Lahat ng Kabanata ng A Twist of Fate with the Callous Billionaire : Kabanata 121 - Kabanata 130

—Ethan’s POVSmoke. Blood. Screams.The east wing was gone.Ash rained through the hole where the roof had been. I could taste fire in my teeth. Hear the pop of timber snapping. One more second, and Sophia—She clutched the baby tighter against her chest, her eyes glassy from shock. My body had shielded hers from the worst, but her skin was singed. Her cheek had a burn mark the size of my palm.And still, she didn’t cry.But the child did.For the first time since he was born, his voice cracked open the air. Raw. Pure. Alive.We were all still alive.Barely.Then I heard it again.Maurice’s voice."Julian, come out! No point hiding in rubble. Not when we both know who’s next in line."Next in line.He still believed that mattered. That legacy was blood-deep and predictable.It wasn’t.It never was.“Sophia,” I whispered. “Stay low. Don’t move until I say.”She nodded, numb. But alert. Her eyes had turned hard. Focused. Like the fire re-lit something buried deep in her bones.I stood.

— Ethan's POVI couldn't breath properly as I watched how the little boy’s chest rose and fell, each breath shallow, uneven.His skin felt cold. I placed my hand on his wrist, his pulse fluttered under my fingertips like it was struggling to stay."I think he needs some heat," Sophia whispered, bringing his head against her chest, rocking slightly, stroking his damp hairs.Her eyes were wild with fear.Marcus was already moving, dragging the emergency blanket from the storage trunk. I shoved my jacket off, wrapped it around the kid, then added the blanket. Sophia didn't let the little boy go. She couldn't. I never planned on asking her to.He was more important now.I just sat close by there. My jeans had some dirt on the knees. I placed my fisted hand on my thighs. Just staring, blankly.This boy...this boy wasn't the one in the cribHe wasn't the one who cried at 3AM or smiled in his sleep. This boy was older. he looked marked, like he was chased, or even hunted. And somehow, he ma

—Ethan’s PovThe red light of the data card throbbed like a heartbeat—taunting, precise, insistent.Three… two…I didn't wait for a second.“Go!” I panted, already moving Sophia towards the back-up shaft entrance we’d spotted on our first night there. My son, Irene, was securely clipped to my chest in her carrier, tiny frame compressed against me, her breathing a gentle whisper. He struggled but didn’t shriek, God bless him.The boy—Subject A-17, or whatever his name would be—jumped alongside us with great agility for a boy so tiny. Marcus followed behind, rifle at the ready, every step deliberate, measured.Shadows came from the north tunnel. One. Three. And dozens.“Echo-One, visual confirmed—male, female, juvenile. Copy?” a voice crackled through the radio pinned to the dead beacon I now stomped beneath my foot.“Copy. Maintain perimeter. Do not fire until all assets are secure.”We ran.The tunnel closed in, darkness surrounding us as the rest of the chill morning light was absor

—Sophia’s PovThe sound hadn’t left me.Even a mile out, I could still feel it.The explosion had carved itself into the sky, into the trees, into the marrow of everything around us. Birds scattered like smoke. The wind changed direction.But I didn’t look back.I couldn’t.If I turned…If I even glanced over my shoulder…I would shatter.Because the man I love just set himself on fire to keep us breathing.Our son whimpered, tucked against my chest, wrapped in so many layers he didn’t even look like a baby anymore. Just a shape. A heartbeat.I moved on instinct. One arm wrapped tight around him.The other clutching Rhett’s wrist to keep him close.His skin felt cold. Too cold. But he didn’t say a word.Didn’t trip. Didn’t ask. Didn’t complain.He hadn’t spoken once since we left the station.The trees thickened the higher we climbed.Everything above us glistened with ice.The wind howled through the valley, sharp and hungry.My legs were shaking, and my lungs burned with the cold,

—ETHAN’S POVI didn’t speak.Not when the old floor groaned beneath our boots.Not when Sophia pulled the boy tighter against her chest, like she could will his heart to keep beating.Not when Marcus cracked the hatch open and that bitter, blood-soaked Vermont air came slicing in.The boy—wrapped in one of my coats, body slack, head tucked into Sophia like he was born there—still hadn’t opened his eyes.But he would.And when he did, I’d have to face whatever was looking back.Because it wouldn’t be a stranger.And it wouldn’t be a son.Not yet. Maybe not ever.It would be a question I couldn’t answer.And I’d have to pretend like I wasn’t terrified of what it might become.“Get in,” I said, nodding toward the SUV Marcus had hotwired from a boarded-up farmhouse ten miles west.Remote.Empty.A place no one cared about—perfect for men like us.Sophia hesitated. Looked from the boy to me. “Where are we going?”I slid the rifle into the backseat. Checked the GPS jammer again. Still hummi