Her Birthday His Forbidden Desire novel Chapter 25

**Twilight Carves Destinies**
by George Orwell

**Chapter 15**

It was hardly surprising that he had taken her in after rescuing her from that harrowing situation.

In those desperate days, Sloane had endured a relentless hell, scouring every corner of her world to unearth their contact information. She had called in every favor she could muster, leaving no stone unturned. Whispers had circulated about a clandestine service that catered exclusively to the elite, operating entirely off the grid.

In essence, if you had the means, they would craft every detail to suit your whims and desires.

“That night,” Devlin began, his tone steady yet somber, “the rescue team assigned to you was concealed in the yacht’s lowest level. The instant you plunged into the water, they sprang into action and pulled you out. But by then, you had already lost consciousness, and despite their efforts to save you, you never regained awareness…”

Sloane’s voice was a mere whisper, brittle and dry. “So… how long was I out?”

“Almost two months,” he replied, his gaze unwavering.

Before she could delve deeper into her questions, Devlin pressed on, his demeanor unwavering and professional.

“Given your condition, we couldn’t risk moving you overseas. You’re still in Riverstone. To ensure your death appeared genuine, I arranged for you to stay at my private estate just outside the city. You’re completely safe here, off the radar.”

“Thank you,” she managed, her voice thick with emotion.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied dismissively, as if her gratitude was unnecessary. “Your revenge plan has been largely successful. Once you’re fully rested, you can review the aftermath online for yourself.”

He poured a glass of water and placed it gently by her bedside, his actions deliberate and caring. “Focus on your recovery. Live. Because the day you’ve been waiting for… it’s on the horizon, Miss West.”

There was something in his voice that wrapped around her like a warm blanket, a sense of comfort she hadn’t expected.

Sloane’s gaze fell to the floor, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

She had risked everything, teetering on the brink of death for this singular chance to rewrite her narrative.

And now, with life still coursing through her veins, she vowed to live fiercely, without fear.

As Devlin descended the stairs, his assistant, who had been waiting just outside the villa, approached him with brisk urgency.

“Sir, regarding Declan Hawthorne—he’s still combing the shoreline, day and night, desperately trying to recover Miss West’s body. As for the online situation…”

Devlin cast a glance out the rain-smeared window, his mind drifting back to the letter Sloane had left behind.

“She’s our client. We owe her this. Keep the fire burning online. Don’t let it fizzle out. A so-called heiress turned brutal killer? Some individuals don’t even deserve the title of human.”

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