Все главы The Traitor's Daughter : Глава 101 - Глава 110

Sarah’s P.O.VThe dungeon hadn’t changed.The same damp chill clung to the air, thick with mold and memory. The stones were still dark with time, and the silence still wrapped around you like a noose. I thought I would never come back here. I thought the screams I left behind were buried with the past. But now, as I stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the place that once held me captive, I realized something had shifted.I wasn’t the prisoner anymore.He was.I descended slowly, boots echoing against the worn steps. Lorenzo was ahead of me, his shoulders broad, his every movement taut with controlled fury. Logan and Daniel were already below, standing on either side of the heavy iron door that led into the heart of the dungeon. The very cell where Donga had kept me caged for weeks.Where I’d been broken. But not destroyed.He sat slumped against the wall, arms chained above him. His coat was gone, shirt bloodied and torn. His face bore the marks of the fight, bruises along

Sarah’s P.O.VHer name echoed louder now.Monalisa Evelyn Grant.Not just a mother I didn’t get to know, but something more. Something deeper, darker, and impossibly vast. The closer I came to understanding who she was, the less I recognized myself in the mirror. It was like chasing the ghost of a stranger, only to discover the bones of your own reflection beneath the mask.I spent the next three days locked in the mansion’s library. The others tried to coax me out, Lorenzo, gently, Logan, sarcastically, Daniel, silently. But I couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until I peeled back the final layers.The folders Donga had kept weren’t the only traces of her. Hidden in the archives, digitized and buried beneath firewalls and old encoding formats, were audio logs, data from obscure experiments, and fragmented video footage with timestamps older than I was. Logan had decrypted them for me, though even he admitted it made his skin crawl.The first file I played was a recording. Static-la

Lorenzo’s P.O.VThe first alert came as a flicker.A minor biometric mismatch at the southern perimeter, an anomaly small enough to be written off as a sensor glitch. But I didn’t write things off. Not anymore. Not since Donga escaped the first time.I had the system scan again.That’s when it pinged.A bootprint. Lightweight tactical. Not one of ours. The step was too shallow, too perfect. Not a mistake. A test. Someone was probing us, again.I leaned over the console and hit the override key.“All units,” I said into the comms. “This is Lorenzo. We have a breach. I want every sector on lockdown. Initiate protocol L” I ordered as soon as I smelt a breach. I didn’t care whether or not it was real or fake or could be a mistake. If it was, u could just raise the lockdown. A pause took over the whole building. Then chaos answered.Doors slammed shut across the mansion. Steel partitions dropped from the ceilings. Every hallway reconfigured to funnel intruders toward pre-selected c

Sarah’s P.O.VI always thought the house couldn’t get any quieter.But that was before she arrived.I don’t even know her name.Lorenzo never told me, and she never gave it. Maybe she didn’t know it anymore. Maybe it had been taken from her, along with the rest of her senses.She moved like a shadow, quiet, deliberate, her steps memorized by touch, not sight. Her hands would trail along the walls like reading a braille script that only she could see. A silent, blind ghost in a mansion of whispers.And yet, she was trusted with his food.With Donga’s food.It was Lorenzo’s idea. A layer of protection on top of the lockdown.“She can’t hear him,” he told me. “Can’t see him. Can’t be manipulated.”We were standing in the study when he said it, papers spread out between us, security logs, biometric reports, maps of the underground dungeon.“He’s sealed in a vault with one access point,” he continued. “The maid only uses the elevator system. It’s completely mechanical, no screens, no ele

There are mornings now where I wake up and don’t flinch. It always surprises me when it happens. Because for so long, I’d woken to panic. To the echo of chains in my mind. The feel of cold stone under my cheek. The whisper of footsteps that might’ve been his. Even after I was safe, those echoes lived inside me. But this morning… this morning was different. The sun touched my face through the window, my window. The one that looked out over the hills and the half-repaired west courtyard, where the roses had started blooming again. I turned toward the warmth instead of away from it. I breathed in and didn’t brace for pain. And beside me, still sleeping, was Lorenzo. His chest rose and fell, steady. One arm curled beneath the pillow. The other loose across the space between us, never gripping, never pulling just open. Not a claim. Not a demand. An invitation. I stared at his hand for a long time. Then slipped mine into it. And for the first time in years, the weight