Lahat ng Kabanata ng Beautiful But Unlucky : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

(Calvin's POV)It took me three minutes to realize I hadn’t moved. I was just standing there, robe half-open, towel forgotten on the floor, eyes locked on Silvia like she’d just told me the sky was fake.And honestly? It might as well have been.She looked up at me, her bare shoulder peeking out from the white sheets, her phone still resting against her thigh like it was burning her skin.“Sentinel,” I said again, still in a daze, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. “As in Sentinel Security Group?”She nodded, slowly.I laughed. It was a dry, broken sound. “I still feel your joking, because the other option is far more…”She didn’t laugh. That’s how I knew she wasn’t.I moved to sit on the edge of the bed, hand dragging through my still-wet hair. My heart was trying to crack my ribs open from the inside. “That’s the group that guards presidents, Silvia. Presidents. Billionaires. Oil kings. T

POV: SilviaThere’s a strange kind of stillness that comes right before a storm. Not the loud, screaming kind with hail and wind. The other kind. The kind where the air gets thick. Heavy. Pregnant with something you can’t name but know will change things.That’s how it felt, standing on the edge of the private tarmac, heels slightly sinking into the concrete as the hum of the sleek black jet went into silence.I hadn’t seen my father in years, ever since Eliza and I left home.And yet, it felt like he’d never left the room.He descended the plane steps like he’d descended a throne - unhurried, polished, and wearing a black overcoat that fit his large and muscular frame. The sleeves of his suit peeked out beneath it, crisp and charcoal. His hair was slicked back, no sign of grey in sight, though I knew the stress he carried could turn anyone ancient.Two men in tailored black suits flanked him. Sentinel, of course. They moved like shadows, like they’d memorized every threat in the vici

POV: Calvin I didn’t taste a damn thing on that plate.Not the lamb risotto with its ridiculous glaze. Not the truffle-whatever Eliza said she imported from Paris. Not even the wine, which I knew had cost more than a penny even with Eliza's recent earnings. Everything sat on my tongue like ash.Because Torreto Moretti was watching me like a man deciding whether I was worth letting breathe another day.The room felt frozen, like someone had hit pause on the air.Silvia sat to my left, her fingers tight in her lap. Eliza hadn’t touched her glass since he spoke. And I—I was just trying not to look like a fraud. Like a kid caught playing in rooms far too big for him.Then he spoke again.“Two weeks.”He didn’t even look at me at first. Just cut into his steak with slow, steady pressure. His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.“Two weeks, Mr. Riego. Kai Deveraux. The Talib Lords. Remove them.”He lifted his fork, stabbed a bite of meat, and chewed like we weren’t talking about destroyin

POV: Calvin If anyone had told me six months ago that I’d be leading a counterattack against a black-market fashion tycoon and a global underground syndicate... I probably would’ve said something snarky and gone back to my overpriced espresso.But now?Now I was in a boardroom, facing some of the most competent and trusted people I had in Deva.It wasn’t a board meeting.It was a war room.We were three floors beneath the main building, below the server rooms that even the CFO didn’t know existed. The lights were low. The air was cold. The walls were lined with screens that glowed with surveillance footage, code lines, and heat maps that looked like they belonged in a spy thriller.Thomas stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, looking exactly like the man who'd trained me to see danger everywhere and take betrayal in a smile. Beside him was Arya, our cybersecurity lead - petite, sharp-eyed, caffeine-fueled genius. She was already chewing gum like she was solving a murder with

POV: SilviaThey called it a Home.But it felt like a cage.A beautiful one, sure. The walls were white marble, the art was priceless, and the windows offered a view of Manhattan that looked like something from a movie trailer. But under all the glass and gold... it was still a fortress.Sentinel guards roamed the hallways. Subtle, dressed in dark tailored suits, the kind of men who blended in with luxury. They never said much. Never made direct eye contact. But I could feel them.Watching. Calculating. Measuring me against threats that didn’t even exist.My father’s version of care.Every morning started the same. Breakfast arranged neatly in the formal dining room. Juice already poured. Eggs not too soft. Silence stretching like static between Torreto and me. He didn’t say good morning. He didn’t ask how I slept.He just watched me eat, like I was a business metric he couldn’t quite control.And when he did speak?It was always sharp and loaded, like every sentence had been cleared