บททั้งหมดของ REBEL : THE DEADLY HIERESS: บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

MIA The urn felt lighter than it should have considering the realistic fact that it housed s full humans remain. Precisely Louisa whose life has now been reduced to ash. I held it with one hand, almost dangling it the way you’d hold a purse you didn’t really want to carry. The black ceramic was smooth, cold, and almost mockingly delicate for something that carried… her. Louisa. I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that ripped out of me and startled the couple walking their dog a few yards down the beach. They quickened their pace. Good. Let them run. They didn’t want to see this, and I didn’t want their pity nor confused stares. “Look at you now,” I muttered to the urn, shaking it slightly, hearing the faint whisper of ashes shifting inside. “All prim and proper, always with your nails done, always flaunting your designer heels like you were queen of the damn world. And now? You’re nothing but dust in a jar.” I spat into the sand. The salt air burnt my lungs. The waves crashed, s

CILIAI’ve always hated waiting.Especially in this lifeless office.Father’s private office was cold and suffocating, lined with mahogany bookshelves that smelt of old secrets. The curtains were drawn shut, only letting in partial streams of sunlight, as though even the sun didn’t dare illuminate the truths hidden here.I was pacing, boots echoing against the tiled floor, my mind boiling with every thought of Rebel. Her smile, her stupid laughter, the way Daniel looked at her like she was air and he couldn’t breathe without her.That should have been me.Her kids should've been mine and Daniel's. I stopped by Father’s desk, my nails digging into the polished wood. I imagined Rebel sitting there, her smug face telling me I was nothing, and Daniel beside her, hand on her thigh, protective, tender. I slammed my hand down, the sound splitting the silence.“You bitch,” I muttered under my breath. “You stole him. You think you’ve won, but you have no idea what's coming.”The door creaked

DANIEL I don’t remember sleeping. I remember lying on the floor of our room with my suit jacket as a pillow because the bed felt like needles, biting into my skin to remind me that nothing was normal again. I remember Rebel kneeling beside me, her palm on my chest, counting my breaths like she could bully my lungs into working. At some point I must have blacked out. When I opened my eyes, dawn was crawling through the blinds and the house already had that quiet of people trying not to cry. Today was the funeral, I showered in water feeling completely numb, staring at the tile while my stomach turned. Black suit, white shirt, tie I couldn’t knot for a minute because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Klaus stepped in without a word, took the silk from my fingers, and cinched it neat like he was holstering a weapon. His face was carved from stone, but his eyes kept breaking. He tucked the tie, patted my shoulder once.“You don’t leave my sight,” he said.“Wasn’t planning to.”Downstairs sme

KILLIANI watched the funeral on three screens at once, volume down, captions on. Different angles, different feeds, all covering the same story. The camera panned past the caskets, the lilies, and the preacher trying not to look small under that green tent. There was a tight shot of Daniel’s face when he touched his mother’s coffin. The expression wasn’t something TV understands. They kept cutting away to focus on other participants at the event.Rebel stood beside him silently in support. When she reached for his hand, the whole house I was in felt too quiet.“Boss,” Ray said behind me, voice low. “Your coffee.”I didn’t turn. I watched the moment Klaus stepped between Daniel and William Junior. Even muted, you could see it. The old dance: power, posture, and the ten-inch gap between two men who can ruin a decade. Klaus nudged William out. William wore a bright camel coat, practically unremorseful about his brother's death. He never could resist a costume.“I need the audio,” I said

JACQUE RHODES The house felt unusually still after the final guest left and we came back home. The clinking of plates, the whisper of sympathies, and the rustle of footwear all dissolved into a silence that felt heavy against my chest. I shut the door behind me with a sigh of relief. For hours, I had remained upright, shaking hands, acknowledging tales I could hardly hear, but now, with the night enveloping us, the sorrow I had been suppressing overflowed into every part of the room. I pressed my forehead against the door's wood, allowing it to hold me. My father often said a man should never break down in public, but here, in the soft glow of our home – the home that had sheltered us through both storms and joyous moments – I doubted if I could continue to stand. "Jacques." Her voice pulled me back. Wife of my youth, my foundation. She lingered in the archway, her dark hair flowing, her black dress gentler now that the day had ended. She had removed the facade she’d displayed for