Todos los capítulos de The billionaire I wasn't supposed to love : Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

The drive back to Scott Mansion felt strangely longer than usual. Aiden sat in the back seat, staring through the window as the city lights slipped past. Marcus Hale's words kept circling through his mind.Someone close enough to know your habits.Someone was watching from inside your house.And then the final blow.The address is connected to Blackwood Industries.Aiden had spent the entire journey trying to arrange the pieces in his head.None of them fit neatly.But for the first time, he had something more valuable than suspicion. A direction.Tonight, he needed to talk to Evie.Not as the man who had once accused her.Not as the heir to Scott Corporation. Just as Aiden.The man who had promised her he would stop keeping her in the dark.By the time Aiden entered the mansion, most of the house had gone quiet. Only a few lights remained on downstairs.He found Evie in the sitting room.She was curled into one corner of the sofa with a book resting against her knees.She looked up w

That night, Aiden stood in his study. The house had gone quiet.A file from Lucas lay open on his desk.Property records. Company names. Financial connections. Nothing definitive yet.But the trail was becoming clearer.His phone rang. Lucas.Aiden answered. “Tell me.”“We found another connection.”Aiden straightened. “To Blackwood?”“Indirectly.”“How indirect?”“Three companies separate.”Aiden's expression hardened. “And Marcus?”“We're still working on him.”Aiden leaned back. “Keep digging.”There was a pause.“There's something else.”“What?”“The property was accessed several times before the night of the photographs.”Aiden's eyes narrowed. “By whom?”“We don't have names yet.”“Then find them.”“I will.”The call ended.Aiden stared at the file.Someone had been using that property.Someone had prepared it. Someone had known exactly where to put Evie.The photographs weren't an impulsive act. They were planned. Carefully. He closed the file.His thoughts drifted upstairs to

Aiden didn't sleep that night. Even after the call with Lucas had ended, he remained alone in his study, the room darkness enveloping him as he stared out the large window at the distant city lights flickering below. Richard Scott—his father's name—kept lingering in his mind like an unshakable stone, heavy and unmoving. For years, Aiden had believed he knew his family intimately: their habits, their history, their complex relationships. He had grown up amidst their constant presence, watching their heated arguments, celebrating their triumphs with them, and witnessing their struggles and losses firsthand.Yet now, one hidden property had made him question how much he truly knew.His mother had accessed it.His father had accessed it.And somehow, that same property had later become the stage for the photographs designed to destroy Evie.Aiden dragged a hand through his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands nervously. There had to be a logical explanation for what he had obs

The altered record stayed with Aiden long after they left the property.It wasn't the name that bothered him most.It was the effort someone had made to hide it.Someone had gone back into an old security record and changed a specific entry, carefully enough that no one would notice unless they knew exactly where to look.That meant the person responsible had understood the property's system.They knew which records mattered.They knew which ones could expose them.And, more importantly, they knew how to make the truth disappear.Aiden sat in the passenger seat as Lucas drove back toward the city, the folder containing the original documents resting between them.For several minutes, neither man spoke.Then Aiden broke the silence. "There's something we're missing."Lucas glanced at him. "The altered authorization?""No."Aiden looked out through the window."That tells us someone had access. It doesn't tell us what they did once they got inside."Lucas was quiet.Aiden continued."Ma

Morning arrived like a sudden slap, jolting her awake. Grace had become skilled at sensing danger through subtle cues: the house's usual activity level dipping into silence, signalling that something was amiss. Scott Mansion rarely fell completely quiet; always, there was some background noise—perhaps the faint clatter of dishes in the kitchen, the soft footsteps echoing across polished marble floors, the steady hum of the air-conditioning system, or the distant, muffled sound of a door opening and closing, each detail building a picture of normalcy that, when absent, hinted at trouble.But that morning, the silence felt unnervingly different—thick and oppressive rather than gentle. It seemed to follow her closely, almost tangible. As she carried a silver tray piled with teacups and pastries through the dimly lit servants' corridor, it pressed insistently against her back, making her shoulders tense. She had barely slept, her mind haunted by a relentless thought that refused to leave