Her Birthday His Forbidden Desire novel Chapter 30

**Twilight Carves Destinies by George Orwell**

**Chapter 20**

“What, am I not allowed to say it? Can’t you handle the truth now?” Sloane’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and unforgiving.

“A husband who professed to love me—yet stood by as his wife was humiliated in front of a room full of strangers? What a cruel joke that is. You did it all for Vivienne, didn’t you? A murderer who deserves nothing less than to rot in hell. And you? You’re no better. Just as despicable. You two are a perfect match.”

Each word from Sloane was like a dagger, piercing straight into Declan’s heart. The coldness in her tone left no room for misunderstanding; her disdain was palpable.

With a flick of her wrist, she turned her back on him, refusing to meet his gaze again. “Don’t ever show your face around me again, Declan. If there’s even a shred of dignity left in you, you’ll heed my words.”

As the window of the passenger seat rolled up slowly, a barrier between them, the car began to pull away from the curb, leaving Declan behind.

In an instant, he fell to his knees, the hard pavement unforgiving beneath him. He buried his face in his trembling hands, muffled sobs escaping through his fingers like a silent plea for redemption.

In the rearview mirror, he watched as his figure shrank into a mere speck… and then faded into nothingness.

Inside the car, silence enveloped Sloane like a shroud. She gripped her seatbelt tightly, her heart racing as she tried to steady her breath. Oddly enough, a sense of lightness washed over her, as if a heavy stone that had burdened her chest for years had finally disintegrated into dust.

However, Devlin, who was behind the wheel, wore a much darker expression. Sloane’s words had struck him too—right in the chest. They weren’t even directed at him, yet they left him feeling rattled, tense, and simmering with anger.

He slammed the brakes, pulling over sharply on the coastal highway. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel as he glanced at her, searching for the right words.

“Sloane, I…”

“You don’t need to say anything. No pity, no sympathy. I’m fine.” Her voice was firm, shutting him down before he could even begin.

Devlin swallowed hard, his throat tight. “There’s something you should know. Those photos you mentioned? Someone in the States is trying to auction them off.”

“But don’t worry. I’ll buy them—make sure those photos never see the light of day.”

Sloane paused for a brief moment, then offered a wry, indifferent smile. “No need for that. Someone will bid on them anyway. For some men, words alone don’t count as revenge. They need to bleed.”

Far off, the sun began to rise on the horizon, casting a golden glow across the sea—just like it always did.

Sloane stared toward that unreachable line where the ocean kissed the sky, imagining how the first rays of light would warm the waves, bringing life to the day ahead.

Sure enough, Declan’s phone rang, shattering the moment.

“Mr. Hawthorne, Mr. Clay is hosting a high-profile collector’s auction. He sent you a personal invite. Word is, there’s a rare set of photos up for bid—starting at a billion. Oh, and apparently, ninety percent of the proceeds will go to charity.”

Declan’s heart sank like a stone. “I don’t care what it costs. I want those photos. Book me the next flight home—right now.”

That very night, he found himself on a plane back to the States, his mind racing with thoughts of the impending auction.

The auction was held online, broadcast live for the world to see. The moment Declan appeared on camera—haggard and frantic—the comments section erupted like a volcano.

“OMG, it’s that guy. The one who practically drove his wife to her death just to protect a killer.”

“Rumor has it he let someone film explicit blackmail material of his wife just so he could buy Vivienne a stupid ring. This auction’s gotta be about that.”

“He’s disgusting. All this pathetic pining? Save it for someone who cares.”

On-screen, the comment feed scrolled so quickly it resembled static. Some viewers snorted in disbelief, while others laughed cruelly.

It felt like a public execution—Declan, pale and trembling, was tied to an invisible post of shame, exposed for all to see.

Eventually, the auction reached its final stage: the mysterious photo set. Comments flooded in like a tidal wave.

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