Semua Bab His Accidental Mrs : Bab 81 - Bab 90

By sunrise, the house felt different. Not safer — never that — but sharper. Like a blade whetted overnight.Adrian stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, phone to his ear, eyes locked on the sunrise like it owed him answers. Tara sat cross-legged on the floor beside Lucian’s bassinet, watching him sleep, her lips moving in silent prayers I hadn’t heard since our mother died. Vanessa was nowhere to be seen but her bag lay open on the counter — laptop, files, two burner phones. She was working in the shadows, feeding the press, crafting the leaks that would bleed Rafael’s empire slow.I stood in the doorway, holding a mug I hadn’t touched. The steam rose and vanished. So did the woman I used to be.We gathered at the dining table like generals plotting a siege.Adrian spread the papers out — trust ledgers, off-shore transfers, flight logs from Geneva, old security footage timestamps that only now made sense.He didn’t ask if I was ready. He knew.I ran my finger along a line of na

By dawn, the house felt less like a home and more like a fortress.Vanessa arrived just before the first birdcalls, hair pulled back, eyes sharp behind her glasses. She carried three folders and a single USB drive — all our ammunition, neat and lethal.Adrian didn’t sleep. Neither did I. Neither did Tara, though she pretended to, curled up next to Lucian’s crib with one hand always resting on the blanket like a silent promise: not again.Micah and Zaya woke at sunrise, sleepy-eyed and soft-limbed, oblivious to the fire that waited beyond the gates. I held them a little longer than usual, my face buried in the scent of warm hair, tiny fingers tangled in my sleeve.Adrian watched us from the doorway. His eyes said this is why.We left the twins with Tara. Vanessa stayed behind too, coordinating backup hidden guards at the safehouse, new locks on the nursery doors, private eyes tracking Rafael’s movements to the minute.Consuelo met us at the courthouse. Her suit was darker than midnight

The city woke hungry.By dawn, the news cycle had bled Rafael’s name across every headline like a wound that wouldn’t close. Offshore fraud. Shell charities. Missing millions. Anonymous statements from “inside the family” lined every broadcast. Some outlets ran grainy footage of Eliora leaving a private jet last month, sunglasses on, lips split in a smile.No comment, the captions read. No comment, they repeated.But silence never meant safety.The house buzzed like a hive by morning. Vanessa moved from room to room with her phone pressed to her ear, voice low and fast. Adrian hovered by the window, arms folded across his chest. Micah and Zaya built a tower of blocks in the living room, blissfully unaware of the adults spinning shields around them.I stood in the kitchen with Tara, my hands wrist-deep in dishwater I wasn’t really washing. Lucian slept in a sling on her chest, tiny sighs that almost made the world outside feel unreal.“Do you think he’ll run?” Tara asked, voice a soft

The sun rose behind clouds so heavy they looked carved from stone. I sat by the window in the nursery, staring out at the city skyline blurred in fog, one hand on the baby monitor, the other gripping the edge of the chair as if it could anchor me to something real.Adrian hadn’t slept. I knew that by the way his eyes stayed sharp, too sharp, scanning every shadow on the penthouse floor as if Rafael or Eliora might slip through the locked doors.Micah shuffled down the hallway, hair sticking up like soft bristles, dragging his blanket behind him. He didn’t say a word when he crawled onto my lap. Just curled there, cheek pressed against my chest, like he knew that silence was the only way to hold the pieces together.At dawn, Vanessa called. Her voice was all business, but the edges were frayed.“They moved her,” she said. “Rafael’s men. We tracked a secondary phone ping — old factory site near the docks. No cameras, no security feeds.”Adrian swore under his breath. “Is she there willi

I stood by the window, the city blinking awake under a thin dawn haze, and tried to pretend my hands weren’t shaking.Adrian’s phone was on the table between us, speaker still lit up, Vanessa’s voice echoing off the glass.“He wants it public,” she repeated. “He wants to humiliate you. Break your leverage before the board meeting next week.”Adrian’s jaw flexed like he could grind the threat down to dust between his teeth. “When?”“Tomorrow night,” Vanessa said. “The old opera house downtown. He rented out the grand hall for a ‘charity gala.’ Invitations went out an hour ago. You’re the guests of honor.”I almost laughed — a dry, sharp edge that felt foreign in my throat. “A gala. Of course.”Adrian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze locked on me instead of the skyline. “He wants a stage. He wants applause.”“He wants a show,” I said. “He wants to make us the tragedy.”Vanessa didn’t argue. “Do we go?”Adrian looked at me. He didn’t speak — he didn’t have to. His eyes asked t