Semua Bab The Cure Is you: Bab 81 - Bab 90

°SERENA° Victor didn’t respond to my insult. Not with words. Just his eyes—sharp as shattered ice, cold as steel, burning with fury. He stared at me like I was the last stain on his empire, and he was ready to scrub me off the face of the world. But only if staring could kill. “I’ll let you think about obedience,” he muttered, snatching up his phone. “Maybe the next time I walk through that door, you’ll have learned your place.” He turned. Walked. The door creaked—slow, deliberate. Then slammed. The sound ripped through the room like a gunshot. And then, silence. Not peace. Never peace. But a tense, eerie quiet clung to the air like smoke after a blaze—thick, choking, haunted. Still, for the first time since I was dragged into this nightmare, I wasn’t afraid of the silence. I welcomed it. I exhaled—slow, shaky. My lungs trembled like they were just relearning how to breathe, my chest sore as if someone had punched the life out of me and left behind an ache n

°SERENA° I was pushed aside suddenly, my body jerked violently into some kind of wall… The sound of the gunshot still rang in my ears, sharp and disorienting. My vision blurred for a second. My body throbbed where I’d hit the wall — my shoulder scraped raw against the stone. Voices were shouting, echoing, overlapping — but I couldn’t make out any of it. My hands scrambled against the floor to push myself up. Dust clung to my fingers. My heart was slamming against my ribs. And then I saw her. Cassandra. She stood just a few feet away — or was she swaying? Her hands were pressed to her abdomen, but blood was already seeping fast through her fingers, thick and dark, running down her arms, staining the hem of her top. Her breathing was ragged. No. No, no. “What the hell—” I whispered, barely able to move. She had stepped between us and Victor. She’d taken the bullet. “Cassandra!” “Cassandra!” Fred and I shouted at the same time. The panic in his voice mirrored mine

°SERENA° I think I’m waking up. Or maybe not. It’s weird. Everything feels... distant. Like I’m stuck underwater, and the world’s still moving above but I can't reach it yet. My arms weigh a ton. My chest hurts. My throat’s dry. Something beeps near my ear like it owns the damn place. There’s a voice. Low. Familiar. My heart kicks — slow and out of rhythm. God. That voice. Adrian? I can’t move. I can’t see. But I feel something… warm. Pressure on my hand. Soft. He’s here. Why? "I thought if I kept you away…” It’s his voice, yeah. Just—cracked at the edges, like he hasn’t slept in weeks. “…you’d be safe…” I tried to move, to reach — but nothing obeyed. Still, the voice kept going, as if speaking to the space between us. “I love you so much it… it fucking terrifies me.” Something in me cracks. Because I knew. I always knew. He just couldn’t say it before. God. You’re a heartless fool, Adrian. And I’m the idiot who still wants to hold your hand. I

°SERENA° I woke up cold. The sheets beside me, usually warm with Adrian’s lingering body heat, were cool and untouched. The silence around me wasn’t peaceful—it was eerie. No hum of life, no soft rustle of fabric, no faint breathing beside mine. Just an expanse of quiet that made me sit up, instantly alert. The curtains swayed gently with the early morning breeze, letting golden slivers of sunlight fall across the marble floors. Outside, birds chirped faintly, as if the world was trying to act normal. But inside the villa? It felt like time had stilled. Adrian was always here on weekends. Whether he woke before me or not, he stayed close. He’d wait for me, make a sarcastic remark about how long I slept, or sometimes pull me back under the covers with a teasing, "Five more minutes, sweetheart." But today… there was none of that. I slid out of bed, my toes curling against the cold marble. I reached for my robe and wrapped it tight, the plush fabric brushing softly against my sk

°SERENA° I stood just behind the garden door—the one that no longer led to the lush garden I had once spent countless hours tending to, but now, it led to an aisle. A simple, beautiful aisle, lined with soft petals and fairy lights that twinkled like stars. The garden, once my sanctuary, had transformed into a sacred space of joy, love, and promises. My fingers trembled as they brushed against the delicate lace of my dress—my wedding dress. It wasn’t just beautiful. It was mine. Custom-made just for me: ivory with soft lilac undertones that shimmered faintly in the light, as though the fabric itself carried a secret, a promise of something more. The bodice hugged me like a whispered vow, soft but firm, as if it knew my every movement. The skirt flowed out, like petals unfurling, graceful and simple but enchanted in its own way. A soft breeze stirred through the air, carrying with it the scent of lilies—the very flowers that adorned the garden—and something sweeter, something mo