All Chapters of The Heiress and the Four Brothers: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

DAMONSera’s body felt so small, so light in my arms. Her skin was warm, soft, but ever since that agreement, I couldn’t leave marks on her anymore. Not like before. Not as deep. Not as many. Even if sometimes, I still lost control.I stroked her back slowly, fingers combing through her hair, letting the weight of our breathing settle into something quiet, something steady.The silence broke when she spoke with a low voice, heavy with sleepiness. “There’s a gala next month. It’s also supposed to be Ace’s birthday party,” she said, catching my hand and resting it over her waist. “You’re going public. All four of you. Tomorrow, Grant’s gonna brief everyone—once Cal’s back.”I hummed in response, nodding, fingers still trailing lazily along her spine. Of course Grant would start laying out the plan—Reggie’s plan. Our fight wasn’t over. Maybe it hadn’t even started yet.To be honest, I never took it seriously in the beginning. I never wanted to be the heir to anything. I just wanted out.

SERAI opened Damon’s bedroom door slowly, wearing his hoodie that was way too big on me—its long sleeves falling past my fingers. That familiar scent of his—darkly masculine, faint smoke, and worn leather—still clung to the fabric. Still clung to me. My bare feet padded across the cold marble floor, hair still messy from the night before.I thought the house was still quiet.But just as I crossed into the left wing—so close to my room—my steps halted when a tall figure with tousled blond hair emerged from the room right next to mine.Beck. Holding a mug of coffee, dressed in a loose shirt and crumpled pants. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine. Just for a moment, but long enough to see the way his pupils widened. How his smile flickered for the briefest second, before slowly fading away.There was silence for a few seconds. I tried to speak. Say something. Anything.But Beck spoke first. “Morning,” he said, his voice calm and soft. Almost too calm.I bit my lip. “Beck, I—”“It’

CAL“If you miss this place, we could stay the night.”I fell silent, staring at the wall across from me. The offer was simple, but it echoed—like she knew what I hadn’t even admitted to myself.I turned to look at her. “You sure?”Sera gave a small nod. “Yeah. I mean … you brought me all the way here. I don’t mind staying if you need time here.”I hesitated. A part of me worried it might make her uncomfortable. This house was full of shadows, not the kind you easily share. But she kept looking at me with that calm, open expression. Sincerely, without any hesitation.“Okay,” I murmured at last.We headed upstairs. My old bedroom was still at the end of the hall. Everything looked just like it used to—the gray curtains I liked, the small bookshelf, the bed with the wooden headboard I built in high school.She stepped in, her fingers brushing along the shelves, pausing at a photo frame on the desk. It was a picture of me and my mother, standing in front of the hospital where I did my fi

SERAMorning sunlight poured through the windows as our car rolled down the narrow path leading to Blackwood Estate. The tall trees lining the road felt like they were welcoming us home.Last night, I almost pushed Cal past his limit. And even though he had turned me down—so gently, so kindly—I knew he could tell I was trying to dig too deep. What surprised me was how he still held me afterward. How he rubbed my back without saying a word. How he stayed awake watching over me even though I could tell he barely slept himself.And now, this morning, he was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other slipping into mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. Just like he promised—he acted like nothing happened. Too normal, honestly. Normal enough to make me want to shake him a little, just to see if he was really that good at pretending.Cal parked the car and turned off the engine. He glanced at me with a small smile—the same one that made me feel safe last night and most

BECKI kept telling myself: don’t look at her. Don’t look at her. Don’t—Damn it. My eyes glanced anyway.Sera was sitting on the studio’s couch for broken hearts. Light blue knee-length dress slipping off one shoulder, and her slightly messy hair made her look human. Too human. Too real to forget. But I kept trying.My hand kept scribbling on the canvas, even though all I was painting was color with no shape. Clearly, my brain had walked out on the job.She stood up and walked slowly toward me. I knew her footsteps in this studio. There was a rhythm in every tap, and now each step felt like a sledgehammer pounding my heart.Her small hand touched my back gently, like she was stroking a wild cat that could run away anytime. “Beck,” she said, whining a bit. “Still mad at me?”I shrugged. “I’m not mad.” Am. Not. Mad. I’m just … offended, heartbroken, and maybe slightly wanting to disappear into the Arctic. But mad? Nah.“Beckett Archer,” she said, coming closer now, her hand sliding ar