All Chapters of Tangled Truths: Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Rain lashes against the windows of Lucas's penthouse, distorting the city lights into watery smears of color. Thunder rolls across the sky, its deep rumble echoing the unease growing in Lucas's chest as he stares at his phone screen for the fifth time in an hour. The message glows ominously in the dimly lit room:*Remember the bunker, Lucas? Some endings are just beginnings in disguise. —D*Lucas runs a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. The bunker. No one knows about what happened on the bunker except those who were there that night—the night Damien supposedly died. His thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to respond again. His previous attempts to engage the mysterious sender have been met with cryptic silence or even more enigmatic replies.The lightning flashes, momentarily illuminating the scattered papers on his desk—hospital reports, security briefings, and printouts of the previous messages, all arranged in a desperate attempt to find a pattern, an explanati

The hospital corridor stretches empty and silent at 2:17 AM, illuminated only by the subdued glow of emergency lighting. Most patients sleep, and the night shift staff moves with quiet efficiency through their rounds, the soft squeak of rubber-soled shoes against polished floors providing one of the few sounds breaking the stillness.Outside Flora's private room, the security guard Lucas hired—a former military man named Trent—shifts in his chair, fighting the monotony that makes night shifts so dangerous. His eyelids grow heavy despite his best efforts. The coffee from the nurse's station has long since worn off, and the rhythmic beeping of machines from within Flora's room creates an almost hypnotic cadence. His chin dips toward his chest, once, twice, before his head snaps back up, momentarily alert.He doesn't notice the orderly approaching from the far end of the corridor, wheeling a medication cart with practiced nonchalance. The orderly's ID badge reads "Wilson," though anyone

The Arden International headquarters looms against the gray morning sky, its sleek glass exterior reflecting storm clouds that mirror the tempest brewing within its walls. Lucas stands at the window of the executive boardroom on the fifty-second floor, his reflection ghostly in the glass as he watches raindrops trace chaotic patterns down the pane. Behind him, the murmur of anxious voices has finally ceased, leaving only the hollow echo of footsteps as the last board member exits, closing the door with a finality that feels like the sealing of a tomb."Twenty-three years," Lucas says to the empty room, his voice barely audible even to himself. "Twenty-three years to build it, and three days to watch it crumble."The financial report still displayed on the massive screen tells the story in stark, unforgiving numbers. Arden International stock has plummeted sixty-eight percent since the mysterious sell-off began. Major clients are invoking contingency clauses to withdraw from contracts.

The glow of multiple computer screens casts an ethereal blue light across Serena's face as she leans forward in concentration, her eyes narrowed at the scrolling data. Beside her sits Alex Roland, his fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced precision, barely pausing as lines of code unfurl across his primary monitor. The converted warehouse loft that serves as his private workspace is spartanly furnished—functionality trumping comfort with industrial metal desks and utilitarian chairs. The only personal touches are the vintage arcade machines lining one wall, silent sentinels in the pre-dawn quiet."There," Alex murmurs, his voice low as if speaking too loudly might disrupt the digital flow. "See that pattern? These transactions are being laundered through seven separate shell companies before landing in accounts across Singapore, Switzerland, and the Caymans." He taps a particular line on the screen. "But they all originate from the same source—a private holding company cal

The Artemis Hotel's private dining room glows with subdued amber lighting, the crystal chandeliers dimmed to create an atmosphere of exclusivity and discretion. Lucas adjusts his cufflinks—platinum with tiny embedded trackers that Serena insisted upon—as he surveys the opulent space. Mirrors line the far wall, multiplying the reflections of empty chairs surrounding the single round table draped in pristine white linen. A champagne bucket stands ready, the bottle nestled in ice that has begun to melt, droplets trailing down the silver surface like tears.*Too quiet,* Lucas thinks, his instincts sharpening to a razor's edge. *Where are Karlov's bodyguards?*His earpiece crackles softly. "Perimeter check complete," comes Alex's voice, tense with concentration. "No sign of Karlov or his security team. Something's off."Lucas maintains his outward composure, moving casually toward the windows overlooking the city's glittering skyline. "Status of our tactical team?" he murmurs, the corner o