บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire's Curvy Bride: บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

My fingers flew across Ryker’s mechanical keyboard, the rapid clicks sounding like a tactical assault in the quiet study.I plugged my encrypted flash drive into the workstation terminal, executing a full ghost clone of the tampered legal document and the IP routing logs. Marcus had logged into Ryker’s internal profile using a compromised master credential at 4:12 AM…while Ryker was sitting in the East Wing lounge, drowned in exhaustion and guilt.Marcus wasn't just planning to oust Ryker from Kane Corporation; he was setting up a legally binding paper trail that made it look like Ryker initiated the separation from me to hand Vivian full control of the Marlowe Estate Trust."You're playing with fire, Marcus," I whispered to the empty room, pulling the drive as the transfer completed.I locked the system, applied a counter-security protocol to lock Marcus out of the workstation, and stood up. I smoothed the lapels of my dark navy tailored blazer over the lush swell of my bust. The matc

I slipped out of Vivian’s suite into the dark corridor, my coat pocket heavy with the stolen amber bottle.The moment I reached the West Wing study, I locked the heavy double doors, sat at my desk, and transferred the photos of the Swiss prescription label and doctor’s registry straight to Julian’s encrypted server in Ashford.My phone vibrated against the mahogany grain with Julian's immediate response.Julian: Got the files. The doctor who signed this prescription lost his medical license in Zurich two years ago for falsifying mobility reports. Selene, this is concrete fraud. If we drop this in court, her claim to the trust evaporates.Selene: Not yet. Ryker is so blinded by guilt he’d accuse me of forging the document. I need him to see her drop the act with his own eyes.I closed the laptop and stepped into the dim gallery hallway at 3:15 AM.That was when I saw him.Ryker was slipping out of the East Wing double doors, his head down, his posture slouched under a crushing weight.

The hallway was shrouded in a heavy, suffocating silence as I walked toward the master wing at 1:00 AM. My four-inch heels made no sound on the plush runner carpet, my fingers clutching the smooth silk of my emerald wrap dress. I had only come to retrieve the small velvet box containing my mother’s original vault key from the hidden drawer in the dressing room...the last piece of myself left in this house before I walked away for good.But as I rounded the corner, a crack of warm, amber light spilled across the dark hardwood floor from the master suite door.And then I heard it.It wasn't the quiet rustle of legal papers or the steady hum of a man working late. It was a wet, rhythmic, frantic sound, the heavy mahogany headboard beating a brutal, uneven pulse against the wall, accompanied by a woman’s sharp, breathless panting and the deep, guttural growl of a man completely lost to his desires.My feet froze. My blood ran cold, turning to slush in my veins.My hand trembled as I reach

The silence of my Havenport bedroom hit me like a physical blow the second the door clicked shut.Julian had offered to stay downstairs, his steady eyes filled with unspoken concern as he handed me a keycard, but I needed to be alone. I had needed to hold my spine straight through the grand gates, down the mahogany staircase, and across the estate driveway…a ice-cold queen leaving a fallen kingdom.But here, surrounded by the soft cream linens and oak beams of my true sanctuary, there was no audience to perform for.My knees buckled.I sank onto the thick wool rug at the foot of the bed, my four-inch heels sliding off my feet. I pulled my legs up against my chest, wrapping my arms tight around my knees, and finally... I let go.A violent, ragged sob tore from my throat, shattering the quiet room.I pressed my face into my velvet robe, my body shaking with deep, agonizing gasps that felt like they were ripping my lungs apart from the inside. The tears I had locked away behind my cold g

The scent of warm vanilla, browned butter, and sweet yeast filled the sunlit kitchen of my Havenport estate, rising like a gentle, comforting cloak against the cool ocean air drifting through the open terrace doors.I stood by the broad marble island, my bare feet grounded against the cool limestone floor, my sleeves pushed up to my elbows. My hands were dusted in white flour as I folded a ball of heavy dough, pressing the heels of my palms into the soft, pliable mixture with steady, rhythmic force.Baking had always been the one quiet sanctuary that anchored me when the world grew entirely too loud. It was tactile, real, and completely under my control. Unlike the corporate boardrooms of Kane Corporation or the cold, critical dining halls of my upbringing, dough didn't demand perfection or quiet submission; it simply responded to heat, time, and honest effort.As I swayed against the counter, the flexible waistband of my dark linen trousers stretched comfortably around the plush, gen