All Chapters of The Billionaire That Couldn’t Let Her Go: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-ONE: THE FINAL GHOST OF THE PASTCASPIAN’S POVThe room was smaller than the one where Bianca visited Damian. This was a sterile, suffocating little box containing only a bolted metal table and two chairs separated by reinforced security glass.I stood in the center of the room, my hands buried in my pocket, my eyes fixed on the door across the glass partition.A moment later, a pair of armed guards escorted her in.Helena Laurent looked a fraction of the woman who had once commanded the Laurent boardroom with elegance. Her silver hair was unstyled, falling loosely around her gaunt face, and the expensive designer suits had been replaced by a coarse jumpsuit. Yet, even in handcuffs, her posture remained rigid, her chin lifted with that same stubborn, unyielding arrogance that had defined every waking hour of her war against my father and me.She sat down slowly, the heavy metal chair scraping against the floor. She looked up through the smudged glass, h

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE: THREADS OF FOREVERSERENA’S POVThe conservatory had been transformed into a winter wonderland. High glass domes reflected the pale December sunlight, throwing geometric patterns of gold across white marble floors lined with lush garlands of silver eucalyptus, pine needles, and hundreds of fresh white winter roses.With only three days remaining until Christmas Eve, the entire estate was humming with of final wedding preparations.I stood on a velvet-covered ramp in the center of the conservatory, keeping perfectly still while two tailors hovered around me with pins tucked between their lips. Across the room, Bianca was lounging back on al sofa, her ankles crossed, lazily sipping a mug of spiced tea while scrutinizing every fold of my dress like a drill sergeant inspecting a fresh recruit."Lower the left side half an inch," Bianca commanded dryly, gesturing with her mug toward the floor. "The heavy silk on that train is bunching up against her

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SEVEN: FIREPLACE AND FAMILY SERENA’S POVThe lights of the conservatory reception had faded into a cozy glow as the evening settled deep into Christmas Eve. Outside, the steady snowfall had transformed the estate grounds into a winter kingdom, but inside the main drawing room, the air was thick with warmth, laughter, and the crackle of fire in the massive stone hearth.We had abandoned our formal wedding attire an hour earlier. I was now dressed in a soft, oversized cashmere sweater and comfortable lounge trousers, my hair tied back in a loose, casual braid.Sitting cross legged on the Persian rug right in front of the fireplace was Lucas, aggressively shaking a small, wrapped box as if trying to decode its contents by sound alone. Across from him, leaning back comfortably against the velvet sofa with her legs draped lazily over the cushion, sat Bianca. A crystal glass of sparkling cider rested in her hand, her dark eyes darting between Lucas and the f

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SEVEN: THE DAWN OF TOMORROWSERENA’S POVInside the living room, the air was rich with the scent of pine, warm vanilla, spiced cider. It was New Year’s Eve.Only a year ago, the turning of the calendar had felt like an ominous march toward an uncertain, painful future. I had been living in a modest apartment, nursing and working to care for surrounded by quiet ghosts and unresolved secrets, while Caspian had been in a lonely fortress of his own making, consumed by bitterness and corporate warfare. My twin sister had been a phantom running from the law, and my brother had been fighting his own silent, agonizing battles.Now, standing on the elevated balcony overlooking the sprawling main drawing room, I rested my hand gently over the noticeable curve of my stomach beneath my gown. A soft, breathless sigh of pure contentment escaped my lips."You're standing near a draft, sweetheart."A pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped around my waist from behind. Ca

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINE: BEYOND THE WIREBIANCA’S POVThe security protocol at the federal correction facility had become a familiar, ritual over the last six months.I didn't flinch when the heavy iron magnetic doors slammed shut behind me with a loud, metallic clatter. I didn't tense up when the scanner hummed around my frame, nor when the guard on duty checked my identification badge against the pre-cleared Laurent estate security protocol. Everything about this place was designed to strip a person down to their smallest, most isolated form. Yet, as I walked down the narrow corridor toward the private visitation booths, my chest didn't feel constricted. For the first time in ten years, the heavy weight of paranoia wasn't crushing my lungs.I adjusted the collar of my dark silk blouse, smoothing down the front of my tailored trousers. Walking through these doors used to feel like stepping onto a battlefield, a place where I came to trade sharp retorts and check on the o