Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Mistress: Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

“Do you think the sensors in the floor can detect a heart rate through Chanel flats? Because I’m fairly certain mine is currently a hazard to the structural integrity of this building.”Sophie didn’t look up from the small, handheld frequency jammer in her gloved hand. Her face was pale in the dim, blue light of the museum’s sub-level. “Just breathe, Victoria. Marcus has the loop running on the main security feed. For the next twelve minutes, Julian is watching a digital ghost of us sitting in the library reading architecture journals. But if you keep hyperventilating, you’re going to trip the acoustic sensors.”“I’m not hyperventilating,” I whispered, though the air felt thin, like I was inhaling glass. “I’m experiencing the high-speed realization that I’m committing a felony in my own family museum.”We stood at the back of the Vermon wing, tucked behind a massive, obsidian bust of my grandfather, Silas. The museum was a mausoleum of Vermon history—blueprints, models, and antique too

“You’re shaking, Victoria. The room is staring, and you’re shaking.”Zander’s voice was a low, jagged rasp against my ear, his hand firm on the small of my back. He was the only thing keeping me upright. The ballroom was a kaleidoscope of blurred faces and camera flashes, the air thick with the metallic tang of Julian’s dying reputation. We had won. The video was still looping on the screens—Daniel’s confession, Julian’s ruin.“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a well. My stomach tightened, a sharp, cramping pull that I tried to ignore. “It’s just the adrenaline. It’s over, Zander. We finished him.”“Not yet,” Zander whispered, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the grand entrance. “The air just changed. Look at the door.”I turned, my breath hitching in my throat. The heavy mahogany doors had swung open, but no security team entered. No police. Just a single figure.The room went into a sudden, vacuum-like silence. The clinking of crystal s

The silence following a birth is supposed to be a sanctuary, a held breath before the first cry of a new life. But in this room, the silence was a vacuum, a hollow void that sucked the oxygen out of the air until I felt like I was drowning in the light.Zander’s hand was a crushing weight on mine, his head bowed against the side of the bed. He was shaking—a violent, rhythmic tremor that vibrated through the rails. Julian stood by the wall, the bloody smile still etched onto his face, his eyes fixed on the small, limp form cradled in the head nurse’s trembling hands.“She’s not breathing,” I whispered, the words feeling like jagged stones in my throat. “Zander… why isn’t she breathing?”Aris was there suddenly, her professional mask shattered into a thousand pieces of grief. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t look at the monitor. She reached for the infant, her movements frantic, her hands moving in the practiced motions of resuscitation that felt, even in the moment, like a rehearsal fo

“If I don’t come back, I need you to know that the demolition codes are set to my biometric pulse. If my heart stops, the South Tower’s internal fire suppression system will fail. The rest is up to the gravity you designed.”Zander stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, a silhouette of jagged edges against the dim light of the hallway. He didn’t look like a husband. He looked like a soldier checking his gear before a suicide run. The air in the room was stale, smelling of the burnt paper from the fireplace and the cold, metallic scent of the rain still clinging to the windows.I didn’t turn around. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, my white silk slip a pale ghost in the shadows. I was staring at the empty cradle in the corner—the one we hadn’t had the strength to move yet.“You’re going there to die,” I said. My voice was a flat, dead vibration.“I’m going there to finish it,” Zander replied, his footsteps heavy as he crossed the floor. He stopped just behind me. I could feel

“You’re still looking for the blueprints, aren’t you, Father? But there are no more rooms to build. The house is already full.”Zander’s voice didn’t echo; the heavy velvet drapes and the layers of dust in the Blackwood library swallowed the sound before it could reach the vaulted ceiling. He stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dying light of a winter afternoon. The mansion, once a fortress of steel and silence, now smelled of damp wood, expensive brandy, and the cloying scent of decay.Michael Blackwood didn’t turn around. He was huddled in a massive wingback chair by the cold hearth, a tattered wool blanket draped over his knees. His hands, once capable of signing away entire city blocks with a single stroke of a pen, were trembling as they traced the air in front of him.“Daniel? Is that you?” Michael’s voice was a thin, papery whistle. He gestured toward a dark corner where nothing but shadows pooled. “I told you, the foundation for the South Tower needs more reinfor