บททั้งหมดของ OATHBOUND: Married To The Don Of The North: บทที่ 131 - บทที่ 140

{INGRID’S POV}**I fold the clothes out of my bag and into the wardrobe, pressing them down neatly, making sure each crease is perfect. It’s not really about organization; it’s about keeping my hands busy, and keeping my mind from straying away. The room is quiet except for the rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath me. My sister, Cara, chose this room for me in the D’Avi Family House.I believe she had no choice and that's why. It's not her house nor her husband's after all.A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. Cara steps in. Even without looking, I could tell her familiar presence but it's heavier than I remember. It's like she’s carrying a burden she doesn’t want to talk about. “I hope everything’s been fine since you moved in,” she says, her voice softer than usual.I nod, forcing a small smile. “No problems.” But even as I say it, I wonder if she sees through me. I wonder if she knows how different I feel, and how much I’ve changed.

{CARA'S POV}**The study is quiet, but not the comforting kind of quiet. It’s the type that feels too heavy and too expectant, as if the walls themselves are waiting for something to be said. The lamp on my desk casts a dull glow over the papers I’ve been going through for the past hour, but my eyes keep drifting away from them. I rub my temples. I need a break.The door opens softly. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Ingrid. Her presence is careful, measured, like she’s unsure of how very much welcome she is.I glance at her. She’s pretty and she's smiling slightly at me. It’s such a small, simple gesture, but it takes me off guard. I should’ve gone to look for her earlier. I’ve been meaning to, but with everything going on, it kept slipping away. No, that’s a lie; I let it slip away.I offer a tired smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your room after work.”She steps forward, taking a seat by the table near me. “You’ve been busy.”That’s not an excuse.“If you need anything,

{CARA'S POV}**I don’t go to the hospital right away. Not easily just because I feel hopeless.At first, I try to ignore the urge to go to the hospital, running to Edmondo Edmondo's dead arms. I push it down like I always do. I bury myself in work, in meetings, in dead end conversations with men who think they can challenge me now that Edmondo is gone. I visit the underworld, ask the right questions, twist the right arms, but I come up empty. Still feeling hopeless. It's just that… the pieces don’t fit. No one wants to talk so easily, and the ones who do want to talk, even so openly, they don’t know anything useful.And now that I’ve exhausted every lead, when I’ve walked through the filth of the city and come up with nothing, when there’s no one left to interrogate…. I go to him.Edmondo.The hospital smells sterile, like bleach and something artificial. The air is too cold. The walls are too white. I hate it. This place doesn’t suit him. He hates it here. Edmondo was never meant

{INGRID'S POV}**It's been just a week, a week of Cara drowning herself in an abyss of sorrow, brokenness and co fusion, and the estate already feels heavier now. The walls are carrying secrets I hadn’t noticed before. Really. It’s strange; how a place can shift without changing. The bricks are the same, the chandeliers cast the same golden glow, but the weight in the air has thickened. It lingers in the way people move, in the pauses before they speak.Everything in this house has always belonged to the D'Avi family from decades ago, bearing the name of the current Don, Don Edmondo. And that name should be stamped into every crevice, but it isn’t. Now, it feels like it belongs to Lavanda.Her voice lingers in conversations she's not even supposed to be a part of. Her shadow stretches down the halls and everywhere.I see it in the way people look at her. They measure their words, adjust their postures. All in fear of her, no more Cara. They move differently when she’s in the room.

{GIOVANNI’S POV}**The fire crackles, low and steady, casting a warm flicker of light against the stone walls. The scent of burning wood lingers in the air, mixing with the sharper bite of whiskey. Outside, the wind howls across the Irish countryside, carrying the damp cold with it.I don’t turn when the door opens. I don’t have to. I am the boss of this place, the owner of the O'Keeffe Manor.The air shifts. A presence. Familiar. Unexpected."Ingrid."I breathe her name before I can stop myself.Footsteps come in, it's careful but quick. My eyes track the movement in the reflection of the whiskey glass. And there I see a small, stiff figure, wrapped in a coat quite too thin for this weather. Her shoulders are squared, her posture is rigid. She’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my damp curls. She's caught me.She shouldn’t be here. Why is she here in fact? Who led her here? Who brought her here?She shouldn't be in this house