The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 117

Chapter 117 Eyes on the Throne

The following morning arrived without mercy.

Ryan’s car pulled up to the curb outside the Ashbrook building, and before the engine had fully cut off, he

could already see them, clusters of reporters, cameras raised, microphones gleaming under the hard

morning light.

He stepped out.

The building loomed above him, steel, glass, and generations of carefully curated power. The air was crisp,

biting at his cheeks, but it did nothing to cool the simmering tension under his skin.

They descended instantly.

“Mr Ashbrook!”

“Ryan! Over here!”

“Sir, just one question,”

He had barely shut the car door when the noise exploded around him properly.

“Are you dropping the case against your sister?”

“Is it true you had Kimberly arrested?”

“Is this retaliation for what happened with your wife?”

“Does Eve Ashbrook have a role in this family crisis?”

“Ryan, is this connected to Steven Reynolds, the former driver at your parents’ estate turned business

mogul?”

“Has your

wife influenced your decision to press charges?”

They came at him like thrown stones, fast, overlapping, each one sharper than the last. Camera flashes

burst white across his vision.

Microphones jutted toward his face as journalists leaned in, hungry and relentless.

“Mr Ashbrook, is it true you cut ties with your parents?”

“Did your mother really push for the charges against Eve?”

“Is this about revenge?”

“Has Steven threatened you?”

Ryan didn’t slow.

He walked straight ahead, as if the chaos were nothing more than scenery. His expression was calm, almost bored, certainly not rattled. Years of boardrooms, hostile takeovers, shareholder rebellions, this

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Chapter 117 Eyes on the Throne

was just another performance.

He didn’t answer a single question.

Not when they said Eve’s name.

Not when they framed her as a wedge in his life.

Not when Steven’s name hit the air like a grenade.

His silence said more than any quote he could offer.

+25 Points

Security moved in, forming a protective barrier around him. “Step back, please. Step back. Let him through.

”

A female reporter tried to slip past the security’s arm. “Ryan, did Eve ask you to go after Kimberly? Is this a

wife-versus-sister situation,”

Ryan’s gaze flickered briefly in her direction. Just once.

The look was enough.

She faltered.

He walked through them like a blade through smoke, the crowd bending around him but never touching

him.

Inside the building, the noise dulled but didn’t disappear.

Security doors closed behind him, muting the voices outside. But whispers rose in their place, quieter, less

obvious, yet no less sharp.

Employees glanced up from their desks as he crossed the lobby, eyes widening, conversations pausing.

“Is that him?”

“He really had his sister arrested?”

“I heard his mother was in tears.”

“I heard his wife’s name came up again.”

Ryan didn’t change his stride.

He stepped into the elevator alone. The doors slid shut, sealing him inside a box of brushed steel and soft

lighting. For the first time that morning, the world went quiet.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back, forcing the tension out of his muscles.

He glanced at his reflection in the elevator wall, expensive suit, impassive face, eyes that looked like they hadn’t slept properly in years and had just decided they were done pretending.

By the time the elevator chimed and the doors opened onto his floor, his composure was fully locked back into place.

Chapter 117 Eyes on the Throne

He walked down the hallway, the hush of the executive wing enveloping him. Assistants rose as he passed, murmuring greetings.

“Good morning, Mr Ashbrook.”

“Morning, sir.”.

“Good morning,” he answered evenly, not breaking stride.

His office greeted him with stillness.

+25 Points

Glass walls. Dark wood. City skyline stretching out beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. The faint hum of the air-conditioning. Power lived here in quiet, sleek lines.

He loosened his tie with practiced ease, shrugged off his jacket, and laid it over the back of his chair.

Only then did he let himself inhale deeply.

That was when he saw it.

An envelope placed neatly at the centre of his desk.

Cream cardstock. Heavy. Expensive. Embossed edges.

No logo on the front. Just a name.

Steven Reynolds.

Ryan stared at it for a moment, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

Of course.

He picked it up, fingers steady, and slid a thumb beneath the flap. He already knew what it was before the

envelope even tore.

An invitation.

He unfolded the card.

The print was elegant, understated, wealth that didn’t need to shout. The venue was exclusive. The date

was deliberate. The message between the lines was clear.

I am not hiding.

Ryan read it twice.

His lips curved into a faint, humourless smile.

“Bold,” he muttered.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said without looking up.

Alexander stepped in, ever neat, ever efficient. “Good morning, sir.”

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