All Chapters of The Perfect Revenge : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

SkylaThe silence after my surrender was worse than the gunfire. Engines idled. Radios crackled and hissed. The hunters stood frozen in a half-circle, waiting. I could feel Ed trembling beside me. I could even hear Xavier’s ragged breath, but no one moved. Not until the black SUV at the centre of the convoy gave a low, smooth click, and its rear door swung open.And he stepped out. Carl freaking Anderson.The shadows bent around him, like the warehouse had been waiting to host him. His suit was immaculate, not a wrinkle or a speck of dust, though the night air smelled of smoke and gunpowder. His hair was slicked back, steel-gray under the floodlights. His cane tapped against the pavement as he approached us —not because he needed it, but because he enjoyed the rhythm of power it set. His face was set in a permanent smirk, his light sea green eyes drilling holes into every part of my skin.“Skyla,” he said, drawing my name out like silk. “You’ve saved me the trouble of sending my m

XavierThe city outside burned without fire. Crowds still swarmed the square, chanting Skyla’s name like a battle hymn, their faces lit by phone screens and anger. But in my chest, there was only a hollow roar, the image of her stepping into Carl’s SUV replaying on a cruel loop. She had traded herself for us. For me.And I had fucking let her.“Xavier!” Eddie’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and insistent, dragging me back. His knuckles were raw, his jaw bruised, but his eyes burned red. “We can’t just stand here. He’s got her.” He yelled.Before I could answer, Taylor’s laptop chimed in her lap. She sat on the hood of a car, fingers flying, hair tangled from the chaos. Her voice shook as she spoke, “Guys… Carl moved fast. Too fast. I—I think I tripped something when I hacked his firewall earlier. He’s retaliating.”The screen suddenly filled with jagged code as red signal alerts blinked.Then words scrawled across the screen in brutal block letters:WE HAVE THE GIRL. COME

TaylorThe first thing I noticed was the humming of servers, thousands of them.The sound was low and constant, and it sounded like a thousand angry bees were trapped inside the walls. It vibrated in my teeth, seeped into my bones. Servers. A whole nest of them. That was the sound of my element.Only now, I wasn’t at my desk in Skyla’s apartment or hiding in some coffee shop with a hoodie pulled over my head, fingers flying free.I was strapped to a chair, wrists cuffed raw, ankles locked down, in a room that smelled like steel and the darned ozone.They must have thought strapping me like this would break me, but they were fucking wrong.They thought chaining my hands meant chaining my mind.Bunch of idiots.By the time the guard slammed the heavy door behind me, I’d already mapped the rhythm of the cameras. Three on rotation, every twenty seconds, with a blind spot near the far corner where one of the red lights flickered. Sloppy. Whoever ran Carl’s surveillance system was

SkylaThe world didn’t end with a scream.It ended with silence. A sudden stillness that left everyone wondering where the chaos of the day had gone to.Tanya’s words still hung in the air. Hours later, it tore through me sharper than any knife could, her last words taking up space in my head:“You still don’t know who your real father might be, do you?”The gala hall had erupted instantly—reporters surging forward, microphones thrust out like weapons, cameras flashing in rapid bursts. Several voices overlapping into a storm:“Is it true, Ms. Leon”“You don’t know who your father is?”“Was your rise staged from the inside?”“Is this rebellion nothing but a family feud?”My lungs refused to work. My throat locked. It was as though my ribs had shrunk into a cage, and I was the bird trapped inside, wings battering uselessly.I stumbled back a step. The chandelier’s light fractured above me, shattering across Xavier’s face as he lunged forward, blocking some of the frenzy with his

SkylaThe safe house had gone too quiet. Waiting for a DNA result felt like waiting for the verdict on your own soul. Every second stretched, jagged and sharp. I tried to distract myself, but the silence pressed in like a vice.Then, every screen in the war room flickered on at once.Carl.He was dressed in a white pristine suit. Perfect tie. Calm as marble. Not anything was out of place, a wall of microphones bowed before him like obedient servants.“Turn it up,” I whispered, and Taylor obeyed.“We live in dangerous times,” Carl’s voice poured into the room, smooth and lethal. “Anderson Global is under attack by radicals spreading lies. At the centre of this is a young woman calling herself Skyla Leon Jefferson. She claims to be a victim. But the truth…” He paused, just long enough to sting. “…is far more tragic.”My stomach knotted into twists.“She was no victim. She was a volunteer subject in Project Delphinium. A willing participant. Her story is fabricated, and her scars ar