All Chapters of Heiress Hidden Obsession : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Two Months LaterArthur’s absolute decree hadn't been an empty threat. The smart glass on the floor-to-ceiling windows had remained permanently frosted over, cutting off the outside world completely. No Wi-Fi. No cellular signal. The high-end tablet on her desk still displayed that same mocking "No Connection" error, a daily reminder that she was entirely cut off from the planet.Lucy sat curled into a tight ball on the edge of the velvet armchair, her hand resting instinctively over her lower abdomen. The subtle, terrifying change in her body could no longer be ignored or wished away. The loose silk robes and oversized cashmere sweaters she had demanded from the estate staff were no longer just a comfort—they were armor against the watchful, clinical eyes of the personal physicians Arthur sent every single week.A sudden, violent wave of nausea surged from the pit of her stomach, sharp and acidic.She didn't even bother trying to suppress it anymore. Lucy scrambled off the chair an

The morning glare bounced off the glass desktop, bright enough to make Lucy’s eyes ache. Every row of numbers on her screen smeared together into a gray smudge, while a sour, persistent nausea churned in her throat. For a week, Arthur had kept her locked under his thumb in this suite, dragging her out of her bedroom just to watch her squirm and make sure she didn't breathe without his permission.She pressed the heel of her hand hard against her temple, fighting the heavy fog weighing down her eyelids. Her body felt waterlogged and exhausted. Between the tear-soaked sleepless nights and the invisible drag of early pregnancy, keeping up her usual polished front was becoming impossible."Lucy."She jerked upright at the sharp snap of her name, blinking hard to drag her focus back.Arthur stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a dark cutout against the city. He didn't turn around, but the rigid set of his shoulders broadcasted his irritation."That portfolio margin is wrong again," he s

The grey, bruised light of dawn smeared across the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, offering no warmth—only a stark reminder that the night had ended and execution was here.Lucy hadn't moved from the spot on the rug where Arthur had left her hours ago. Her limbs were stiff, locked into a defensive crouch over her stomach, her throat raw and burning from silent, suffocating tears. Every tick of the antique clock on the wall sounded like a hammer blow driving a nail into her coffin.At precisely six o'clock, heavy, measured footsteps echoed outside the double doors.The lock clicked with a sharp, metallic bite. The door swung open, and Arthur stood framed in the doorway. He hadn't slept either; his eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark, exhausted circles, but his posture was as rigid and unyielding as cast iron. Behind him stood Dr. Richard—a distinguished, silver-haired medical specialist known only to the city’s untouchable elite, carrying his sleek leather case with a grim, profess

The private elevator hummed as it carried Arthur back up to his study, the sound muffled by the thick mahogany walls of his sanctuary.The air inside still smelled faintly of his whiskey and the cold leather of his tailored coat. He walked straight to the mahogany desk, his movements deliberate, entirely devoid of the frantic energy that had gripped him an hour ago.Dr. Richard was dead. The doctor’s blood was already washing down a hospital drain, and the hit squad was halfway across the state. One loose end tied. One catastrophic leak permanently sealed.Now comes the cleanup.Arthur sat down in his high-backed leather chair, picked up his encrypted satellite phone, and punched in a familiar sequence of digits. He didn't wait for a gentle connection. He let it ring straight across the Atlantic Ocean, cutting through the daytime rush of Toronto traffic straight to his younger sister’s apartment.It took four rings before a crisp, professional voice answered."Arthur? It's the middle

The study of Arthur’s manor smelled of old leather, expensive bourbon, and absolute tyranny.Arthur Davidson did not look up from his mahogany desk when the heavy double doors clicked shut. He didn't need to. The trembling hitch in Lucy’s breathing told him everything he required. She stood just inside the threshold, a pale ghost of the defiant girl who had spent months protecting a penniless chauffeur on the dusty streets of the corporate city."You think you’ve won," Arthur barked, slamming a thick manila folder onto the polished wood as his voice dropped to a low, gravelly rasp that cut through the silence like a scalpel. He finally raised his eyes, cold and devoid of any paternal warmth. "You think because that useless family physician I hired couldn’t carry out my instructions to clean the slate—that you have outsmarted me? You harbored an impostor. You threw away your dignity for a beggar. And worse, you brought a stain upon this family name. But make no mistake: your little va