Semua Bab The Doctor's Secret Baby: Bab 81 - Bab 90

THIRD PERSON POV ​The East Wing of the Valderrama Manor in London did not look like a prison. To any outsider, it was a sanctuary of opulence—a sprawling suite of rooms adorned with baroque gold leaf, heavy silk tapestries from Lyon, and floors made of rare, white Calacatta marble that felt like ice beneath one's feet. But to Lady Catherine, it was a cage that smelled of stale lilies and the metallic tang of expensive floor wax.​She stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, her fingers—adorned with a 10-carat canary diamond—tracing the condensation on the glass. Outside, the London fog was a thick, grey soup that swallowed the iron gates of the estate. The smell of damp soot and wet pavement seeped through the cracks of the old stone walls, mocking her.​Locked in. Like a common servant, Catherine thought, sharp, jagged glass cutting through her mind. Silas thinks he can contain me? He thinks that by keeping me in this 'gilded asylum,' I will forget that I am the one who kept this Coun

​LADY CATHERINE’S POV​The heavy mahogany doors of the East Wing groaned as they were finally thrown open, a sound that resonated in Catherine’s ears like the shattering of a tombstone. For weeks, the world had been reduced to the cloying scent of stale lilies and the oppressive silence of gold-leafed walls. Now, as she stepped across the threshold, the air of the main corridor rushed to meet her—cold, sharp, and smelling of floor wax and the metallic tang of an approaching storm.​She adjusted the fur stole draped over her shoulders, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the soft, expensive pelt. Her emerald silk gown hissed against the marble floors, a sound that usually brought her a sense of power, but today, it felt like a warning.​Out. I am finally out, Catherine thought, her mind racing like a cornered animal. Silas thinks his 'mercy' will make me compliant. He thinks he can lock me away like a discarded mistress and then bring me back when the wedding stationery needs

THIRD PERSON POV ​Ang hangin sa pasilyo ng Tierra ay hindi na amoy lavender. Nilamon na ito ng amoy ng pulbura, tuyong dugo, at ang masangsang na usok ng sumabog na granada. Ang mga mamahaling chandeliers na dati ay nagbibigay ng gintong liwanag ay ngayon ay basag-basag, nagbibigay ng malamig at patay-sinding anino sa bawat sulok.​Nakatayo si Lucas sa dulo ng hagdan, duguan ang braso at mabilis ang paghinga. Ang kaniyang Glock 19 ay wala nang bala, kaya ngayon ay hawak niya ang isang combat knife. Sa harap niya, tatlong mercenaries na naka-all black tactical gear ang dahan-dahang lumalapit.​"Wala na ang mga kasama mo, bata," pangutya ng isang mercenary na may malalim na boses. "Ibigay mo na ang kinalalagyan ng mga bata at gagawin naming mabilis ang kamatayan mo."​"Over my dead body," sagot ni Lucas, habang ang kaniyang internal monologue ay tanging ang mukha ni Sera at ang triplets ang nakikita. Hindi ako pwedeng mamatay rito. Nangako ako.​Biglang, isang anino ang mabilis na guma

​LADY CATHERINE’S POV​The news didn't come as a phone call. It came as a silence so heavy it felt like the manor was sinking into the London mud. I stood in my private dressing room, the air thick with the cloying scent of my expensive French perfumes and the sharp, metallic tang of the silver polish the maids had used on my vanity mirrors.​I was staring at my reflection, draped in a heavy robe of cream-colored silk, my fingers tracing the cold, hard edges of a sapphire necklace. But the woman in the mirror didn't look like a future Queen. She looked like a ghost.​They are dead. All of them.​The realization didn't hit me all at once; it seeped into my bones like the damp chill of the fog outside. I had sent six of the Council’s most ruthless "White Lily" scouts—men who were trained to be invisible, men who smelled of gun oil and cold sweat. They were supposed to bring me a trophy. They were supposed to bring me an ending.​Instead, they brought me nothing but the sound of Silas’s

​ELDER SILAS’S POV​Ang bawat paghinga ko ay parang paghila ng bubog sa loob ng aking baga. Naririnig ko ang bawat mekanikal na tunog ng ventilator sa tabi ng aking kama—shhh-pock, shhh-pock—isang ritmo na nagpapaalala sa akin na ang buhay ko ay nakatali na lamang sa isang makina. Ang amoy ng antiseptic, rubbing alcohol, at ang tuyot na amoy ng oxygen ay tila isang invisible na kumot na sumasakal sa akin.​Nandito ako sa pinakamataas na palapag ng St. Jude’s Private Wing, isang lugar para sa mga mayayaman at makapangyarihan, ngunit pakiramdam ko ay nakabaon ako sa ilalim ng lupa. Ang mga pader ay yari sa puting tiles na kasing lamig ng bangkay, at ang bawat beep ng aking heart monitor ay tila isang tawa mula sa kabilang mundo.​Liana.​Ang pangalang iyon ay tila apoy na dumadaloy sa aking mga ugat. Naalala ko ang boses niya sa telepono—malamig, matalas, at walang bahid ng takot. Ang isang hamak na doktora mula sa probinsya ay nagawang itumba ang aking mga "White Lily" scouts. Ang amoy