บททั้งหมดของ The Rise Of The Betrayed Wife: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Isla's POV:Callum gestured toward a bench about thirty feet away, positioned so we could still see Rosie on the playground but far enough that she wouldn't overhear. I followed him, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought he might actually be able to hear it.As we walked, I noticed the man who'd appeared from seemingly nowhere, tall and broad-shouldered, keeping a careful distance but close enough to intervene if needed. Bodyguard, I realized, which made sense for someone like Callum Thorne but also made this entire situation feel even more surreal.We sat down on opposite ends of the bench, the space between us deliberate and cold. Callum kept his phone in his hand, the timer still counting down, and I could see the numbers ticking away in my peripheral vision as I pulled up a new note on my screen.Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds left.I started typing, forcing myself to slow down enough that the words came out coherent instead of a panicked jumble.This was my

Callum's POV:I hadn't stopped thinking about her.Three days had passed since the park and that absurd conversation. I'd told myself at least a dozen times to forget the whole thing and to write it off as some kind of elaborate scam or the delusions of someone who needed professional help.But I couldn't shake it. The way she'd looked at me with those dark eyes, completely serious, completely desperate. The specific details she'd given me, numbers and dates and transaction codes that were too precise to be random guessing.So I'd done what I always did when something didn't make sense. I had someone look into her.My assistant came back with a file Monday morning.Isla Brennan, twenty-four years old, daughter of Arthur Brennan who ran Brennan Industries. Engaged to Declan Hartley, son of Richard Hartley of Hartley Enterprises. The wedding was scheduled for soon, very soon according to recent society page mentions.She'd been mute since childhood. Some kind of trauma when she was you

Isla's POV:The attorney's office was everything I expected it to be.Expensive furniture, walls lined with leather-bound law books that probably cost more than most people's cars, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The kind of place that existed to remind you exactly how much power money could buy.Callum's lawyer was a sharp-eyed woman named Margaret Blorne who'd apparently worked for the Thorne family for fifteen years and knew how to handle sensitive matters with absolute discretion. She sat across from me now with a stack of documents printed and organized in a leather folder, her expression professionally neutral as she slid the contract across the polished desk.“I've drafted this according to Mr. Thorne's specifications,” she said, her voice crisp and efficient. “Please read through everything carefully. This is a legally binding agreement and you should understand exactly what you're signing before you put your name on it.”I pulled the folder toward me and opened

Isla's POV:I was sitting on my bed when the first notification appeared on my phone.A news alert from a business journal I'd subscribed to months ago, the banner sliding down from the top of my screen with a soft chime.My heart started racing before I even opened it, my fingers fumbling slightly as I tapped the notification and watched the article load.The headline hit me like a physical thing.BILLIONAIRE CALLUM THORNE ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO ISLA BRENNANThere was a photo of Callum from some recent gala, looking powerful and untouchable in a black tuxedo, his expression serious as he stood in front of a backdrop covered in corporate logos.Below it, a few paragraphs of carefully crafted text explaining the whirlwind romance, the chance meeting, the connection that had grown into something real.My name appeared in the second paragraph, identified as the daughter of Arthur Brennan of Brennan Industries, the wording strategic and deliberate to position this as a union of influenti

Isla's POV:The media attention escalated throughout the day in ways I hadn't fully anticipated.By late afternoon there were three news vans parked outside the Brennan house, their satellite dishes extended into the air like strange mechanical flowers.Reporters stood on the sidewalk with cameras and microphones, waiting for someone to emerge so they could shout questions and capture footage for the evening broadcasts.My phone hadn't stopped buzzing with calls from numbers I didn't recognize, journalists trying every angle they could think of to get a statement or interview or even just confirmation that I was actually inside.I'd turned off the ringer hours ago but I could still see them lighting up the screen, one after another in an endless cascade.Society bloggers were having a field day. I scrolled through post after post dissecting every angle of the story from my laptop, watching the narrative split into distinct camps right before my eyes.Some outlets framed it as a romant