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Rising From The Deep: The Heiress's Wrath
img img Rising From The Deep: The Heiress's Wrath img Chapter 7 7
7 Chapters
Chapter 10 10 img
Chapter 11 11 img
Chapter 12 12 img
Chapter 13 13 img
Chapter 14 14 img
Chapter 15 15 img
Chapter 16 16 img
Chapter 17 17 img
Chapter 18 18 img
Chapter 19 19 img
Chapter 20 20 img
Chapter 21 21 img
Chapter 22 22 img
Chapter 23 23 img
Chapter 24 24 img
Chapter 25 25 img
Chapter 26 26 img
Chapter 27 27 img
Chapter 28 28 img
Chapter 29 29 img
Chapter 30 30 img
Chapter 31 31 img
Chapter 32 32 img
Chapter 33 33 img
Chapter 34 34 img
Chapter 35 35 img
Chapter 36 36 img
Chapter 37 37 img
Chapter 38 38 img
Chapter 39 39 img
Chapter 40 40 img
Chapter 41 41 img
Chapter 42 42 img
Chapter 43 43 img
Chapter 44 44 img
Chapter 45 45 img
Chapter 46 46 img
Chapter 47 47 img
Chapter 48 48 img
Chapter 49 49 img
Chapter 50 50 img
Chapter 51 51 img
Chapter 52 52 img
Chapter 53 53 img
Chapter 54 54 img
Chapter 55 55 img
Chapter 56 56 img
Chapter 57 57 img
Chapter 58 58 img
Chapter 59 59 img
Chapter 60 60 img
Chapter 61 61 img
Chapter 62 62 img
Chapter 63 63 img
Chapter 64 64 img
Chapter 65 65 img
Chapter 66 66 img
Chapter 67 67 img
Chapter 68 68 img
Chapter 69 69 img
Chapter 70 70 img
Chapter 71 71 img
Chapter 72 72 img
Chapter 73 73 img
Chapter 74 74 img
Chapter 75 75 img
Chapter 76 76 img
Chapter 77 77 img
Chapter 78 78 img
Chapter 79 79 img
Chapter 80 80 img
Chapter 81 81 img
Chapter 82 82 img
Chapter 83 83 img
Chapter 84 84 img
Chapter 85 85 img
Chapter 86 86 img
Chapter 87 87 img
Chapter 88 88 img
Chapter 89 89 img
Chapter 90 90 img
Chapter 91 91 img
Chapter 92 92 img
Chapter 93 93 img
Chapter 94 94 img
Chapter 95 95 img
Chapter 96 96 img
Chapter 97 97 img
Chapter 98 98 img
Chapter 99 99 img
Chapter 100 100 img
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Chapter 7 7

The door clicked shut behind them, cutting off the noise from the hallway.

The VIP suite was freezing. The air conditioning was cranked down low, chilling the sweat on Ivy's skin. The room smelled of cedarwood, old leather, and a very expensive, very masculine cologne.

Ivy stumbled, trying to regain her balance in her heels. The little girl was still clutching her hand like a lifeline, pressing her small body against Ivy's leg.

"What on earth-"

"Who are you?"

The voice was like a glacier-deep, cold, and utterly devoid of warmth.

Ivy looked up.

Seated at a large round table in the center of the room was a man. He was striking, with sharp, aristocratic features and eyes the color of a stormy sea. He wore a black suit that cost more than Ivy's entire new wardrobe. He radiated power and irritation in equal waves.

Auguste Randall. The CEO of the Randall Group. The King of Cloud City.

Opposite him sat a woman in a silver sequined dress. She looked startled, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth.

"Auguste, who is this?" the woman demanded, looking Ivy up and down with distaste. "Is this the nanny?"

Auguste didn't look at his date. His gaze was fixed on the child clinging to Ivy.

"Ara," he said. His voice softened by a fraction of a degree, but it was still commanding. "Come here."

The little girl-Ara-shook her head violently. She buried her face in the silk of Ivy's dress, her small shoulders shaking.

Ivy felt the dampness of tears seeping through the fabric onto her thigh.

A wave of protective instinct, hot and fierce, surged through Ivy. She didn't know this child, but she knew that fear. She knew what it felt like to want to hide from the world.

Without thinking, Ivy placed her hand on Ara's head, stroking her messy curls.

"Apologies," Ivy said, lifting her chin to meet Auguste's gaze. "Your daughter... kidnapped me."

Auguste's eyes narrowed. He watched Ivy's hand on his daughter's head. He seemed surprised that Ara wasn't recoiling. Ara hated strangers. She hated being touched.

Yet here she was, melting into this woman in red.

A discreet man in a dark suit, who had been standing almost invisibly in the corner of the room, tensed and took a half-step forward. Auguste lifted a single, commanding finger, halting the bodyguard in his tracks. His gaze remained locked on Ivy, a flicker of something unreadable-curiosity, perhaps-briefly overriding his innate suspicion.

He turned to the woman in sequins. "As you can see," he said smoothly, "my domestic situation is chaotic. I cannot possibly continue this dinner."

The woman gaped. "You're kicking me out? Because the nanny can't control the brat?"

"She's not the nanny," Auguste said. "And yes. Leave."

The woman threw her napkin on the table, grabbed her clutch, and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the crystal glasses rattled.

Silence descended on the room.

Auguste stood up. He was tall, towering over the table. He walked toward them slowly, like a wolf circling a trap.

"Nobody sent you?" he asked, stopping two feet away.

Ivy held her ground, though her heart was hammering against her ribs. "I told you. I was in the hallway. She pulled me in."

Auguste looked at Ara, then back at Ivy. His gaze was intense, dissecting her.

"Who sent you?" he repeated, his voice dropping lower. "My mother? Or a competitor?"

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