All Chapters of From Discarded Wife to His Billionaire Aunt: Chapter 31 - Chapter 39

Rain tapped heavily against the tinted glass of Oscar’s car.The storm outside matched the dark mood in his mind. He sat in the backseat, staring at the dimly lit Queens street.The door opened with a sudden creak.Victor slipped inside, shaking rain off his dark coat. He looked unusually quiet as he held out a thick yellow envelope."I found something else," Victor said.His voice was lower than before. "The Geneva art lead was a dead end. But I dug deeper into her missing years in Europe."Oscar grabbed the envelope eagerly. "What is it?""A medical record," Victor replied."It was buried deep in an old off-shore server. It took a massive bribe to pull it out."Oscar pulled out a piece of old paper.Most of the lines were covered in dark black ink. Big sections of text had been erased or blacked out completely.His eyes scanned the top of the page.It was an admission form from an elite private clinic. The facility sat high in the isolated mountains of Switzerland.The document show

The atmosphere inside the grand gallery of the Metropolitan Fine Arts Hall was suffocatingly tense.Every single seat in the house was occupied.Fashion editors, high-net-worth buyers, foreign ambassadors, and celebrity stylists crowded together along the edge of the sleek, white runway.The air smelled of fresh white lilies, expensive perfume, and hot lighting rigs.In the front row, Maeve Sterling sat with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.She wore a sharp tailored dress, but her expression was cold and bitter.Beside her sat three prominent fashion bloggers and two senior critics from major tabloids.Maeve had paid each of them a small fortune earlier that morning.Their job was simple: write scathing, ruthless reviews the moment the show concluded.They were instructed to focus on the last-minute material changes and call the collection a cheap, desperate disaster.Maeve checked her gold watch.The show was scheduled to begin in

The soft glow of crystal chandeliers illuminated the private rooftop conservatory of the St. Regis, while Manhattan glittered below. Inside, violins played a soft melody as waiters served champagne and oysters to the high-profile guests.Adelaide Vance stood near a towering arrangement of white orchids, surrounded by three major European buyers. Still dressed in her black tuxedo dress, she listened as the head buyer from a luxury department store in Paris praised her collection."The quality of the raw flax is exceptional, Miss Vance. My team is prepared to place an initial order for twelve locations across Europe by tomorrow morning."Adelaide smiled. "I'm delighted to hear that, Monsieur Laurent. My team will send over the revised wholesale terms before noon."After the buyers departed, she finally allowed herself a moment to breathe. The runway show had been a success, but exhaustion was beginning to catch up with her. She had fought supply chain sabotage, survived Maeve's media tr

The cold night air did nothing to cool the humiliation burning through Oscar’s veins. He stumbled into the back of his waiting sedan, his hands shaking so violently he could barely pull his phone from his coat pocket. Adelaide’s words echoed in his mind like a rhythmic strike, shattering every last piece of his ego. A minor annoyance. She hadn't even given him the dignity of her hatred. Oscar gripped his phone, his chest heaving as a dark, toxic wave of malice swallowed his lingering regret. If she thought he was nothing, he would make sure she remembered his name for the rest of her life. He dialed Victor Vance’s encrypted line. The private investigator answered on the second ring. "Grayson? It's late." "Release it," Oscar snarled into the receiver, his voice tight and dripping with venom. "All of it. Tonight." There was a brief pause on the other end. "The Swiss medical f

The heavy mahogany doors of the executive boardroom swung shut, sealing Adelaide inside with twelve of New York’s most powerful corporate directors. Before Dean could even step off the private elevator down the hall, the conservative wing of the board had called an impromptu, closed-door interrogation. They sat behind a horseshoe-shaped table of polished cherry wood, their faces hardened into masks of severe moral authority. Adelaide did not sit. She stood alone at the center of the vast floor, dressed in a sharp cream-colored wool suit. Her hands rested casually in her jacket pockets, her dark hair pinned into a flawless knot, and the sapphire lotus brooch caught the stark light of the room. Arthur Vance—her father’s distant cousin—leaned forward, his palms flat on the table. "We are giving you a single courtesy, Adelaide," Arthur said, his voice dripping with condescending gravity. "Before the press conference at three o'