All Chapters of Against all odds : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Luca’s POVThe air outside the prison gates didn’t smell like freedom. It smelled like rain on cold concrete, like exhaust fumes from a passing bus, like something sour and stale that had been sitting in the back of my throat for months. I thought the first breath as a free man would feel like drowning in sunlight, but instead, it just felt… empty. Like I’d been spat out into a world that had already moved on without me. No one was waiting. No warm face, no arms to fall into. Just the sound of my own shoes scraping the pavement and the weight of a plastic bag holding the only things I had left—clothes that didn’t fit, shoes with a split sole, and a photograph I couldn’t bring myself to throw away.I didn’t even know why I was out. The lawyer who barely returned my calls never mentioned a break in the case. There was no dramatic courtroom reversal, no new evidence clearing my name. One morning, the guard just came to my cell with a paper in hand and told me to pack. That was it. Freedo

Cecilia’s POVThe cathedral was awash in golden light, sunlight pouring through stained glass and scattering like jewels across the marble floor. My gown trailed behind me like a river of silk, heavy with the weight of perfection. Every curl in my hair had been pinned precisely, every pearl on my veil placed with care. I knew I looked like a bride out of a fairytale.. beautiful, glowing, the very picture of victory. And yet, when my eyes found Elliott standing at the altar, waiting for me, the win felt… hollow. His suit was sharp, his posture rigid, but his eyes, those eyes I once thought could burn for me.. were dull, distant. He was here, yes, but not with me.My father’s arm was steady as he led me forward, my heels clicking softly on the polished floor. Cameras flashed from the side aisles, capturing every perfect angle of this moment. I smiled for them. I smiled for the world. This was my day. My triumph. And still, as I drew closer, I saw the truth etched in the curve of Ell

Luca’s POVThey think they’ve buried me.They think the money was my leash, that the ashes of my life would keep me quiet. They think the shame will keep me small, that the ruin will make me crawl.They don’t know me.I’ve been sitting in the dark for too long, letting grief and fury ferment until it turned into something sharper and more lethal. Pain isn’t my prison anymore. It’s my weapon. And I’m going to wield it with precision.The first step is information.Money can buy a lot of things.. which includes silence, loyalty, access and I still have enough of it to open the kind of doors most people don’t even know exist. I call in an old debt, a man who owes me more than his life. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t flinch when I tell him I want every ugly detail on Elliott’s father. I don’t need proof of the man’s corruption; I just need a map of where the skeletons are buried.People like him think they’re untouchable because they’ve bought and destroyed anyone who’s tried. But they

Luca’s First Person POVI didn’t sleep the night before the launch. My mind was too wired, my body humming with the kind of adrenaline I hadn’t felt since before prison. The rebranded line was everything I had poured myself into blood, sweat, betrayal, and rage stitched into every thread. It wasn’t just fashion; it was vengeance sewn into seams, revenge painted in bold colors, and freedom tailored into fabrics that would outshine anything Cecilia’s hollow empire could dream of producing. I remember standing in that back room as the models slipped into the clothes, and for a moment, I felt alive again. The cameras flashed, the crowd murmured, and when the lights hit the runway, the world tilted in my favor. By morning, the internet was ablaze. My line had gone viral. Every influencer was reposting it, every blog was raving. It was more than just a comeback, it was a resurrection.The irony wasn’t lost on me when the first reports rolled in about Cecilia’s brand. Investors were ner

Elliott’s POVThe invitation to the industry gala should have felt like routine by now. I had been to hundreds, smiled through endless handshakes, endured the staged conversations of men and women who lived to play politics in velvet halls. But that night, my hands trembled slightly as I adjusted my tie in the mirror. It wasn’t nerves about the event, it was the whispered confirmation I had heard earlier that afternoon: Luca would be there. His name had already begun to ripple through the industry, sharp and unstoppable, but hearing that we’d both be under the same roof again cracked something in me I’d spent years trying to seal shut. My reflection looked calm, collected, the picture of control, but inside my chest, my heartbeat was a frantic, betraying drum. Cecilia noticed my silence as we left the penthouse, but she didn’t ask. Maybe she already knew. Maybe she could feel what his name still did to me.The gala hall shimmered with chandeliers and gold trim, the air thick with