Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 41 - Chapitre 50

Morning didn’t feel new. It felt… resumed. Emma stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeve of her ivory blouse so it didn’t brush against the edge of her cast. The fabric was soft but structured, tucked neatly into high-waisted charcoal trousers that sharpened her silhouette. A fitted blazer rested over her shoulders—tailored, precise, powerful without trying too hard. Her hair fell in loose waves, controlled but not stiff. Minimal jewelry. Clean lines. Everything about her appearance said the same thing— Untouchable. Functional. In control. Even with the cast wrapped around her left leg, visible beneath the hem— She didn’t look broken. She looked… recalibrated. The doorbell rang. Emma frowned slightly. Too early. Too unexpected. It rang again. She walked over and opened the door.

Two weeks was enough time for chaos to become routine. Not peace. Not comfort. Routine. The cast had come off a week ago. The first few days had felt strange—like walking on borrowed ground. Her leg still ached if she pushed too hard, and sometimes she caught herself limping before forcing the weakness away. But today— there was no sign of it. Emma Laurent stepped out of the elevator in sharp black heels, each step precise against the polished marble floor of Blackwood Companies. Her ivory silk blouse was tucked neatly into a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged her curves with effortless elegance. A fitted black blazer framed her shoulders, making her look exactly what she wanted the world to see— put together. Unshaken. Untouchable. Her blonde waves fell in soft layers around her shoulders, makeup subtle b

Emma had never been afraid of dresses. She had worn silk to galas. Satin to charity auctions. Designer gowns to business dinners where smiles were currency and appearances were weapons. But this one— this one felt dangerous. The black box still sat open on her bed. The dress inside caught the soft evening light like liquid shadow. Black silk. Smooth. Cold beneath her fingertips. Elegant in the kind of way that didn’t beg for attention. It commanded it. Emma stood in front of it in nothing but her robe, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her reflection in the mirror looked calmer than she felt. She hadn’t said yes. Not officially. And yet— here she was. Staring at armor. The doorbell ra

The ballroom glittered like a beautifully told lie. Crystal chandeliers spilled fractured gold across polished marble floors. The music was soft enough to be elegant, loud enough to hide whispered scandals. Waiters drifted through the room with silver trays and expensive smiles. Men in tailored suits laughed too loudly. Women in silk gowns smiled too sweetly. Power wore perfume tonight. Money wore diamonds. And everyone wore masks. Emma Laurent wore black. The silk clung to her body like sin and strategy. The dress Rowan had sent fit like it had been made for her—smooth black silk hugging every curve before falling in a sharp slit that revealed long, elegant legs with every step. The back dipped dangerously low, leaving smooth skin bare beneath the chandelier light. Diamonds kissed her ears. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over

The silence after Dominic left felt louder than his shouting. It rang in Emma’s ears. Sharp. Endless. Her knees nearly gave out beneath her. If Rowan Blackwood hadn’t been there— she would have fallen. His hands tightened around her waist. Steadying. Warm. Solid. Real. Emma inhaled sharply. Her breath trembled on the way out. Rowan’s hand moved from her waist to her jaw. Gentle. Careful. His thumb brushed softly beneath her cheek. “Emma.” His voice was quieter now. No ice. No threat. Only her name. She looked up. And the anger in his face nearly undid her. Not anger at her. Anger for her. “Did he ever hurt you?”