All Chapters of The Twisted Wedding Night: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The train ride back to Manhattan was quieter than I expected. I stared out the window, watching the blurred cityscape roll by, my hands curled tightly around the strap of my bag. The message from earlier never left my mind: She didn’t die. It clung to me, impossible to ignore. Every passing building felt like a reminder of the distance between what I had believed and what might be true.By the time the train pulled into Penn Station, the city’s familiar chaos hit me like a wave. Taxis honked, people shuffled past, the smell of exhaust and street food mingling in the air. I took a deep breath, trying to steady the flutter in my chest. Whatever I had left behind in Philadelphia—the warmth, the comfort, the quiet hope—would have to follow me in a different way here.When I finally stepped through the doors of the Grant mansion, the house was quieter than I’d expected. The city outside was alive, but inside, everything felt paused, waiting. And then I heard the softest sound, the one I ha

I found out about it over the phone, a curt text from Ella that made my chest tighten. Lily was in the study, going through Alice’s files. She got caught, but I’m definitely sure she’s trying to steal the child…I sat back in my chair, staring at the skyline of Manhattan through the glass walls of my office. The city stretched endlessly below me, the constant pulse of life in neon and asphalt, but nothing outside mattered right now. Nothing except the thought that Lily was closer than ever. Closer to discovering something I had kept buried for years.A part of me wanted to feel anger. I wanted to tell her she had no right, that she had no clue what she was meddling with. But the other part of me… that part had always known she was persistent. Too persistent. Too intelligent. Too stubborn to be kept in the dark for long.I rubbed my temples and leaned back, letting the leather chair sink beneath me. The house, the mansion, Alice’s laughter in the background—it all felt deceptively sim

The dress fit like it had been made for me.I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, fingers hovering over the fabric as if touching it too much might break whatever spell had been woven into it. It was black—of course it was black. Sleek, understated, impossibly elegant. The silk skimmed my frame without clinging, dipping low at the back, the neckline modest but deliberate. Powerful. Not flashy. Not desperate.Intentional.The spa appointment had left my skin glowing, my muscles loose in a way they hadn’t been in months. My hair fell in soft waves down my back, polished but not overly styled. I looked like someone who belonged beside a man like Ace.That realization both steadied and unsettled me.A knock came at the door.“You ready?” His voice was calm, even through the wood.I opened it slowly.For a split second, he didn’t move.His gaze traveled—not hungrily, not crudely—but slowly, deliberately, assessing. Taking me in like he would a negotiation table or a sky

If the earlier confrontation had been a storm, the rest of the evening became something colder—quieter, but more dangerous.The dance floor thinned as the music shifted back to something livelier. Conversations resumed in curated clusters. Laughter rose carefully, like no one wanted to acknowledge what had just happened. Ella’s exit lingered in the air, but in this world, scandal only mattered if it affected profit.Ace didn’t release my hand as we stepped off the floor.“Ready?” he asked.“For what?”“The real reason we’re here.”Of course.This wasn’t a party.It was positioning.He guided me toward a quieter section of the terrace where several men and women stood near a tall glass table overlooking the skyline. Their posture alone told me who they were—confident, controlled, evaluating everything.“Ace,” one of them greeted as we approached. He was older, silver hair brushed neatly back, dark suit tailored to perfection. “Quite an entrance tonight.”Ace’s grip on my hand tightened

They didn’t waste a second. The moment the rapid typing confirmed compatibility, the nurses moved with sharpened urgency. I barely had time to process the words *confirmed match* before I was being guided down a bright corridor toward a donor room. My feet felt unsteady—not from fear of needles, not from weakness, but from the possibility that had taken root and refused to loosen its grip.They sat me in a reclining chair. A cuff tightened around my arm. Another nurse cleaned the inside of my elbow with cold antiseptic. “You’re doing the right thing,” she said gently. I nodded, for Alice. Everything for Alice. The needle slid in, a sharp sting followed by steady pressure, and dark red began flowing through the tube. I watched it, my blood going to her, my heart twisting painfully. I tried to slow my breathing, but my thoughts wouldn’t obey. AB negative. A rare type. A perfect match. And the disorder the doctor mentioned—congenital. Present from birth.My mind drifted back three yea