Her Birthday His Forbidden Desire novel Chapter 23

**Twilight Carves Destinies by George Orwell 23**
**Chapter 13**

My name is Sloane. I am the woman who once found herself standing in a courtroom, facing off against Vivienne Blake—the heiress of Riverstone’s wealthiest family.

It feels like a lifetime ago, yet the memory remains fresh and raw. Six months back, my mother had an unfortunate encounter with Miss Blake on a luxury yacht—a mere brush against her dress. For that triviality, my mother paid an unimaginable price: her arms and legs were shattered, her body discarded into the unforgiving sea like refuse.

That night, I received a call from her. The sound of her screams still echoes in my mind, a haunting melody of despair that I cannot escape. That call marked the beginning of a nightmare from which I feared I would never awaken.

In the letter I wrote, I poured out my anguish and detailed the relentless months I spent gathering evidence, striving to bring this case to justice. Yet, each effort was met with the cold indifference of a system that turned its back on me, leaving me feeling more isolated than ever.

Every line of that letter dripped with sorrow, as if my heart had bled onto the page. Each word struck Declan like a dagger to the chest, twisting painfully as he read.

[…If you are reading this letter today, it means I am no longer here.

The final link in this correspondence leads to a cloud server. Within it lies footage from a hidden button cam. If I ever activated it, then that footage must serve as the last piece of evidence in this dark puzzle.

Please, I implore you—help me fulfill my dying wish.

My life, once overflowing with love, has been stripped bare of all joy.

I once had someone who would have given anything to marry me. On our wedding day, he looked into my eyes and said, “Sloane, we may hail from different worlds, but you make mine feel whole. You are the reason I draw breath.”

But now, I am gone. Declan Hawthorne—how much of me do you even remember?]

By the time he reached the end of the letter, Declan found himself unable to remain upright. His eyes, bloodshot and glistening with unshed tears, blurred his vision of the screen. Blood dripped from his chin, a painful reminder of the cut he had inflicted on himself earlier—his tears mingling with the crimson stain.

He collapsed to the floor, his fingers trembling uncontrollably as he clicked on the final link.

The video began to play, the shaky footage revealing Vivienne’s face, arrogant and unyielding. A chilling laugh escaped her lips as she recounted that fateful night on the yacht.

“You should’ve seen her—arms broken, mouth gagged, unable to scream. Pathetic, really.”

“Her blood soaked this very deck, and then it spilled right into the ocean…”

“But Declan believes me, you know? He even defended me in court.”

The camera captured the moment when she seized Sloane by the neck, shoving her over the railing. The image jolted violently—sky, sea, chaos.

“No!” Declan screamed, clawing at the screen, desperation lacing his voice. “Sloane, no!”

But the video continued its merciless play. A splash echoed through the silence—then, nothing. The sea consumed everything, and the screen faded to black.

In that instant, Declan shattered. He curled up on the floor, feeling the warmth of life seep away from his body. It was a numbing sensation, akin to dying—a hollow ache that coursed through him.

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