Semua Bab The Wife He Loves to Hate: Bab 61 - Bab 70

Vance’s words followed me all the way home. They sat in the back of my mind like a jagged stone I couldn’t swallow. Ask your father why Agatha’s inheritance documents were changed by Liam ten years ago. I had heard the sentence only once, but that was enough. Because Liam’s reaction in that chaotic boardroom had been far worse than Vance’s accusation. He hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t denied it immediately. He had simply gone chalk-white. And that terrified me more than anything else. The drive back to the penthouse was suffocatingly silent. Liam sat beside me in the back of the armored town car, his gaze fixed on the rain-slicked London streets passing outside the tinted window. I stared at his sharp reflection in the glass, my pulse racing against my ribs. Finally, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. "Did you change my mother’s documents?" His dark eyes closed briefly, his chest expanding with a slow breath. "Abby—" "Just answer me, Liam." The car suddenly felt far too small.

The silence in the penthouse living room was no longer filled with suspicion, but with the suffocating weight of ten years of hidden truths. My father remained on his knees for a moment longer, his shoulders trembling beneath the heavy wool of his coat. Seeing Patrick Hart—a man whose pride had always been his unyielding fortress, a titan who had weathered corporate scandals with a jaw carved from granite—broken and weeping on the polished hardwood floor shattered something deep within my chest. "Dad, please... get up," I whispered, my voice cracking as I sank to my knees beside him. Patrick lifted his head slowly, his tear-streaked face looking aged and weathered beyond his years. He reached out with trembling, worn hands, gently taking my right hand into his left, while his right hand gripped Liam’s wrist. With a steady, deliberate movement, he drew our hands together, resting them flat against the cool, dark mahogany lid of the vintage wooden box. He held our joined hands ther

The private jet lounge smelled faintly of dark roast coffee, warm vanilla, and polished Italian leather. I sat beside the oval window, watching London disappear beneath us. Grey buildings shrank into tiny shapes until the city vanished beneath a blanket of white clouds. For the first time in what felt like forever, we were leaving everything behind. Just Liam, Charlotte, and me. A real family vacation. I leaned my head against the window and smiled. “Happy?” Liam’s deep voice came from beside me. I turned. He had already set aside his tablet and was watching me. “Very.” “Good.” I smiled softly. “You know, Lee, I think this might be the first time we’ve gone somewhere without a crisis waiting for us.” Liam raised an eyebrow. “Don’t say that.” “Why?” “Because every time you say something like that, something happens.” I laughed. “You’re becoming superstitious.” “I’m becoming experienced.” I reached across the space between us and squeezed his hand. “Nothing is going to h

He slowly turned the phone toward me. It was an urgent system alert from his executive assistant: URGENT — BROOKE CAPITAL ANNOUNCES NEW PARTNERSHIP My smile vanished completely. I tapped the attached press link, and a high-definition photograph of Felicia Brooke flashed across the screen. She was standing at a podium in London, surrounded by international investors and corporate executives. The headline read: FELICIA BROOKE SECURES MAJOR EUROPEAN INVESTMENT ALLIANCE I frowned, my stomach tightening. “Already? How is she making moves this fast after the board meeting?” Liam nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. “She had this lined up before she ever walked into our boardroom.” I scrolled down the article. It detailed how Brooke Capital had secured strategic backing from several European investment consortiums and was aggressively positioning itself to acquire significant shares in firms tied directly to the British financial market—specifically targeting Montgomery International’s

Standing on the glass terrace of our pavilion, my hands wrapped around a cold glass of water, I watched Liam pace near the sliding doors, his encrypted phone pressed hard against his ear. His broad shoulders were squared into a rigid, unyielding line, and his dark jawline was clenched so tight a muscle twitched continuously in his cheek. “No, Mother.” His voice was calm. Too calm. I knew that tone—it was the dangerous register Liam used when he was one sentence away from losing his patience entirely. “I understand what you’re trying to achieve.” He paused, his sharp jaw tightening further. “No.” Another agonizing pause. “I said no, Mother.” I couldn’t hear Louisa clearly from where I stood, but I didn’t need to. I already knew what they were discussing: Felicia, her sudden corporate comeback, her growing financial influence, and the fact that Louisa apparently believed Felicia deserved a seat beside the Montgomery Group. Liam turned toward me, his dark eyes softening for half a