible calculation.No fear.Too composed for a woman facing multiple charges, conspiracy, custodial interference, fraud, offences that could quietly bury a person for the remainder of their natural life.The city blurred past.The officers did not speak.After a moment, Aviel tilted her head slightly, as though considering something minor rather than monumental.“I need a smoke.”The officer driving glanced into the rear-view mirror. The one beside her in the back shifted, turning to stare at her as though she had just requested champagne.“You’re very brave,” the driver muttered. “Asking for a smo

Third Person POVElliot did not wake with a hangover. He woke with clarity.It came slowly at first, fragments sliding into place, not gently, but insistently, like glass shards grinding against one another beneath the surface of his mind. The taste of whisky lingered sour and metallic at the back of his throat. His head throbbed faintly, a dull pulse behind his eyes, yet it was not the pain that held him still in Aria’s old bedroom.It was a memory.Not of the night before.Of the gaps.He lay staring at the ceiling, sunlight slicing through curtains he had not chosen, in a room that still carried the faint trace of another woman’s perfume embedded in the wood and fabric. Dust motes drifted in the golden beam, slow and indifferent.Ten years.Ten years of marriage, and he could not summon a single complete memory of intimacy with his wife.He remembered beginnings.The brush of her fingers against his collar.The scent of her perfume, jasmine and something sharper beneath it.The sof

Aria’s POVSeveral days had passed since Evans’ arrest, yet the house still felt as though it were holding its breath, suspended between scandal and consequence. Desmond never returned to the hospital after being discharged; he claimed he had done enough surgery for a lifetime and that it was time to focus on healing properly, so he arranged for private medical services at home and transformed his study into something that resembled a controlled command centre rather than a recovery space. From behind closed doors came the low murmur of meetings, the clipped rhythm of reports being delivered through video calls, and the steady recalibration of strategies designed to stabilise a company that had nearly drowned in public disgrace.The headlines had been merciless at first, but gradually the tone shifted; numbers improved, investors steadied, and the narrative bent in our favour. On paper, everything was stabilising.Inside this house, nothing was.Our relationship had thinned into somet

Aria’s POVThe courthouse stood like a fortress, cold and imposing against the pale morning sky, its towering columns and wide stone steps designed not to welcome, but to intimidate.By the time we arrived, the entrance had already descended into controlled chaos. Reporters crowded the steps in tight clusters, cameras flashing in relentless bursts, their voices rising over one another in sharp, urgent waves that cut through the air like blades.“Ms Whitmore! Over here!”“Is it true you were unlawfully detained?”“Are you testifying against Evans Grant today?”The questions came too quickly, overlapping, pressing in from all directions until it felt as though the noise itself had weight. For a brief moment, the ground beneath me seemed to shift, the sheer volume of attention tightening around my chest and making it harder to breathe.I had anticipated this.Prepared for it.Yet standing in the centre of it was something else entirely.My winter hat was pulled low, and the dark shades s