The Heir's Ruthless Obsession

me long after the bells of S

vy, ancient sound that didn't belong i

d until the pads of my fingers were raw, and my neck

icking like a ticking clock. She didn't offer words of encouragement anymore;

gala arrived with a

ect me. As I stepped inside, the plush leather and

d window as the familiar gray stone of the orphanage vanishe

ection in the glass. "You are just playing music. The n

d I was wrong. The air here was different.

ri's

se smiles. I stood near the marble pillars, a glass of spa

restrictive, a black-and-white armor design

nt remarked, leaning against the pillar beside me. He looked eff

f. "Father doesn't attend 'charity mixers.' He expects a full report on the

uried in a high-risk surgery that he deeme

g words had be

ire board of shareholders to this 'charity' event. Watch the room. They are hiding a motive behind th

whatever charity case the Beaumonts

e world

m satin gown that looked like it had been spun from

at seemed to glow under the crystal chandeliers. And her eyes

ined organ, gave a sudden,

ce before. Not in person, but in th

about. The woman my father had been obsessed with was

, my grip tightening on

s voice filled with genuine curiosit

fake name

hilling, natural elegance, a poise that spoke of old blood and ancient titles. When she

rformance. It

elle

d for m

al stares of the women in the front row,

y mind, the melody that felt like a secret sha

oom was so quiet I could hear the flame of the c

r eyes wet with tears as she guided me

a man stepped into our path. He moved

exandre Rousseau, Director of St. Aurelia's Academy. That

tor," I murmured,

wasn't just admiration; it was recognition. "You have a gift that doe

s meeting in a silent, urgent conversat

allroom. I felt exposed, like a bird with clipped wings.

, and my br

the color of a winter ocean, cold, deep, and dangerous. He was beautiful in t

en spoke. The "strange energy" I had felt

w, dark velvet that sent a shiver down my spi

e steady, but my hands were tr

I could smell the scent of rain and expen

for something with a gaze so pre

t you're playing a dangerous game, little ghost. You don't belong here. A

ped, my instinct to fight back overriding my fea

'll see. But a word of advice, Isabelle, stay in the shadows. Because if

leaving me standing in the center of

ow crumpled in my hand. Dmitri Volkov hadn't looke

arrived. He was standin