Semua Bab ALIYAH'S REVENGE : Bab 1 - Bab 9

A sharp knock shattered the silence of the Haven household just before midnight, echoing through the small wooden cottage like a harbinger of ruin.David Haven froze by the hearth, the poker in his hand stilled mid-stir in the weak fire. Across the room, his wife lifted her head from her worn patchwork cushion, and Aliyah sat bolt upright on her cot, heart slamming against her ribs.“Who is it?” David called out, voice shaking.There was a pause, then a crisp voice answered, “Mr. Haven? I’m here on behalf of Señor Pedro Perez.”Aliyah's breath caught. The name felt foreign, dangerous, too big to belong in a house like theirs.David opened the door, and the cold night wind swept in alongside a tall man in a charcoal-gray coat. His shoes clicked against the old wooden floor, too clean, too loud. In his gloved hands, he held an envelope with a wax seal pressed in gold.“My name is Kingsley,” he said smoothly. “I come bearing a proposal.”Aliyah stood slowly, blanket clutched around her s

The estate was quieter than usual. It wasn’t silence — it was that eerie, intentional hush that meant something was coming. Something worse.Aliyah sat by the window, cradling a teacup she hadn’t touched. The morning sunlight painted gold on the marble floors, but everything inside her felt gray and numb.She was eleven weeks pregnant.The doctor had confirmed it again yesterday. Pedro hadn’t visited in days.She was both relieved and terrified.A soft knock echoed through her door, followed by Elena’s voice.“He’s coming. Dress quickly. Something simple.”Aliyah looked over her shoulder. “Pedro?”Elena stepped inside with a box. “No. Her.”The maid laid the box gently on the bed and stepped back. Inside was a pale-blue silk gown and matching shoes — nothing flashy, but elegant in the way money made everything seem effortless.Aliyah frowned. “Who’s her?”“Elena.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s Mandy.”Aliyah’s heart skipped.He was bringing his wife. Here. To this corner of th

The nursery was dimly lit, awash in the soft glow of a single antique lamp. Its golden hue spilled across the floor like spilled honey. The walls, painted in calming shades of mint and ivory, were decorated with handpicked baby art and tiny gold-framed portraits—already installed by Mandy weeks before the child was born.Andre lay in the pristine cradle at the center of the room. He stirred faintly, making a small, hiccuping sigh.Mandy stood over him, stiff, quiet, like a statue pressed too close to glass.Behind her, the nanny adjusted a basket of folded baby clothes on the side table. “Ma’am, should I warm his bottle now or—?”“No,” Mandy said, her voice too sharp. Then she forced a smile, masking it. “Not yet. I’d like a moment alone with my son.”The nanny paused. “Of course, ma’am. Call me if you need anything.”As the door shut gently behind the woman, silence swept in like a tide. Mandy remained where she was, watching the child. Her hand slowly moved to her stomach, pressing

The moon hung low and silver over Perez Manor, its light slicing through the tall hedges that surrounded the estate like silent sentinels. Inside the nursery wing, every corridor lay draped in shadows. Aliyah Pierce—once Aliyah Haven—pressed her back against the cool plaster wall, heart hammering so fiercely her ribs ached. Clutched in her trembling hand was a small leather satchel containing a change of clothes, a few bills, and her mother’s maiden name scrawled in cramped handwriting on a piece of paper.“Elena,” she whispered, voice raw. “It’s time.”The door at the end of the hall creaked open. A small, weary face peered in—Elena, the maid who had dared to undermine orders. Her dark hair was tucked beneath a service cap; her uniform looked the same as always, but her eyes blazed with something new.“Elena,” Aliyah breathed. “Are you sure?”Elena slipped into the hallway, closing the door silently behind her. “I’ve waited three months for this. Pedro’s gone to the city for a board

“Marina, a little more grit on those plates, please!” Margie’s voice cut through the clatter of dishes like a bell at the start of a shift.Marina Pierce didn’t look up from the sink. Her arms ached from hours of scouring grease and stacking heavy plates. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, forcing cheer into her tone. “Right away.”Margie Hawk, owner of Margie’s Diner, wasn’t known for patient kindness, but she paid on time. That was all Marina could ask for. She scrubbed at the rim of a chipped coffee cup until the last ring of syrup vanished. Steam fogged her vision; her back protested every bend; hunger gnawed in her belly. But she kept moving.At six-thirty in the morning, Margie’s was already alive with breakfast regulars. A thumping rock station crackled from speakers, mingling with the hiss of the grill, the swoosh of the soda fountain, and the murmur of conversation. Waitresses in red uniforms darted between tables, balancing stacks of pancakes and eggs, while the cook hollered orders