Alle Kapitel von DIVORCED BY MY HUSBAND, LOVED BY A BILLIONAIRE : Kapitel 31 – Kapitel 40

The crisp, salt-laden breeze of a Sunday afternoon swept gently across the broad stone terrace of the Vance Family Estate, carrying the faint, sweet scent of blossoming jasmine and sun-warmed cedar. Above, the sky stretched out in an unbroken dome of brilliant sapphire, meeting the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean at a sharp, glittering horizon.Inside the sunlit family lounge, the atmosphere was a masterclass in domestic tranquility. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors stood wide open, allowing the natural rhythm of the crashing waves far below to provide a steady, soothing soundtrack to the afternoon.Elena sat comfortably on a deep, cream-linen sofa, wearing a loose, flowing white silk blouse and tailored beige trousers. Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, catching the golden sunlight as she looked down at the large leather-bound sketchbook resting in her lap. Her graphite pencil moved with effortless, flowing precision, bringing to life the final touches of a new

The Grand Palais stood as a monumental testament to European grandeur, its massive glass dome and neoclassical stone arches illuminated by dozens of high-intensity white searchlights sweeping across the night sky. Thousands of onlookers, celebrity journalists, fashion house executives, and international photographers lined the Avenue Winston-Churchill, creating a roaring wall of excitement behind heavy brass barriers.A convoy of five sleek, obsidian-black Vance executive sedans, flanked by French motorcycle police escorts, pulled smoothly up to the velvet-rope perimeter at the base of the grand staircase.When the rear door of the central armored Maybach opened, the thunderous roar of camera shutters, flashing strobe lights, and shouting reporters erupted across the courtyard.Adrian stepped out first. Towering, formidable, and impeccably tailored in a bespoke midnight-black tuxedo crafted from Italian barathea wool with polished obsidian cufflinks, his commanding presence immediatel

The thunderous, echoing applause inside the main auditorium of the Grand Palais reached a deafening crescendo as the President of the International High Fashion Council stepped up to the grand podium. The massive glass dome above reflected the sparkling lights of Paris, while over two thousand of the most influential figures in fashion, business, and diplomacy sat in hushed, eager anticipation. "Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished foreign dignitaries, and global leaders of creative industry," the Council President announced, his voice reverberating through the state-of-the-art audio system. "Tonight, we gather not merely to celebrate seasonal garments or commercial metrics. We gather to honor the invincible triumph of authentic artistry, personal integrity, and sovereign elegance over adversity." He turned toward the stage wing, extending his hand with deep reverence. "Please stand and welcome our Keynote Speaker, Permanent High Council Executive Member, and the founder of E.V. Sov

The shimmering, moonlit waters of the Venetian Grand Canal reflected the glowing lanterns of centuries-old palaces as private water taxis and sleek wooden launches glided across the tide.The historic Palazzo Vendramin Calergi—a breathtaking masterpiece of Renaissance architecture—was lit with thousands of flickering candles, its marble balconies adorned with cascading white orchids. Tonight, the palace was hosting the Annual European Heritage Luxury Gala, an elite gathering of old-money aristocracy, legacy fashion houses, and corporate titans from across the continent.At the center of the palace’s main ballroom, beneath towering crystal chandeliers and hand-painted ceilings, Lady Victoria Sterling moved effortlessly through the crowd. Clad in a heavy, structured gown of gold brocade, she held a glass of vintage champagne, surrounding herself with powerful Italian fashion syndicate executives and high-society journalists."The old guard of European design must protect its roots," Vic

The morning following the Venetian summit, the main courtyard of the Palazzo Vendramin Calergi was bathed in brilliant, clear sunlight. The Grand Canal bustled with morning traffic, but inside the private gardens of the palace, an atmosphere of victorious, peaceful serenity reigned.Elena sat beneath a marble gazebo covered in blooming white wisteria, wearing a tailored ivory silk wrap dress and simple gold hoop earrings. She was sketching in her leather book, her graphite pencil gliding with fluid, effortless precision across the thick paper, capturing the intricate architectural lines of the Venetian arches surrounding her.Beside her, sitting on a soft velvet lounge chair, was Adrian. He was dressed in a casual white linen shirt and dark trousers, reviewing the final legal execution papers signed by the Italian consortium's legal representatives. On his lap sat baby Aurelia, who was happily playing with a small, hand-carved silver rattle that the Mayor of Venice had personally sent