All Chapters of Against all odds : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Luca’s POVIt started with whispers, faint at first, the kind of background noise I could ignore if I pressed hard enough on the walls I’d built around myself. But whispers have a way of clawing through cracks, and soon they carried a name…. Elliott is asking questions. The words landed sharper than I expected, slicing through my armor, dragging me back into a place I’d promised myself I’d never revisit. He was digging into my past, into the shadows I had painstakingly buried, and no matter how much I tried to shrug it off, I couldn’t stop the pulse of unease that threaded through me. I hated myself for caring, hated myself for letting his obsession still have weight in my chest. I told everyone who mattered that I didn’t give a damn, that the man had burned me alive once and I’d never step close enough to feel the flames again. But late at night, when the city’s roar faded to a hum, I could feel his presence like a phantom pressing against my ribs, reminding me that even ghosts

Elliott’s POVI thought I knew the taste of guilt. It had been my companion for years, sharp at the back of my throat, bitter enough to keep me awake at night. But tonight, standing in a dimly lit parking lot with a thin folder pressed into my hand by a man who wouldn’t even meet my eyes, I learned there are depths of guilt I hadn’t yet plumbed. He muttered something about not being seen with me, shoved the folder into my chest, and slipped away like a shadow, his shoulders hunched as though even the air carried ears. I wanted to call after him, to demand answers, to scream for clarity but I couldn’t. My pulse was hammering too loudly in my ears, and the weight of the folder was already crushing me. My father’s name sat at the edge of my thoughts like a blade, waiting to slice me open.I sat in my car, the engine off, the silence so thick it pressed against my ribs. The folder rested on the passenger seat, and I stared at it as though it might detonate. My hands refused to touch i

Elliott’s POVI don’t remember walking up the steps to Luca’s building, but suddenly I’m standing outside his door, knuckles hovering, my chest pounding like I’m about to walk into a courtroom with a death sentence waiting. The file feels heavy in my hand, heavier than the years I spent carrying silence, guilt, and the wrong truths. For days, I’ve rehearsed what I’d say.. dozens of versions, all collapsing into silence whenever I picture his face. Because the truth is, nothing I say can erase what I let happen. Nothing can rewrite the years I let him suffer alone. Still, I knock, because not showing up feels like the final betrayal, and I can’t bear to live with one more.When the door swings open, it’s like stepping into another world. Luca stands there, framed by the dim light of his apartment, dressed in sharp lines and shadows that make him look untouchable. His expression doesn’t move, not a flicker of recognition or surprise, just that cold mask he’s perfected since clawing h

Elliott’s POVThe walls are closing in on me, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know if I have the strength to hold them up. My father’s voice still echoes from our last conversation, low and venomous, reminding me of the expectations he hammered into me since I was a boy: the Wilde name cannot falter, the company cannot waver, and neither can I. But it’s all slipping through my fingers. Cecilia’s panicked eyes, the way her hands shook when she told me she was bleeding, are burned into my memory. The doctors said stress pushed her body too far, too early. Now, as I sit by her hospital bed with a newborn in my arms, I feel like a stranger to myself. The tiny weight rests against my chest, fragile and pure, and I realize with terrifying clarity that for the first time, something in my life is utterly untouched by my father’s schemes, untouched by Luca’s ghost, untouched by my lies. It’s love in its rawest form and yet it only makes the emptiness inside me grow.Cecilia barel

Elliott’s POVThe envelope arrived with no return address, slipped beneath my door like a ghost in the night. I almost didn’t see it at first, caught in the haze of sleepless hours, the baby’s cries ringing in my ears, my father’s voice still echoing from our last argument. But when I bent down and saw my name written in a handwriting I knew too well—sharp, slanted, deliberate and I froze. My pulse stuttered, my breath caught, and for a moment the world shrank to that fragile fold of paper. Luca. Even before I tore it open, I knew it was him. His handwriting had branded itself into me years ago, in scribbled notes, in sketches he’d passed me, in words that once felt like promises. My hands trembled so violently I nearly ripped the pages, but when I sat down and unfolded them, the silence in the room became unbearable. The letter wasn’t long, but it was everything. And it was nothing I had expected.He began without greetings, without pretense.. straight into the marrow of what he