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Chapter 154 – Whispers in the DarkThe burner phone buzzed again. Emilia’s hand snapped over it instinctively, silencing the sound before anyone else could hear. She tucked it deeper beneath the folds of her robe, her pulse pounding.Another message.You belong with me. Lucien moretti will never keep you safe. Blood calls to blood. Join me, Emilia.Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t even deleted the last one. Every night since the Vulture revealed himself, the phone had been alive with his words. Each message was like a hand dragging her back into a past she thought was buried with her mother’s lies and hatred. She sat at the edge of her vanity, staring at her reflection. She looked the same, but she didn’t feel the same. Something inside her had cracked wide open, and she was fighting every second to hold the pieces together.A soft knock at the door jolted her.“Emi?” Lucien’s voice, low, commanding.She swallowed hard and shoved the phone inside the drawer. “Yes?”The door opened. Luc

Emilia’s heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she left Dario estate. Every step back toward Moretti’s estate felt like walking with blood on her hands, though the blood wasn’t Lucien’s, it was hers. Her history. Her secrets. The face of the man she had sworn was dead still lingered in her vision, sharper than firelight, sharper than memory.Her father.The Vulture.She almost wanted to scream, to tear it out of her chest before it devoured her. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not when eyes lingered everywhere.When she reached the corridor near the kitchens, Rosa was already waiting. Arms crossed, expression tight, eyes burning with something between worry and fury.“You’re late,” Rosa said in a harsh whisper. “Now tell me who the vulture is? .”Emilia froze. Her throat was dry, but she kept her chin high. “And if you know I am late, then you know why I can’t stand here and talk.”Rosa stepped forward, blocking her path. “No, we will talk. I told you when you're going, Emilia. If you came b

The room spun. Emilia couldn’t find her breath, couldn’t steady her legs. The fire hissed, spitting sparks into the silence, but even that sound felt distant, drowned under the weight of the words still echoing inside her.I am your father.Her hands trembled against the armrest of the chair, nails biting into the leather. She wanted to deny it again, scream it back into the shadows, but his face, older now, sharper, but familiar in a way she couldn’t scrub from memory, had already carved through every defense she had.“No,” she whispered, shaking her head hard. “You don’t get to stand here and claim that. You don’t get to walk back into my life after burying yourself in the ground of my childhood.”The Vulture didn’t move. His eyes followed her, steady, unreadable. “I never buried myself. I was buried for you. For your survival.”Her chest caved, fury rising with the words. “Survival? You call leaving me with her survival? Do you know what she did to me? How she resented me every sing

The room shrank around her. The fire hissed in the hearth, smoke twisting upward like questions she was terrified to answer.Emilia’s throat ached. She forced herself to breathe, to speak, though the words clawed out of her like glass.“Who are you?” Her voice wavered. She straightened, sharper this time, as if daring the shadows. “Show me your face.”For a long, suffocating moment, nothing moved. Then, slowly, almost deliberately, the hood shifted. A hand lifted, steady, unhurried.The firelight stretched across features she should never have seen again.Her world stopped.Her breath fractured into a gasp, ragged, tearing at her chest. Her knees weakened beneath her. No—no, it wasn’t possible. The lines of his face were older, harsher, but the jaw, the eyes… they belonged to a ghost.“No,” she whispered, stumbling back a step. “No, you can’t..."Dario turned sharply toward her, his voice edged with confusion. “Emilia? What the hell is it?”She shook her head violently, trembling, eyes

Betrayal.That word clung to her like a stain. Even though she told herself she wasn’t betraying Lucien, she was only searching for truth, she couldn’t scrub the thought away.The blindfold came off, leaving Emilia blinking into the dim glow of firelight. The same estate, the same study, but this time, it felt different.Dario was waiting. He didn’t greet her with charm tonight, only a measured glance that gave away nothing. His gaze lingered, almost protective, before it shifted to the corner of the room.To the shadow.She froze.He was there. Cloaked in black, hood drawn low. The Vulture.He didn’t step forward, didn’t announce himself. He only watched.Her pulse hammered in her throat.“Emilia,” Dario said smoothly, inclining his head. “You came.”She swallowed. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”One corner of his mouth twitched, though it never quite reached a smile. “We all have choices. Even when they cut us open to make them.”She didn’t reply. Her chest felt tight, her body tor

The halls of the Moretti estate lay heavy with silence, the kind of silence that made every step feel like a trespass. Emilia slipped through them with careful precision, her fingers brushing the wall as though the touch could anchor her trembling nerves. She had done this before, crept out under the cloak of night with Rosa at her side, but tonight felt different. Heavier.Rosa waited near the back door, arms folded, shawl drawn close against the chill. Her eyes, sharp as knives, tracked Emilia’s every movement. “You’re late,” she muttered.“I couldn’t risk being seen,” Emilia whispered back.Rosa opened the door, and the night air swallowed them whole. The garden smelled of damp earth, roses closing themselves against the dark.Every step she took toward the world outside this mansion was another thread pulling her away from Lucien.They moved in silence until the estate walls were nothing but shadows behind them. Then Rosa stopped. She turned abruptly, blocking the path, and fixed Em

The night was quiet, but I couldn’t sleep.The sheets were tangled around us, Ivy’s bare body soft and warm against mine, her breathing steady with the deep rhythm of dreams. The moonlight leaking through the curtains touched her face like silver, painting her skin with a glow that made her look unreal, like she belonged to some world better than this one.And yet here she was. In my bed. In my arms.I’d spent years building myself into a fortress, a man untouched by sentiment. Love was a word I’d never trusted, too fragile, too dangerous. I’d seen what it did to men. it made them weak, reckless, willing to bleed themselves dry for a woman who could still turn and walk away. I had sworn I would never let that be me.And also, I have never truly felt love, to closest I ever felt was Mrs B and it was motherly. I grew up with a mother who never stood up against her husband for me and in a home where there is no love between me and my brother. Robert have always considered me below Victor

The room was still humming from the venom of Robert Wolfe’s voice, the cold steel of his threat lingering in the air long after the burner phone went dead. I could still hear his words echoing, sharp as glass. Return Ivy. She is not yours to keep.But it wasn’t Robert’s cruelty that gripped me. It was Killian’s response.He hadn’t faltered. He hadn’t bartered me like some item of leverage. He hadn’t hesitated to cut his step father’s script into shreds with a voice that was deep, steady, and absolute: She isn’t a bargaining chip. She stays with me. She chose. She isn’t something you get to take back.Chosen.The word replayed in my chest like a heartbeat. He didn’t just say it to them. He said it to me, too. Out loud. In front of the shadow that had always tried to reduce me to a pawn, Killian had stood like a wall and declared me his equal.I didn’t know what burned hotter, my anger at Robert’s attempt to erase me, or the ache curling low in my body, sharp and sudden, when Killian ref

The burner buzzed against the table, its screen lighting up in the dim safe house.Killian froze.Ivy, curled beneath the blanket on the worn couch, stirred. Her eyes opened, bleary with half sleep, but instantly sharp. They both knew that sound meant trouble, no one had this number unless the Wolfe.Killian let it ring once more before picking up. He didn’t say hello, only waited. Silence stretched, then a familiar voice slid down the line like oil.“Killian,” Robert Wolfe said, calm as ever. “You’ve made quite the spectacle.”Ivy’s hand clutched the blanket tighter.Killian leaned back in his chair, his tone measured, flat. “You called me to waste my time?”Robert chuckled softly. “I called because, unlike my son, I am a man who understands strategy. You’ve put yourself in a position that can only end one of two ways. Return what isn’t yours, and perhaps I’ll consider showing you a measure of mercy.”Killian’s jaw flexed. “Mercy,” he repeated, like the word itself amused him.“Yes.”

Chapter 122 – The Morning Lies(Ivy’s POV)Morning comes slow inside the safehouse.I wake with sunlight cutting in through the blinds, thin golden lines painting across the sheets. For the first time in what feels like forever, my body isn’t braced for a door to slam, a command to bark, or footsteps to drag me back into submission. The silence here is different, it doesn’t cage me, it frees me.I lie still, just breathing. The mattress is firm, the air faint with dust and the scent of old wood, but it feels safer than silk sheets in the Wolfe mansion ever did. Beside me, Killian moves, his arm brushing against me as he shifts awake. He doesn’t speak at first, he rarely does in the mornings. His presence is enough, steady, grounding, the kind of constant I’ve longed for without even realizing it.For a fleeting moment, I let myself believe I’m free.But the world has sharp ways of reminding me that freedom never comes without a price.The muted glow of a small television in the corner

Night fell heavy over the Wolfe mansion, but the glow from the long dining table carried no warmth. The Lancasters sat stiff on one side, the Wolfes opposite, the two families bound by an alliance that now threatened to unravel under the weight of whispers and speculation.The wedding that should have been celebrated today had dissolved into scandal. Outside, the media spun wild tales: that Ivy had run away, that ivy is unwilling to marry Victor Wolfe, that Victor had been betrayed in front of the world, that Victor might be an asshole not a Prince Charming like everyone thinks. Inside, the truth was messier, and far more dangerous.Robert Wolfe poured himself a glass of wine with unhurried calm, his silver hair catching the light. “We cannot allow the world to think the Wolfes have been slighted. Appearances are everything. A statement must go out before midnight.”Victor shifted in his chair, eyes sunken, jaw tight. “The statement should make one thing clear, Killian abducted Ivy. He

Chapter 120 – A Fragile FreedomThe walls of the safe house hum with silence. Not the kind that feels oppressive, but the kind that teases me with a taste of freedom I’m not sure I’ll ever fully have yet. For the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe without victor’s shadow crawling across my skin. There are no locked doors here, no eyes watching every step, no whispers of disobedience waiting to be punished.Here, the air smells of dust and paper, the faint musk of old wood, and Killian’s cologne lingering in the fabric of the room. Here, I am not caged. And yet, I am not free either.But I like this freedom. Freedom is a strange thing, fragile, fleeting. I can feel it brushing against me like a breeze through an open window, but just as quickly, it threatens to slip away. Victor and his father are out there, plotting, waiting. Victor doesn’t let go of what he thinks belongs to him. He never has.I sit curled up on the couch, notebook abandoned in my lap. My thoughts