All Chapters of Forbidden Desires: Falling For My Fiance's Brother: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Annabelle's eyes widened in horror as the master walked into the caravan, his movements deliberate and calculated. "How are you, sister?" he asked, his voice low and menacing. And then, in a move that seemed almost theatrical, he reached up and slowly removed his mask. Annabelle's gaze locked onto the face revealed beneath, and her world seemed to come crashing down. She felt as though she'd been punched in the gut, her breath knocked out of her. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling with shock and denial. "It can't be." The figure standing before her was one she had thought she'd never see again. Her brother, whom she had mourned as dead all these years, was alive. And he was the one responsible for her kidnapping. Annabelle's mind reeled as she struggled to process this revelation. Why? Why would her own brother do this to her? And what did he want from her? Camille, sensing her mother's distress, stirred beside her. "Mom?" she whispered, her voice laced with fear.

A police cruiser rounded the curve, its headlights illuminating Devon's slumped form in the driver's seat. The officers, responding to a call about a suspicious vehicle, pulled over to investigate. They approached the car cautiously, shining their flashlights inside. One officer's eyes widened as he took in Devon's disheveled appearance and the empty whiskey bottle on the passenger seat. "Sir, can you hear me?" he asked, shaking Devon's shoulder. Devon stirred, groggily opening his eyes. The officers exchanged a concerned glance, then carefully extracted Devon from the vehicle. They laid him on a stretcher and called for an ambulance. At the hospital, Devon was wheeled into the emergency room, where medical staff quickly assessed his condition. The doctor's voice was firm but gentle as he asked Devon questions, trying to gauge his level of intoxication and potential injuries. As Devon drifted in and out of consciousness, the police officer who had found him filled out the necessar

Devon stood in the hall for a moment after hanging up the phone, his breath still uneven. The clock on the wall ticked softly, each second a reminder that the twenty-four-hour fuse had already been lit. He turned sharply, heading down the corridor toward the far end of the mansion, his steps silent on the thick carpet. At the very end was a door that looked like part of the wall—same paneling, same polished oak grain. Most people who entered the house never even noticed it. The mechanism was hidden in the woodwork, and Devon pressed a specific knot in the panel. There was a faint click, and the disguised door swung inward. The room beyond was dim, the only light filtering from a small skylight high above. Dust motes drifted in the beam, swirling lazily as though the air itself didn’t know the urgency building inside him. The space smelled faintly of oil and metal—a place sealed away from the rest of the house, untouched for years except in moments like this. Against the back wall s

The smell hit him first—saltwater, rust, and the faint, stale stench of something that had been rotting in the dark for too long. The abandoned shipyard was silent except for the groan of steel beams shifting in the night wind. Devon’s footsteps echoed against cracked concrete as the two gang members guided him deeper inside. The blindfold itched against his face, but he said nothing. Finally, a rough hand yanked it away. Devon blinked against the flicker of a hanging work light, its swaying beam spilling over the cavernous warehouse. And then he saw them. Annabelle was propped against a rusted steel pillar, her wrists bound behind her with coarse rope. A makeshift bandage wrapped her thigh where Damian’s bullet had torn through earlier. The cloth was dark with blood but at least had been tied tight enough to slow the bleeding. Her eyes found him instantly—wide, desperate, and glistening—but she didn’t speak. Beside her sat Camille, his daughter, bound to a chair. Her small hands

The cold barrel of the pistol pressed firmly against Devon’s temple was a merciless reminder that his life hung by a fragile thread. Damian’s grip was unyielding, dragging him forward with a fierce urgency that made every step feel heavier, every breath harder to take. The night air was thick with salt and tension, a cruel contrast to the darkness pressing in from every side. “You’ll never know peace,” Damian hissed, his voice a venomous whisper that clawed at Devon’s mind like a curse. “Just wait till I escape. I’ll come for you and your family. This time, I’ll make sure to kill them both and watch you suffer.” Devon’s pulse quickened. He swallowed the lump in his throat, the cold steel of the gun an unrelenting weight against his skin. Damian’s words were a promise, a dark oath that left no room for mercy. The threat wasn’t just against Devon—it was against everything he held dear. “And while you do,” Damian’s voice dropped lower, cruel and steady, “I’ll slowly take everything aw