Todos os capítulos de Forced to Marry My Late Mother's Husband: Capítulo 161 - Capítulo 170

[POV: Aurora Blake]The press room at the World Culinary Summit was packed. Forty of the industry’s top journalists sat in rows of folding chairs, their recorders running, their cameras waiting.It was the morning after the keynote.Julian Oswald walked into the room. He did not look like a man who had spent fifteen years hiding from the people waiting for him. He looked like the founder of a billion-dollar empire taking his seat.Aurora walked in beside him.She was not directed to sit in the audience. She was not positioned slightly behind him. She took the seat directly to his right at the long table at the front of the room. The placard in front of her read: Aurora Blake-Oswald, Director of Palate Research, GKG.The questions began immediately.They were not lifestyle questions. The journalists in this room were experts, and they treated the press conference like a technical briefing."Mr. Oswald," a senior correspondent from a London food journal asked. "The compound preparation

[POV: Aurora Blake]The final day of the World Culinary Summit in Paris was a blur of scheduled meetings and closing receptions.The main hall was empty. The stages were being dismantled. The industry was already returning to its respective kitchens across the globe, carrying the shockwave of Julian Oswald’s revelation with them.Aurora was walking down one of the long, carpeted corridors toward the main lobby. Her phone had not stopped vibrating for forty-eight hours. The blog was holding steady at fifteen million subscribers. The book was a major literary event. The private record of her life was now public history.Nadia Vance stepped out of a side conference room.The communications director looked tired but intensely satisfied. The global rollout of the Ghost Chef’s identity had been executed flawlessly.Nadia saw Aurora and raised a hand. "Hold on," Nadia said.Aurora stopped. "Is there another press inquiry?""Hundreds," Nadia said, walking over. "But that is not why I stopped

[POV: Aurora Blake]The morning of their last full day in Paris was bright and cold. Aurora sat in the sitting room of the hotel suite, reading a new article on her phone.The piece had been published by a major culinary journalist who attended the press conference. The journalist did not just write about the compound preparation. The journalist wrote about the origin of Ghost Kitchen Group. The article mentioned Mara Oswald.The journalist named Mara correctly. The piece described her as the original brilliant chef who trained Julian. It treated her memory with absolute respect. It framed her as the foundation of everything that came after. The story was told with her dignity completely intact. The article recognized that the empire was built on the ashes of what had been lost twenty years ago.Aurora read the final paragraph twice. The journalist noted that Julian’s fifteen years of anonymity were directly tied to the tragedy of the kitchen fire, but they did not use the fire as a c

[POV: Aurora Blake]The private cabin of the plane was quiet. The low, steady hum of the engines filled the space, a constant vibration that felt like a protective shell. Outside the window, the sky over the Atlantic Ocean was a continuous stretch of deep, unbroken blue, separating the continent they had left from the one they were returning to.Aurora sat next to Julian. Lily was curled into the leather seat beside him, her small body relaxed, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. The white hat was not on her head. It was resting in its travel case inside her canvas bag.Julian was not looking at the flight monitors. He was looking at Aurora."Cedar Falls will never be the same," Julian said.His voice was very low, pitched carefully to keep from waking the little girl sleeping beside him.Aurora turned away from the window. She thought about the twelve million people reading the blog. She thought about the two thousand professionals in the Paris auditorium. The absolute anon

[POV: Aurora Blake]The first morning back in Cedar Falls was quiet.Aurora woke up just before seven o'clock. The sun was pale, filtering through the bedroom window. She did not hear the hum of a private jet. She did not hear the low roar of a Paris street or the heavy silence of a high-end hotel suite. She heard the wind moving through the cedar trees outside.She walked downstairs. The wooden floorboards felt solid and familiar under her bare feet.The house was completely still, but it was not empty.Aurora stopped in the doorway of the kitchen.Julian was already at the center island. He wore a grey sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He was not managing a global press release. He was not answering questions from forty journalists. He was simply preparing breakfast.Aurora stood in the doorway and looked at the room.Everything was exactly where it had always been. The heavy copper pots hung above the island, the handles wide and shallow, angled perfectly for Julian’s s