جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 40

— THE DISOWNED HEIRESS & THE SCARRED FRENCH MONARCH — VIVIENNE’S FULL POV The cold New York rain could not wash away the sharp copper scent of blood; it only coated the marble floors in a slick, slippery sheen. I never got to step into the De Vitis estate on my own terms. The moment Marco’s car neared the perimeter, Enzo’s hidden mercenaries ambushed us. Two guards seized my arms and twisted them behind my back, dragging me roughly through the grand foyer while the heels of my boots scraped harshly against polished stone. “Look what the storm dragged in,” Enzo mocked, his face flushed red from scotch as he stood at the foot of the sweeping staircase. He twirled a silver blade lazily between his fingers. Behind him, my parents were tied brutally to wooden chairs, stripped of every trace of their high-society status, covered in mud and weeping like broken, helpless beggars. Suddenly the heavy mahogany front doors did not just open. They were blown completely off their hinges. Throu

— THE DISOWNED HEIRESS & THE SCARRED FRENCH MONARCH — VIVIENNE’S POV Soft morning light seeped through the tall pointed windows of the bedroom, painting the dark room in pale gold and cool blue. I opened my eyes slowly. My whole body felt tired but in a good way. But when I tried to move, I realized I could not shift at all. Lucian’s strong arm was wrapped tight around my waist, his chest pressed firmly against my back. Even after the whole night, he stayed deep inside me, keeping our bodies connected. Even in his sleep, the Scarred French Monarch would not let go. He used his own body to keep me close, like he was afraid I would disappear the moment he loosened his hold. I tilted my head back to look at his sleeping face. The dangerous leader who made everyone fear him rested his forehead on my shoulder, his dark hair messy and damp. Slowly, as if he felt me move, his gray eyes opened. The sleepy look vanished right away, replaced by his sharp, intense gaze. Instead of pulling

— THE DISOWNED HEIRESS & THE SCARRED FRENCH MONARCH — VIVIENNE’S POV The private jet sliced through the grey, overcast skies over Paris, landing with a smooth, solid thud on the tarmac of the private airfield. Instead of slipping into the city under the cover of darkness as we usually did, a long line of six blacked-out armored SUVs sat waiting on the tarmac, flanked by two dozen well-armed French enforcers in full tactical gear. I stood at the top of the jet’s landing stairs, my dark coat whipping in the cold Parisian wind. Beside me, Lucian stood like a god of war—his dark suit tailored to perfection, his broad shoulders blocking the wind, his grey eyes sweeping the tarmac with deadly precision. He didn't offer me his hand. He didn't try to guide me. Instead, he stepped down the stairs side-by-side with me, our high heels and polished leather boots hitting the wet asphalt in perfect, unified sync. As we approached the lead vehicle, Marco and the senior security team dropp

— THE DISOWNED HEIRESS & THE SCARRED FRENCH MONARCH — VIVIENNE’S POV The private holding room under the Monaco estate smelled of damp stone, sea air, and fresh iron. Nikolai Volkov sat tied to a solid wooden chair in the middle of the room. His broken wrist was wrapped in a rough, blood-soaked cloth. He breathed with difficulty, and his one good eye was swollen and bruised from Lucian’s men. Lucian stood in the shadows near the strong steel door, arms crossed over his chest. His gray eyes were cold and unreadable. He did not step forward. He did not give orders. He held out the leather handle of a sharp blade straight to me, letting me take full control. "He tried to kill my mother," I said. My voice was steady and sharp as the green silk of my dress brushed against the cold floor. "He tried to use her memory to take my place." Volkov spat blood on the stone floor and let out a rough, wet laugh. "You think you are a queen now, little girl? You are just a piece on a board, standin

— THE DISOWNED HEIRESS & THE SCARRED FRENCH MONARCH —VIVIENNE’S POVThe thick silk ballgown was gone, replaced by one of Lucian’s oversized black cotton shirts that hung loosely off my shoulder, pooling around my thighs.The grand birthday ball had ended hours ago. The guests had departed, the crystal chandeliers in the Palais were dimmed, and the chateau had returned to its deep, quiet darkness. Rain washed over the floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows, painting streaks of shadow across the velvet-draped room.I sat on the edge of the massive, unmade bed, my knees pulled up toward my chest, staring out into the storm.The weight of turning twenty of stepping out of my teens as the official Sovereign Empress of Europe rested heavy in my chest. For years, I had been taught that my name was a curse, that I was a Sterling, a cold bargaining chip raised in the dark by a man who hated me.The solid bathroom door clicked open.Lucian walked out, bare-chested, wearing only dark lounge trousers.