Lahat ng Kabanata ng HEIRESS REBORN: Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 90

POV: DAMIENShe’s sitting by the window when I walk in. Her back is straight, arms crossed, like she's trying to hold herself together by force. The way you do when you’re one deep breath away from shattering. I don’t knock. I don’t ask. I just close the door behind me and stand there."You think this is strength," I say as I throw the paper in front of her. It's a picture of Sasha dragging her luggage out of Nathaniel's penthouse She doesn't flinch. Doesn't turn around. Just keeps looking out like the skyline's whispering something more important than me.“It is to me.”"But it's not. It's punishment. You're still punishing yourself."That gets her. She shifts a little but still doesn’t look at me."You’re hurting yourself, Alina. I see it. Every damn day."She lets out a bitter laugh. "Don’t call me that.""I will. Because that’s who you are to me. Not this mask. Not this war."She finally turns. Her face is calm but her eyes, those eyes are drowning. "Don’t do that. Don’t act like

POV: SASHAI haven’t slept. Not really. I’ve just been lying there in the dark, my heart pounding like it’s trying to claw out of my chest. I keep checking my phone. Nothing. Jared's gone completely quiet. I don’t know if he blocked me or if he’s just smart enough to stay away from all of this now. Probably the latter. He's not stupid. Unlike me.My room is a mess. Clothes everywhere. Coffee cups on the floor. Papers I meant to shred. And the one goddamn memo I can't stop looking at.That stupid, fake-looking Cross Industries memo about Elena. The one that claims she once tried to get rid of me. That she saw me as a threat. That she was behind the story about my fake charity laundering money years ago. I wanted to throw it out. I didn’t. I can’t.Because something about it feels too real.It’s like someone is watching us. Like someone knows exactly where to poke, where to twist. And it’s working.How stupid was I to flare up like that? And in a public space no less!I am burning my br

POV: NATHANIELWhispers That is all I hear everywhere I go.They are all whispering.Not screaming. Not confronting me. Not cursing me out. Just... whispering. And that is worse.The worst kind of danger is the one that stays quiet. That moves underneath you like a crack in the floor you don’t notice until your whole house caves in. That is what this feels like.I am sitting in my office. Alone. Again. The morning paper is still on my desk, the headline circled in red like someone’s mocking me: “Former Cross Empire Tied to Shell Charities: Legacy or Liability?”Legacy or liability. That line keeps looping in my head.I throw the paper across the room and watch as it hits the wall and drops with a pathetic thud. No satisfaction.My phone buzzes but I don’t look at it. I already know what it is about. Every message lately has been the same: a board member asking for a “status update,” or a lawyer asking if I knew about donations to some defunct charity in 2012. I didn’t. I don’t care.

POV: ALINAIt starts with a file. Quiet, cold, and unassuming. But the weight of it, the intention behind it, feels like a match held over gasoline. I don’t send it from my Ashen account. I use a burner line, a secure drop, routed through layers that Theo set up for moments just like this. Clean. Untraceable.The request goes straight to the SEC. Not flashy. Not loud. Just a nudge. A gentle suggestion to take a closer look at Cross Industries’ last two fiscal years. Not the whole thing. Just one division. The one Nathaniel inherited directly from his father. Buried in those ledgers are the ghosts of a dynasty—one bloated by power, sealed with blood money, and dressed up in sleek suits and speeches about progress.I don’t need them to dig deep. I just need them to start.Once that fuse is lit, I switch tabs. Open another burner.I attach a photo. One of their old family portraits. Nathaniel standing behind his father, his mother sitting on a velvet chair like she owned the goddamn wor

POV: NATHANIEL I’m still staring at the photo.It’s been hours.Everyone’s gone home. The office is dark except for the screen in front of me. I haven’t moved. Haven’t blinked, maybe. My throat is dry, chest tight. That damn image is still right there. I rub my eyes again. No message. No threat. No name. Just the picture. And it’s sitting in my private email. One no one is supposed to know exists. Encrypted, off-grid, created back when I still thought secrets could be buried. That inbox doesn’t even get spam.So who the hell found it?And why Alina?I grab my phone. Scroll. My contact list blurs until I land on a name I haven’t touched in five years: Rourke.He picks up on the second ring.“Cross.”“I need you. Are you free?”“Always. Price?”“Double.”Silence. Then: “Send me the file. I will move.”I shoot the picture over. Then I add a note: Find who sent this. Discreetly.I don’t ask questions. Rourke’s the kind of man who could make a person disappear without blinking. He used t