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Tightening Grip

ผู้เขียน: Mystical Pen
last update ปรับปรุงล่าสุด: 2026-01-31 19:50:28

Gabriel Vale’s POV

The office smelled like paper and stale ambition.

I should have hated it. I should have left it behind. But the truth was, I needed it. Needed the control it gave me. Needed the illusion that I could still command something, anything, in a world that was rapidly slipping out of my hands.

Vincent appeared at the door before I could even reach for my glass. His expression was tight. I didn’t need words to know he had updates.

“She’s moving,” he said.

I didn’t look up. “Who?”

“Y
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  • Goodbye, Mr. Wrong: The Heiress Returns   Executing It

    Hospitals had a way of distorting time.Minutes stretched until they felt like hours, then collapsed into nothing at all. The steady beeping of machines became background noise, a reminder that Aria was still here—still fighting—while the rest of us hovered in this strange in‑between, afraid to breathe too deeply in case the balance tipped.I stood near the glass wall of the ICU, arms folded tightly across my chest, my reflection staring back at me. Calm. Composed. Unreadable.That’s what they saw.What they didn’t see was the constant hum beneath my skin—the awareness that I was being watched. Not just by hospital security. Not just by the staff whispering in corners.By Gabriel.And somewhere above us, in a glass-and-steel fortress overlooking the city… by Desmond.I didn’t need confirmation to know it. I felt it the way you feel pressure before a storm breaks.My phone vibrated in my palm. Not a message. Just a system alert—one I’d programmed myself. Access attempt denied. Vale’s p

  • Goodbye, Mr. Wrong: The Heiress Returns   Shadows and strategy

    Desmond’s POVThe night had a chill to it that made every movement deliberate. I stood in the quiet of my penthouse, the city lights below a scattered constellation of control and chaos, both within my grasp and just beyond it. The phone on the table buzzed incessantly, each vibration a reminder that my father’s demands in Italy weren’t going to disappear. Yet, my focus wasn’t on the mafia empire or the threats of inheritance withheld. My attention was on Sienna and the delicate, precarious world we were building around Aria.Sebastian had been at my side for hours, running simulations, checking communications, making sure every contingency was accounted for. He was precise, methodical, my silent shadow in a world that rarely gave second chances.“Sir,” Sebastian said quietly, glancing at the monitors tracking hospital activity. “Gabriel Vale is escalating. He’s requesting constant updates, security access, and—”I cut him off with a slow hand wave. “I know. That’s expected. Predictab

  • Goodbye, Mr. Wrong: The Heiress Returns   Loosing It

    Gabriel’s POVI slammed the door of my office behind me, the sound echoing sharply through the empty space. Silence was supposed to be calming, but right now, it was suffocating. Every thought, every image of Sienna kneeling beside Aria, every flicker of Desmond’s calm presence in that hospital room, was a knife twisting deep into my chest.I should have been angry at Sylvia. I should have felt betrayed and justified in my fury. But my mind refused to focus on her. My vision blurred with the image of Sienna, flawless, serene, unshaken by the chaos around her, commanding attention without asking for it. And there I was, powerless, watching from the outside while she became the center of everything I had thought belonged to me.Vincent, my assistant, tapped at the edge of my desk. “Gabriel, you’ve been pacing for the last twenty minutes. Are you okay?”I didn’t answer immediately. My eyes were fixed on the cityscape beyond the office windows, but all I could see was that hospital room.

  • Goodbye, Mr. Wrong: The Heiress Returns   Calculated Risk

    Desmond’s POVThe hospital smelled of antiseptic, a sterile scent that did little to calm the storm brewing in my chest. I stood near the doorway of Aria’s room, my hands clasped behind my back, observing everything—every monitor, every staff movement, every subtle shift in the air. Calm, calculated, controlled. That was my approach. Always. And yet, beneath it all, a low hum of tension vibrated through me.Sienna knelt beside Aria’s bed, her fingers brushing the girl’s hair, whispering promises only she could keep. Her composure was infuriating. Perfect. Serene. Focused. Every instinct I had screamed to step closer, to shield her, to take control of the room and remove every variable from her path. And yet, I remained still, silent, because I knew timing was everything.Gabriel paced near the doorway, his presence a storm of panic and authority, and I could feel the tension radiating off him. That man—his love for Aria and obsession with control—was both predictable and dangerous. He

  • Goodbye, Mr. Wrong: The Heiress Returns   Poisoned Smile

    Sylvia’s POVI watched her from across the hospital corridor, my patience fraying faster than I cared to admit. That woman—Sienna—walked in like she owned the place, calm, collected, flawless, as if nothing in the world could touch her. And yet, there she was, staring at Aria like she was the only thing keeping her alive.A laugh bubbled up, bitter and low, but I swallowed it before it escaped. She thought she had power here, that she could step into my world and demand control. But she didn’t see what I saw. She didn’t see the threads I had woven around Gabriel, the influence I still held, the leverage I could wield. And she never would.“Bella,” I whispered, catching my friend’s attention. She tilted her head, eyebrows raised, ever the curious observer. “Look at her. Watch how she carries herself.”Bella’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “She’s… perfect.”“Perfectly irritating,” I corrected, letting my eyes narrow. “Every step, every gesture calculated to make me feel… irrelevant.

  • Goodbye, Mr. Wrong: The Heiress Returns   No Time to Hesitate

    Sienna’s POVThe television had betrayed me. A child’s frail image flashed on the screen, accompanied by words that slammed into me with the force of a hurricane. Aria Vale—my daughter, my little girl—was sick. Seriously sick. Critical, according to the news.I froze. For a moment, the room felt impossibly silent, the air thick and heavy around me. Every instinct I had honed over years of surviving, of strategizing, of fighting for control, screamed in alarm. But nothing had prepared me for this—nothing had prepared me for the sight of my child lying helpless somewhere I couldn’t reach immediately, her tiny body depending on adults who had never truly cared for her, on people who had only ever seen her as leverage.I sank onto the edge of my sofa, pressing my hands against my face. My breaths came sharp and uneven, my mind racing through scenarios I didn’t want to imagine. And yet, even in that chaos, a quiet voice whispered—a voice I had trained myself to listen to: Focus. Strategy f

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