Semua Bab Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance : Bab 91 - Bab 100

--- Blackwood Mansion – That Night It began as all the Blackwood raucous parties began: gold-rimmed glasses, dancing candle flames off crystal, and slippers toe-tapping on marble. Leya didn't get to witness it. She sat on the edge of her bed, peeling the thick bandage off her wrist. The skin underneath was red, puffy, and her fingers hurt from wrapping it in ice water. It ached with a dullness now. Tolerable. But the ache underneath that never went away-the one that still lodged deep in the recesses of her chest, where words once lived-that never went away. She had tried to do something right. And it had been thrown back at her, molded into a tool of remembrance. --- Flashback – Earlier That Afternoon Harrison had left just seconds behind Nathaniel. Stoic, still. He hadn't looked over his shoulder at her as he disappeared into the corridors. He hadn't said anything. But he'd gone straight to the trendy bar. Dark. Quiet. He liked it that way. Bottle on top of

--- Blackwood Manor – Nathaniel's Private Study, Early Evening Nathaniel remained motionless, strands of light disintegrating across his desk in shards of glass. The house was quiet, and he preferred it thus. These were the moments when he wore a cloak of focus – and more recently, focus was something he could no longer quite so casually turn his back on. Yellowed stacks of paper to either side. The bound book before him, one he'd taken out from the estate books. Not new. Samuel Blackwood still preferred all books to the family ledger: computer and written. Nathaniel had preferred ink over screens. He disliked turning pages, his hand sweeping over six months of record. Habit in large part: maintenance, employees' wages, and wine bought to have on hand for visitors. And then he realized something. > March 18th - Payment for restoration of work: $20,000 - Signed E. Blackwood. He took one step closer to the truth. The hand was deliberate. Too deliberate. The signature wasn't th

---Eleanor's Room – AfternoonEleanor's pearls that she wore around her neck were real — but thicker than usual.She stood in front of her vanity, not brushing her hair, but just looking at herself. Not at her face. Not at her expression. But in the eyes.Because they were watching her now.Clara. Nathaniel. Even Juliet, too quiet these past few days.It had been insidious first of all — the way servants tripped over their own feet when she entered a room, the way conversations died when she passed by. But today, Eleanor noticed something else.> The silence was no longer frightened.It was vigilant.Her fingers toyed near her jewelry box.The flash drive.The one which she had stolen from Samuel's safe weeks previously — the one which held names, defaulted overseas marriage contracts, and a computerized payment record. If anyone. Had glimpsed it…She. opened the box. Still. There. Still. Untouched.But she was. Discovering something terrible.It wasn't that. People. We were aware th

--- Blackwood Manor – Nathaniel's Private Study, Early Evening Nathaniel remained motionless, strands of light disintegrating across his desk in shards of glass. The house was quiet, and he preferred it thus. These were the moments when he wore a cloak of focus – and more recently, focus was something he could no longer quite so casually turn his back on. Yellowed stacks of paper to either side. The bound book before him, one he'd taken out from the estate books. Not new. Samuel Blackwood still preferred all books to the family ledger: computer and written. Nathaniel had preferred ink over screens. He disliked turning pages, his hand sweeping over six months of record. Habit in large part: maintenance, employees' wages, and wine bought to have on hand for visitors. And then he realized something. > March 18th - Payment for restoration of work: $20,000 - Signed E. Blackwood. He took one step closer to the truth. The hand was deliberate. Too deliberate. The signature

---Morrison Family Apartment – South FairbridgeThe flat remained the same.Leya stood there, screwed-up coat firmly tied over the gusts, heels still trembling with the marble cold of Blackwood. But the wind was now heavy with the scent of boiled yam, petrol, and rain in the afternoon — not with the scent of lavender polish and old money.She'd said nothing to anyone, not even to herself, in fact.Exhaustion had brought her to a conclusion about herself.She'd rehearsed it all: sitting with her mother and speaking — the wedding, the bargain, the silence, the cruelty. How she would speak the words out loud, and spoken, she would not carry their weight.She raised her hand to knock.Before she could, the door opened."Leya?"Her mother's voice was a lightness of surprise.And something else."Hello, Mama," Leya said, glaze of breath on the air. "May I come in?"---Inside – Late AfternoonIt was warm inside, smells she knew: spice, fabric softener, rice on the stove.It was entering an