Todos os capítulos de The Billionaire's Secret Bride: Capítulo 361 - Capítulo 370

Point of View: Alexander"You are shaking," I said, and Elena's hands, gripping mine, betrayed her before her voice ever had the chance to.Richard did not look away from either of us as he spoke, though his own hands stayed folded on the desk like he needed something solid to hold onto, his knuckles pale against the dark wood. The study smelled faintly of old paper and the coffee he had clearly forgotten to drink, and somewhere down the hall a clock ticked with the kind of patience that felt almost cruel given the size of what we were about to learn."Your grandfather kept people around him who did things he did not want his name attached to," Richard said. "Ruiz was one of them. A collector of information, mostly. Debts, secrets, leverage. The kind of man a certain type of businessman used to keep on retainer before it became fashionable to pretend such men did not exist at all.""And he is still alive," Elena said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Still working. Still watching us

Point of View: Alexander"You do not have to smile for them," I told Elena, straightening the collar of her coat outside the Delancey's front steps, my hands lingering a moment longer than necessary against the wool."I know," she said, though her hand found mine anyway, gripping it the way she used to before she trusted herself to face a room alone, back when every public appearance felt like walking onto a stage without having read the script.The crowd of reporters had gathered faster than Whitfield's team predicted, cameras already trained on the theater's restored facade, the same building that had once been the site of Marcus's sabotage now framed as the backdrop for whatever came next. There was something almost unbearably fitting about that, a place built to house other people's stories finally hosting our own, its restored marble steps gleaming faintly under the gray afternoon light.Rosalind stood on Elena's other side, her spine straight in a way I had not seen from her sin

Point of View: Alexander"You do not have to come with me," I told Marcus, though we both knew he was coming regardless, already reaching for his coat before I had finished the sentence.The security footage Whitfield's team had pulled showed a man standing across the street from the Sterling building two nights earlier, unmoving for nearly forty minutes, his face angled carefully away from every camera the building owned, as though he had studied the placement of each one beforehand. He left before anyone thought to send someone down to ask his business, but not before the footage caught, just once, the edge of a tattoo on his forearm, faint but distinct, dark ink against pale skin frozen in a single grainy frame."I know that mark," Marcus said, staring at the frozen frame longer than I expected, his voice dropping to something quieter than I was used to hearing from him.I turned to look at him fully. "You recognize it.""I saw it once, years ago, on a man I hired during the worst

Point of View: Alexander"There is another one," Rosalind said, and something in her voice made me set down the paperwork I had barely been reading in the first place, the pages sliding unevenly across my desk.She was standing in the doorway of the study holding a single folded page, newer than anything else that had come from her mother's box, the paper crisp instead of soft with age, catching the light in a way that made it look almost ordinary, almost harmless."Where did you find this," I asked."Tucked inside my coat pocket," Rosalind said. "I did not put it there. Someone did, sometime today, while we were at the theater, or afterward, I honestly do not know. I only found it when I reached for my gloves."My hands were not steady as I took it from her, and I understood, the moment I unfolded it, why hers had not been steady either, the careful handwriting settling into my vision one line at a time.You did well today. Rosalind deserved to be seen. Keep protecting each other. Th

Point of View: Alexander"Ask her," I whispered, nudging Marcus gently forward, and I watched a man who once tried to destroy this entire family go visibly nervous over a question involving a baby who could not yet speak a single word.We were gathered in the nursery, an ordinary Sunday evening finally, no reporters, no folders of old photographs, no notes left in careful, hesitant handwriting, just the six of us together the way I had once believed we might never manage to be, the lamp light soft and golden against the pale walls."I wanted to ask properly," Marcus said, and I noticed his hands were not quite steady, an unfamiliar sight on a man who had once negotiated boardroom coups without breaking a sweat. "Elena. Alexander. I would like to ask if I might be Claire's godfather."The room went quiet in a way that felt entirely different from every other silence this family had endured over the last several weeks, a silence that felt, for once, like anticipation rather than dread.