Lahat ng Kabanata ng My Forbidden Brother : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

**OLIVIA** The St. Moritz gala was a symphony of clinking crystal, whispered betrayals, and the suffocating scent of lilies. To the world, I was Anastasia Drewmore, the radiant jewel in Daniel’s crown. I wore a gown of my own construction—a structural masterpiece of midnight-blue velvet that hugged my frame like a second skin, with a neckline so sharp it looked like a blade. My hair was swept back into a severe, elegant chignon, and my makeup was a mask of cold perfection. Daniel stood by my side, his hand possessively on my elbow as he introduced me to a rotation of European dignitaries. He was glowing, fueled by the ego of having "fixed" me. "Anastasia is finishing her dual degree," he told a Swiss minister, his voice booming with a false warmth. "She’s the future of the Drewmore interests." I smiled when I was supposed to. I laughed at the right intervals. But inside, I was screaming.

ADRIAN ​The office was a tomb of glass and shadows, an obsidian cathedral perched high above the rain-slicked streets of London. Outside, the city was a blur of grey stone and red buses, the Shard piercing through the fog like a jagged needle. Inside, there was only the low, clinical thrum of the air filtration and the heavy, expensive scent of bourbon and old smoke. ​I leaned back in the Italian leather chair, the dark grain of the wood cool against my neck. I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching the ice clink—a sharp, crystalline sound that echoed through the silence of the Mayfair penthouse. This was an office built for a man who didn't just participate in the world, but owned the ground it sat upon. The desk was a single slab of obsidian, polished to a mirror finish that reflected my own cold, unrecognizable eyes back at me. ​I was no longer the boy who wanted to build skyscrapers. I was the man who decided which ones were allowed to stand

OLIVIA The world beyond the heavy velvet curtains dissolved. The music, the clinking crystal, and the muffled laughter of the Shanghai elite became a distant hum, a noise from a life that no longer belonged to me. I stood paralyzed, my breath caught in a throat that felt constricted by years of unspoken words. The man before me—this towering, lethal presence—was a stranger carved out of the boy I had loved. His face was harder, the lines of his jaw and brow honed by a darkness I couldn't yet name. But the eyes... beneath the cold, predatory steel of his new gaze, there was a flicker of the fire that had once kept me warm in a cold house. "Adrian," I whispered again. It wasn't just a name; it was a plea for the universe to stop playing tricks on me. I didn't wait for him to step closer. I couldn't. I surged forward, the obsidian silk of my gown rustling as I buried my face against his torso. I wrapped my arms around him, gripping the fabric of his tuxedo as if he might turn int

OLIVIA The silence of the private house was no longer a sanctuary; it was a vacuum, and it was screaming. Ever since the heavy oak doors had closed behind me after the masquerade, the air in my suite felt too thin to breathe. Adrian’s scent was still trapped in the fibers of my obsidian gown, his voice a low-frequency vibration that seemed to rattle my very bones. *I told you I'd find you.* I couldn't stay still. I was pacing the length of the silk rugs like a caged panther, my heart a restless, frantic bird beating against my ribs. I needed noise. I needed the kind of chaos that could drown out the terrifying, beautiful realization that my past had just collided with my present. I stopped in front of the full-length mirror and stripped. The "Anastasia" masks—the velvet, the lace, the poise—all hit the floor in a heap. "You want a distraction, Olivia? Fine," I whispered to my reflection. I went to the closet and pulled out a piece of

ADRIAN The penthouse was a cathedral of cold marble and high-tech surveillance, a place where I usually felt like the architect of a new world. But tonight, it felt like a cage. I was sitting on the edge of the oversized bed, the room illuminated only by the frantic, shifting glow of the Shanghai skyline and the steady pulse of the tablet in my hand. I was watching the red dot. It had been stationary at the Wukang house for hours. I had spent that time staring at it, imagining Olivia behind those reinforced walls, wondering if she was touching the ring, if she was thinking of me, or if she was cursing the day she ever met a Dawson. Then, the dot flickered. It began to move, tracing a jagged path through the city toward the Jing'an District. My heart, usually a cold, disciplined engine, skipped a beat. "Where are you going, Olivia?" I whispered to the empty room. The dot stopped. *The Vault.* A club known for its anonymity,