บททั้งหมดของ The billionaire who tried to erase my fiancé : บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

“There was another prisoner before you.”Nico’s words stayed between them in Saint James Park, colder than the wind moving through the bare trees.Warren did not move.For a moment, he heard nothing except the distant rush of traffic and the soft drip of rainwater from the branches overhead.Then he said, “Who?”Nico looked toward the road.“I do not know his name.”“Do not lie to me.”“I am not.”Warren stepped closer. “You expect me to believe Mason held someone in that place before me, and you never learned who he was?”“I was not there in the beginning.”“But you knew.”“Yes.”The admission sat in Nico’s face like an old wound.Warren’s hands curled into fists. He remembered the underground annex: the concrete walls sweating dampness, the sharp stink of bleach, the single overhead light that never stayed on long enough to make time feel real. He remembered hearing movement in the corridors before he knew whether it was guards or another prisoner. He remembered the carved warning i

Mason kept the photograph on his phone between them.Daphne and Margaret Sloan at the Conservatory Café.Two women seated across from each other beneath a glass ceiling. A few sheets of paper on the table. Nothing criminal. Nothing visible to anyone who did not understand what those pages meant.But Mason understood.His smile had disappeared by the time Daphne set her handbag down.“Margaret asked about the baby,” Daphne said.Mason’s eyes did not leave hers. “Did she?”“Yes.”“And the papers?”“Community-project proposals.”He gave a short, humourless laugh.“You are not good at lying when you are frightened.”Daphne felt Nora watching from the kitchen, silent and helpless.“I am not frightened of you.”Mason stepped closer.“You should be.”The words were quiet.They entered the room without drama, without heat. That was Mason’s cruelty. He could deliver a threat in the same tone another man might use to ask about dinner.Daphne lifted her chin. “Are you threatening me because I ha

Warren had spent three hours reading the same set of documents.The recovered archive from Daniel’s grave had opened a door neither he nor Evelyn could close again. Every file led to another name. Every ledger exposed another transfer. Every internal report carried the faint, unmistakable imprint of men who had believed money could make facts disappear.Arthur Beckett’s offshore account was only one piece.There were payments routed through Halcyon Quay Consulting, disguised as engineering fees. Sonwells Private Holdings appeared beside security firms with no registered office, no employees, and no legitimate purpose. Warren had found invoices tied to materials that had never arrived at construction sites and safety certifications signed by inspectors who, according to public records, had never worked on those projects.But proof was not the same as victory.Proof had to survive lawyers.It had to survive press scrutiny, hostile board members, frightened witnesses, and the machinery M

The baby moved again.It was only a flutter beneath Daphne’s skin, so faint that someone else might have dismissed it as imagination.But Daphne knew.Her hand flew over Mason’s, covering the place where she had felt it. For one breathless second, she forgot the cameras. The guards. The locked doors and false smiles and every cruel thing Mason had said.There was only the life inside her.Her child.Not his heir.Not Arthur’s leverage.Not another piece in a war between powerful men.A child.Mason watched her face change.“What is it?” he asked.Daphne lifted her eyes to his.“The baby moved.”His expression softened instantly. Genuine emotion flashed there—wonder, pride, something almost human. He pressed his hand more firmly against her stomach.“Already?”“Yes.”He looked down, waiting.Daphne did not move away, though every muscle in her body wanted to reject his touch.After several seconds, Mason’s expression shifted. The moment had passed. His hand remained where it was, but t

Warren did not sleep.By sunrise, Sterling Studio had become a maze of open files, cold coffee, and television screens repeating the same footage from East Harbour.Each report used a different phrase.Suspected arsonist.Disgraced architect.Warrant issued.None of them said what Warren had actually seen: Sonwells contractors hauling records from the site. Gareth Fenn feeding safety reports into a burn barrel. The evidence that could explain why Laura Bennett had disappeared.The truth had been there.And now Mason had turned the flames into a weapon.Warren stood at the window, watching the city wake beneath a sky the colour of bruised steel. A police cruiser rolled slowly along the street below before continuing past the studio.Evelyn sat at the drafting table with Daniel’s archive open on her laptop.“We need a lawyer,” she said.“We need Laura Bennett.”“We need both.”Warren did not answer.His phone lay on the table, silent for the first time in hours. He had called Daphne’s h