LOGINKaren went to the window and looked out at the city; so bright and dangerous. Las Vegas at night was beautiful in a way that hurt. Neon lights promising dreams, casinos offering fortunes, hotels selling fantasies. All lies. All traps, and she had fallen into one of the worst.Karen felt foolish for believing that Peter, a rich man, would fall in love with her. An orphan. Nobody.Of course it wasn’t real, she thought bitterly. How could it be?At that moment, the cell phone in her dress pocket vibrated.Karen took it out with slightly trembling hands. A message from an unknown number lit up the screen;“I’m sorry.”Two simple, devastating words.And her naïve heart ached. Because she knew who it was from. She would recognize that writing style, that tone, anywhere.Peter.Distraught, Karen looked around as if Sebastian might appear at any moment. As if he could read her thoughts, see through walls, know that Peter had contacted her.She returned to the room with quick steps, almost run
Sebastian arrived home in the evening, shortly before dinner, and found Karen in the living room reading a book.She was curled up in the corner of the enormous sofa, her feet tucked under her body, covered. The soft light from the lamp beside her created a halo around her, and for a moment—just a moment—Sebastian stood in the doorway, simply watching.She looked... peaceful, like a Parnassian work of art.Then he remembered why he had come home early. Why did he need to talk to her. And the peace turned to strategy.“Mrs. Malcolm paid me a visit today,” he said, entering the room and loosening his tie with weary gestures.Karen raised her head abruptly, lowering her book. There was caution in her eyes.“I spoke to her too,” Karen said slowly.Sebastian paused in the middle of taking off his jacket, forcing himself to continue naturally. He hung it on the back of the armchair, each gesture measured, casual.He wanted to ask. He needed to ask. What had the old nun said? What had she to
After leaving the casino, Mrs. Malcolm got into the car with steps quicker than her elderly legs usually allowed.As soon as the door closed, she opened her handbag with trembling hands and took out a cigarette. She lit it with the cheap lighter she always carried, a habit she kept hidden from the children at the orphanage.She took two deep drags; the smoke filling her lungs, calming her frayed nerves.Then she threw the half-smoked cigarette out the window, as if the gesture could erase what she had just discovered.She held the crucifix hanging around her neck, worn by time, warmed by her skin, and closed her eyes.she whispered, “Lord, protect that child.”A brief, urgent prayer, laden with decades of faith and newly awakened fear, then she picked up her mobile phone and called Karen.Three rings.“Hello?”“Karen, dear.” Mrs Malcolm’s voice sounded more controlled than she felt. “Can we have coffee now? I need to see you.”After twenty minutes, Karen crossed the snack bar almost r
Las Vegas was the city of illusion. A bright mirage in the desert, built to make people believe they were lucky. Few actually won at the casinos; many left behind not only their money, but their dignity, their hope... and sometimes their lives.Sebastian was in his office, surrounded by marble, glass, and numbers. The afternoon was not over for him yet; he analyzed the previous night’s winnings with the precision of someone studying a war. For Sebastian, the numbers were battles won.The knock on the door interrupted the comfortable silence.“Come in.”The secretary entered, her face betraying something her words might not dare to say. She was rarely shaken; she knew how to deal with desperate gamblers, arrogant millionaires, and ruthless investors. But here... there was unease.“Mr. Sterling, there is someone insisting on speaking with you. I tried to explain.”“Does this person have an appointment?”“No, sir.”“You know the rules.”“I know, it’s just that...”She didn’t finish her s
Sebastian needed to prepare bait for Karen. He planned how to reveal the truth about his identity in a way that would make her depend on him even more. He couldn’t just throw the documents on the table and say, “Surprise, you’re a billionaire.” That would make her run away, seek outside help, lawyers other than Richard.No. it had to be gradual. Organic. As if he were discovering it along with her. As if he cared.So the next morning, when he found Karen in the living room having breakfast—she always ate alone, as if expecting to be kicked out at any moment—Sebastian sat down in the chair next to her.“Good morning,” he said.“Good morning,” she replied, her voice still soft with sleep.“You woke up early again,” Sebastian said.“At the orphanage, we were all forced to get up very early.” She kept her eyes on the cup in her hands. “But I think you know that.”Sebastian was silent for a moment, as if something had crossed his mind. When he spoke, his voice was lower.“I try to forget a
When Sebastian arrived home still processing the information Richard had shown him, still trying to decide when to tell Karen about his true identity; he paused at the entrance to the living room.Karen was sitting on the sofa, her posture rigid, her hands clasped in her lap with that tension he was beginning to recognize as social discomfort.And next to her, perfectly at ease as if the house were her own, was Dorothy Sterling, his stepmother.Sebastian was completely paralyzed when he saw her.Dorothy was in her fifties, but she looked younger. Discreet plastic surgery, expensive treatments, designer clothes that cost more than cars. Impeccably styled blonde hair, perfect makeup, jewelry that sparkled with every movement.She was everything Sebastian’s mother never was rich, polished, legitimate, and Sebastian hated her with every fiber of his being.“Last week,” he said, walking into the room with controlled but tense steps, “I had a visit from Peter. From my father. And now yours.







