All Chapters of SINFUL SALVATION : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Drake came home at 11:47 PM.I heard the elevator ding. The soft click of the front door. The heavy, dragging footsteps across the marble floor. I was sitting on the sofa, Leo asleep in the nursery, the legal document folded and hidden in my nightstand drawer.I didn't move. I just waited.He walked into the living room. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up, his face pale and drawn. He looked exhausted—but there was something else in his grey eyes. Something guarded. Something that had already made a decision.He didn't kiss me. He didn't touch me. He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, as far from me as possible."We need to talk," he said.My heart dropped. "About what?"He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "About Vivienne. About the petition."I stiffened. "She told you.""She sent me a copy," he said. His voice was flat. "She wanted me to know. She said she didn't want to go behind my back.""She is going behind your back," I said. "She is trying to legally t

Three days.Seventy-two hours of silence.I counted every single one of them.The first day, I waited. I sat on the sofa, Leo sleeping in my arms, staring at my phone, willing it to light up. I sent Drake texts—"Please call me." "I love you." "We need to talk."—and watched the screen remain stubbornly dark.The second day, I paced. I walked from the living room to the nursery to the kitchen and back again, Leo strapped to my chest in a carrier, his tiny head bobbing against my heartbeat. I called Drake's number. It went straight to voicemail. I left messages—pleading, angry, desperate.The third day, I stopped.I stopped pacing. I stopped calling. I stopped hoping. I just sat on the floor of the nursery, my back against the wall, Leo cradled in my arms. The fairy lights twinkled above us, casting soft, golden shadows across his peaceful face.He didn't know. He didn't know that his father was gone. He didn't know that a monster in pearls was trying to tear our family apart. He just kn

Marcus Bellamy arrived at the penthouse at 9 AM sharp.He was a tall, silver-haired man in a well-tailored charcoal suit. He carried a leather briefcase that looked heavy with years of hard-won battles. When he walked into the living room, he didn't smile. He just sat down at the dining table and laid out his files.“Let’s get to work,” he said.Drake sat across from him, his jaw tight. I sat beside Drake, my hand resting on his knee under the table. Leo was in the nursery, sleeping soundly, watched by a nanny Marcus had vetted and cleared.“I’ve reviewed Vivienne’s filing,” Marcus said, spreading papers across the table. “Her case is built on two pillars: Drake’s criminal record, and Mason’s past on the streets. She is painting you both as unstable, dangerous, and unfit to raise a child.”“She’s lying,” Drake said flatly.“She’s lawyering,” Marcus corrected. “She doesn’t need to prove you’re dangerous. She just needs to prove that Leo is at risk of being raised in a dangerous environ

The courtroom was a cathedral of cold justice.I sat beside Drake at the petitioners' table, my hand clasped tightly in his. Marcus Bellamy stood before the judge, his silver hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights, his voice calm and steady.Across the room, Vivienne sat at her own table, dressed in a soft charcoal suit, a single strand of pearls around her neck. Her grey hair was perfectly coiffed. Her face was painted with sorrow, her eyes downcast, her lips trembling in a practiced performance of grief.She looked like a grieving grandmother. She looked innocent. She looked devastatingly believable.The courtroom was packed. Reporters. Lawyers. Curious onlookers who had come to watch the downfall of the Ashford family. The air was thick with tension, buzzing with whispered speculation.Marcus stood, his voice cutting through the murmurs.“Your Honor,” he said, “we have motioned to dismiss the petitioner’s claim for grandparental visitation rights on the grounds of fraud, manipu

Summer arrived like a quiet blessing.The garden was in full bloom. Roses climbed the trellis Drake had built with his own hands. Lavender filled the air with its calming scent. Sunflowers stretched toward the sky, their golden faces following the sun across the blue expanse.Leo was six months old now—chubby, smiling, perfect. He sat in the grass, his tiny hands grabbing at the petals of a fallen rose, his gummy laugh bubbling through the warm afternoon air.I was kneeling beside him, snapping photos with my phone, laughing as he tried to shove a petal into his mouth.“No, no, little lion,” I said, gently pulling the petal away. “We don't eat the flowers.”Leo gurgled, reaching for my nose instead.From the porch, I heard Drake’s voice, low and warm. “He has your stubbornness.”I looked up. Drake was leaning against the porch railing, a glass of lemonade in his hand, his grey eyes soft and golden in the afternoon light. He was wearing a simple white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his