Semua Bab Beyond A Substitute: Bab 101 - Bab 110

The sun spilled gently through the tall, narrow window of the VIP room, casting a warm amber glow across the polished floor. Machines hummed in quiet rhythm beside Katherine’s bed—an orchestra of steady beeping, sighing air tubes, and soft murmurs of life preserved. Carolina entered with a basin of warm water and a folded towel in hand, her purse slung over one shoulder. She wore soft jeans, a simple blouse, and her hair tied up. Her face was weary but patient, bearing the quiet resilience of someone who refused to give up hope. She hadn’t seen Kingsley in almost a month. Not since that night. He had disappeared. Vanished without a trace. No calls. No texts. Nothing. But Carolina hadn’t stopped coming—not even once. She had promised both Katherine and herself that she would keep showing up. Just in case. Setting the basin down, she reached for the damp cloth and began gently wiping Katherine’s arms and hands. The woman in the bed was pale but peaceful, her face serene in

The cab slowed to a halt at the corner of Fifth Avenue, right where the buildings stretched tall and proud into the gray, misty skyline of Manhattan. The city buzzed around her—cars honking, people moving in swift strides, the scent of roasted peanuts and rain-soaked pavement hanging in the air. Katherine sat in the back seat, frozen for a moment, staring out the window. She hadn’t been back here since before everything happened. Since the retreat. Since Kingsley had divorced her to marry Beth. The cab driver turned. “Miss?” She blinked back to the present. “Yes, sorry. This is good.” She paid quickly, stepped out, and the city swallowed her. Her heels clicked quietly against the wet sidewalk as she took a slow breath and pulled her coat tighter. Everything felt different. Bigger. Colder. Not the Manhattan she once knew when she’d fallen in love with him the first time. She wasn’t the same either. Dragging her suitcase behind her, she walked the short distance to t

Katherine stood frozen by the sink, trembling, tears rolling quietly down her cheeks. Her reflection in the mirror was a shadow of herself—haunted eyes, cracked lips, and heartbreak painted across her features. She didn’t hear Beth enter at first. “Oh, so you’ve woken up?” Beth’s sharp voice sliced through the air like broken glass. Katherine turned slowly, startled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Beth stepped closer, arms folded, lips curled in a venomous smirk. “What are you doing here? And how did you even know we were here? Are you watching us now?” Katherine steadied herself, her voice low but clear. “I know what you did. I know you were behind what happened to me.” Beth scoffed, not even flinching. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?” A beat passed. Katherine shook her head, exhausted—heartbroken, but not defeated. “Nothing,” she said simply. “I just came here to get closure. I wanted to understand why Kingsley left me. I just nee

The wrought-iron gates of the Kingsley estate loomed large as the cab slowed to a stop. Carolina stared through the window, her heartbeat echoing like a drum in her ears. She had seen this mansion before—in photos, in video, and in Katherine’s memories—but nothing had prepared her for the real thing. The grand columns. The vast manicured lawn. The silence of power. She paid the driver, stepped out, and wheeled her modest suitcase up the stone walkway. As she approached the front entrance reserved for house staff, she took a breath and rehearsed the name she’d decided on: Angela Santos—a soft-spoken helper from a wealthy French-American household. Before she could knock, the door opened. Sophie stood there—neat, trim, late fifties, with silver streaks brushing the sides of her dark hair, and sharp brown eyes that missed nothing. She wore a navy uniform and a crisp white apron, her arms crossed and lips pressed into a tight line. “You must be the applicant,” she said, eyeing Car

The quiet hum of the evening air conditioner was the only sound in the dim maid’s quarters as Carolina sat on the edge of her narrow bed, phone in hand, staring at Devon’s contact for what felt like an eternity. Her finger hovered over the call button. Then she pressed it. It rang once. Twice. Three times— “Carolina?” Devon’s voice filled her ear, deep and warm, but tinged with concern. “Hey, is everything okay? I’ve been trying to reach you. You —” “Devon, I need to tell you something,” she cut in, her voice trembling just slightly. “Please, just listen. And… promise you won’t be angry.” There was a short pause. “Talk to me.” She exhaled shakily and launched into it — the retreat, the suspicions, Katherine’s belief that the man in the mansion wasn’t Kingsley. The idea is to get hired as a maid. Everything she’d seen. The locked chest. The two passports. The unfamiliar Kingsley called Beth ma’am. She told it all. When she finished, the line went quiet. Too quiet.