Lahat ng Kabanata ng My Bestie’s Mom, My Obsession: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

The makeup artist asked if she needed a moment.Cassandra sat in the green room of a national news studio, the kind with soft lighting and carefully staged casual décor. She wore a deep navy blouse and minimal makeup. Her hair was pinned softly, just as she’d chosen. Not glamorized. Not dramatized.Just real.“I’m ready,” she said.Ethan stood behind her, arms folded, the monitor screen behind him playing a muted stream of the show’s countdown clock.00:13:25They were minutes away from airing a live, unfiltered interview, Cassandra’s first national appearance since the trial of public opinion had turned her into a target.Claire had negotiated the terms herself: No pre-written questions. No surprise guests. No commercial breaks. Just a woman and her voice.Jason had stayed behind, watching from the safehouse with the legal team and the few survivors still willing to step into the light.An hour earlier, Ethan had confronted Jenna Knox.He didn’t tell anyone he was going.She met him

Cassandra disappeared before dawn.No note. No explanation. No trace, except for her scent on the hotel pillow and the faintest warmth left in the sheets beside Ethan.He woke to absence.And dread.Claire paced the suite like a general in a war room. Jason sat with a laptop on his knees, eyes flicking between open maps and a blinking tracker.“She took the burner we gave her,” Claire said. “Last ping came from Westlake, near the waterfront. Then she shut it off.”“She’s not running,” Jason said. “She’s hunting.”Ethan said nothing. Just sat on the edge of the bed, jaw clenched, one thought looping like a mantra.She touched him.Her fingers on Jason. That forehead kiss. The quiet intimacy of two people who once loved, and maybe still did.She hadn’t denied it.Hadn’t even tried.I loved you enough to carry your past…And still, she chose him.Claire looked up from her phone. “She’s not just bait. She’s trying to end this her way.”Ethan’s voice was low, hoarse. “He’ll kill her before

The morning after felt like a fragile dream.Ethan awoke first. The soft weight of Cassandra's bare body pressed against his chest, her breath warm on his skin, her arm draped possessively across his waist. The night’s fire still clung to the air. He hadn’t just made love to her, he’d collided with her soul. Every thrust, every cry, every whispered name had been layered with grief, rage, hunger, and love. The kind that tasted like surrender. The kind that left bruises you didn’t want to heal.But now, dawn filtered in through the half-open blinds, and something in the stillness was wrong.Too quiet.He moved gently, easing her off him, kissing her shoulder. She didn’t stir.His hand grazed her thigh, memorizing the trail he’d worshiped last night with his mouth. She’d trembled as he kissed every inch of her. She'd whispered, “Take me like I’m yours. Not like I’m broken.” And he had. God, he had. He'd buried himself in her heat, letting her ride him until their bodies cried out togethe

The message on Ethan’s phone glowed like a curse:“You think the past is buried? It’s not. And what’s coming… will tear you apart.”He stared at it long enough for the screen to dim. Cassandra, still wrapped in his shirt, stepped beside him.“What is it?” she asked.He locked the screen.“Nothing.”She saw the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something darker in his eyes.“Don’t lie to me.”He wanted to tell her. He wanted to unburden the growing pressure in his chest. But how do you tell someone that your bloodline is cursed? That even in death, Whitlock had followers? Shadows?“I’m fine,” he said finally.She studied him a beat longer, then let it go.But something shifted.Later that day, Claire called an emergency meeting at the safehouse. The table was littered with legal files, digital trackers, new leads. They’d dismantled Whitlock’s network, or so they thought, but a dark current still buzzed beneath the surface.“This isn’t over,” Claire said, flipping open a classified dos

The world wasn’t quiet anymore.Not for Cassandra.Even in the stillness of Claire’s guest room, no cameras, no microphones, no whispers, she heard it all. The weight of revelations. The scream of the past echoing through her skull like a never-ending bell.She lay beside Ethan in bed, watching him sleep. One arm draped over her waist. His breath slow. Peaceful.She wondered how long the peace would last.Because her mother had lied.Her lover’s father had funded the man who ruined her life.And somewhere out there, Whitlock’s legacy wasn’t dead. It was evolving.When her phone buzzed, she already knew who it would be.Claire: Call me. Urgent. Now.Cassandra slipped out from under the covers, careful not to wake Ethan. She padded barefoot into the bathroom, locked the door, and called.Claire picked up instantly.“There’s something you need to see,” she said.“More blood?”“Worse.”Minutes later, Cassandra was staring at the screen of Claire’s laptop, a scan of a sealed document: Esta