บททั้งหมดของ Twice His Wife: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Three hours after the servers burned, Anais sat on the bathroom floor, steam curling around her body, blood swirling down the drain like red ribbons. Cassian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, silently waiting. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?” she asked, voice hoarse. “You just destroyed the most dangerous system in the country and walked out of it bleeding. No,” he said. “I’m not.” She shut her eyes. “She didn’t even flinch, Cassian. My own mother raised a gun to my face and didn’t blink.” “She built you like a weapon,” he said. “Now she’s afraid of what she made.” Anais pushed damp hair from her face. “Do you think she’ll come back?” “No,” Cassian said. “She’s already planning her next move.” Silence again. Then softly: “I wasn’t scared when I pulled the trigger. That scares me.” Cassian stepped in, crouched next to her, and took her hand. “You’re allowed to be changed,” he said. “What matters is that you’re still you.” She looked at him, eyes locke

Anais had never driven so fast in her life. The guttural roar of Leon’s backup SUV shook through her bones as she wove down the unlit coastal road. Cassian sat in the passenger seat, one hand braced on the dash, the other holding a compress to the fresh bruise blooming under his left eye. Leon was in the back seat, phone glued to his ear, cursing under his breath as each call went to voicemail. His fourteen-year-old daughter, Maris, was alone in the safe-house—no phones, no cameras, no alarm. Perfectly hidden. Perfectly isolated. Now perfectly vulnerable. Anais gripped the wheel tighter. The night blurred; headlights sliced the fog like fever dreams. “Hold on, Maris,” she whispered, though no one could hear. “Just hold on.” Cassian’s voice cut through the engine’s growl. “We’re five minutes out. If they breached from the south, they’ll take the service road behind the cliff. Steep drop on one side, blind forest on the other.” Leon swore softly. “So we’re driving into an ambush.”

The bunker was no longer just a hiding place. It had become a war room. Cassian stood at the center, a flash drive in one hand, a bitter kind of silence pressing against his chest. The drive was warm—like it had been sitting in someone’s pocket, waiting to be delivered. He turned it over between his fingers as if the plastic could tell him something more. Behind him, Anais was pacing, barefoot on cold concrete. Her hair was loose, messy from sleep and the chaos of the last few hours, but her movements were sharp. Alert. Like a wire pulled tight. Leon sat on a metal stool, arms crossed, watching them both. Cassian plugged the drive into the laptop on the table and waited for it to load. Anais moved behind him, shoulder brushing his for a second as she leaned over. A single video file. Cassian clicked it. A grainy, handheld recording lit up the screen—someone filming in real time, walking through a dark hallway. Footsteps echoed. And then, a voice. Calm. Precise. Familiar. Harl

Anais stood still, as if her body had frozen before her mind could catch up. “The woman who gave birth to her…” she repeated quietly. “You’re saying she’s alive?” Cassian didn’t answer right away. Julien, who hadn’t stirred much since his collapse, turned his head toward her voice. “She was never dead.” Anais looked between them both. “Who is she?” Cassian’s lips pressed into a hard line. “We only knew her by one name. Within Cerberus, she was called The Violin.” Anais blinked. “The what?” Julien gave a faint, grim smile. “Every time someone heard her name, it meant something beautiful was about to break.” Anais stared at him. “She was an assassin?” “She was everything,” Cassian muttered. “Spy. Operative. Strategist. Seductress. She played both sides, lured men into deals that destroyed them, and vanished before they even knew they’d lost.” “She worked for Cerberus?” Anais asked. Cassian gave a single, sharp nod. “She was Harlan’s. The one he trusted most. And the only pers

The storm finally broke. Not in thunder or lightning, but in silence—unnerving, tense, and full of the kind of pressure you feel in your chest before something explodes. The forest around the hideout was too still. No birds. No wind. Just the kind of quiet that always meant someone was watching. Cassian stood at the threshold of the concrete doorway, hand resting on his sidearm, body tense. He hadn’t slept. Not really. Not since Echo. Not since he saw the terror in Anais’s eyes—fear she never admitted out loud. Inside, Julien worked over a comms relay, muttering to himself in between bites of an apple that had probably gone soft days ago. “I’ve re-routed the trace through six dummy terminals. If Cerberus finds us now, they deserve the kill,” he said. “Not saying I want to die. But I’d almost respect it.” Cassian didn’t look back. “You’re too loud.” “Am I?” Julien dropped the apple core in the bin. “Or is everyone just too tense?” “You’re not helping.” Anais entered the room