All Chapters of Once Discarded, I Married His Dearest Daddy: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

It was near midnight. Sophia sat in the dark, the screen of her burner phone throwing a sharp, blue glare across her face, lighting up the messy, tangled strands of her hair. She had a laptop open on the duvet next to her, the battery indicator blinking red.On the other side of the seas, Marcus was sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, a glass of cheap gin balancing on his knee. His room smelled of old takeout and damp laundry. The room was mostly dark, save for the orange streetlights spilling through the blinds.When his phone buzzed in his palm with an unlisted international number, his chest went tight. He almost didn't answer, but his thumb moved anyway."Sophia?" he whispered, his voice dry, cracking in the quiet room."Marcus, thank god," her voice came through the speaker, sounding thin, frantic, distorted by the bad connection. "Listen to me. I’ve been digging. I spent the last three days talking to a contact in the Nice registry office. We have her old bank statements fr

The villa was entirely too quiet when Damien was away for the regional port authority dinners. The staff had been dismissed to the lower quarters at eight, leaving the main house dark, save for the massive, integrated LED strips lining the baseboards of the kitchen. It was past ten. The marble island looked like a sheet of white ice under the low ambient light, reflecting the copper pans hanging from the ceiling.Diane stood by the professional-grade stove, a small pot of milk and honey warming over a low, blue flame. She didn't have her hair up. It fell down her back in loose, glossy waves, brushing against the bare skin of her shoulders.She’d chosen her outfit with cold, mathematical precision tonight. It was a skimpy, satin nightdress in a shade of pale taupe that almost matched her skin under the warm kitchen lights. The straps were thin as threads, dipping low at the back, the silk clinging to the curve of her waist before cutting off high on her thighs. It left nothing to th

The tea in the porcelain mug had gone completely cold, a thin, dark skin forming over the surface under the pale London light. Sophia didn't care. She hadn't moved from the corner of the velvet sofa in three hours, her legs pulled tight against her ribs, the laptop screen casting a sickly greenish tint across her hollow cheeks.The flat smelled of stale toast and the expensive, heavy smoke of the Turkish cigarettes she’d been lighting one after another, leaving them to burn down to the filter in the marble ashtray.On the screen, a high-definition lifestyle vlog was playing. It was one of those glossy, insufferable architectural channels that focused on the summer retreats of the European elite, the production value too clean, the background music a repetitive, low hum of ambient cello notes.The title card on the screen read: Reinventing the Coast: Inside the Voss Villa Renovation.Sophia’s teeth clicked together, a sharp, rhythmic grinding sound in the silent room.The video showe

The music from the main hall was mostly just a low, vibrating thud by the time you got back into the glass-walled corridor near the private powder rooms. It was quieter here. The air felt a bit thinner, less choked with perfume and expensive cigar smoke, but the heat was still sticky under the small recessed ceiling lights. Diane came out of the heavy mirrored door, her heels clicking a slow, steady pattern against the marble tile. She was adjusting the silver clasp of her small evening bag, her fingers completely steady, her breathing even.Marcus stepped out from the shadow of the large structural pillar before she could reach the main turn toward the pavilion. He blocked her path, his chest heaving under his unbuttoned shirt.Diane didn't flinch. She stopped exactly two feet from him, her black silk gown catching the reflection of the glass wall behind her, her bare shoulders straight and completely still. She didn't look back toward the security guards near the main entrance.

Two days had passed since the gala. Two days of Marcus staring at that faded snapshot in his dark apartment, but today, the reality of the Voss Group tower hit him like a cold bucket of water.The main conference room on the forty-fifth floor smelled of expensive leather, ozone from the high-end projector systems, and freshly brewed espresso that nobody was actually drinking. The morning sun was cutting straight through the glass, hitting the long, polished mahogany table. It looked like a runway.Diane was already at her station, right at Damien's right hand. She wasn't wearing silk today. She was in a charcoal grey structured suit, the shoulders sharp, her hair pulled back into a tight, flawless knot at the base of her neck. She looked like an institution. Damien sat next to her, looking slightly distracted, his fingers tapping against his heavy gold signet ring while he reviewed a thick folder of maritime charts.Marcus was back at the far end of the table, his unpadded clerk’s c