All Chapters of Shadows of the Vow: Chapter 161 - Chapter 168

Annabelle’s POVThe call was still on when the gates opened slowly. I heard the sound from his phone.Not ceremonially. Not dramatically. Just enough to let a stranger into a space that had never been meant for him.I stood beside Antonioni in the sitting room, my fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of my chiffon dress, my heart already uneasy. I didn’t know why. Not yet. But my body knew before my mind could catch up.The guard’s footsteps echoed first. Then the man followed.Edward Gracia.My father.Time did something strange the moment I saw him. It didn’t stop...it bent inward. Like memory collapsing into itself.He looked smaller than the man I remembered. Older. Thinner. It's been just one year since I left him but his once-full face now sagged slightly, his eyes darting around the room with the practiced calculation of someone who had survived too many bad decisions. But there was still something unmistakable about him, the same sharp nose, the same jawline I saw when

Antonioni’s POV  The cigar burned slowly between my fingers. I hadn’t noticed when I lit it. Only when the smoke thickened did I realize how long I’d been standing there, staring out at the darkened estate, letting memory and instinct circle each other like predators. Scilla. Her name refused to stay buried. I replayed her death the way the mind does when it suspects a lie has been dressed as truth. Not chronologically. Not cleanly. In fragments. In smells. In silences that had never sat right. She had died too quietly. Too neatly for notice. Too conveniently for someone who knew too much and demanded little. Years ago, I had believed she sold me out.Not suspected. Not assumed. Believed. To Sergio Rock-Delgado. The kind of man whose name closed mouths and ope

Annabelle’s POV  Valentine's morning sun was different. It was rich with the hue of gold.  I woke to the scent of Antonioni’s cigar lingering faintly, the faint trace of smoke curling into the sunlight. But it wasn’t just smoke; it was his presence, his careful control over everything, even over the moments before the chaos would inevitably descend. He was awake before me, as always, and waited until I stirred fully before speaking. “Annabelle,” he said softly, voice low and steady, “before the end of today, I’ll be locked away again. But there are truths you need to know.” I blinked, sitting up slowly, unsure of how to prepare for what would come next. “I’ve arranged money everywhere it needs to be,” he continued, “For your life, your future…If you want to go to the university, apply

Annabelle’s POV  The room froze. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Glasses clinked unheeded. Cameras still clicked, capturing the scene, but the atmosphere had shifted. He did not resist. He did not panic. But the sudden intrusion into our carefully orchestrated evening, our triumph, made the stakes suddenly, painfully, clear. I could feel the weight of the past and the present collapsing into one tense, suffocating reality.  Antonioni’s hand brushed mine briefly, reassuring, grounding, and I squeezed it back. Then he left a tablet on the table, the screen glowing with a simple message: “You can let Scilla stay. If not for anything, at least, to keep you company.” I stared at it. That was all. No lectures, no debates…just care, measured and deliberate. Even that small gesture carried more weight than words cou