Semua Bab Trapped In The Billionaire's Web: Bab 31 - Bab 40

Some nights, I’d forget to be afraid. I’d sit on the balcony, drink my tea, listen to the city hum beneath me, and almost believe life had returned to normal. Almost. Then something would happen—a sound, a knock, a photo—and I’d remember: Mira doesn’t need to be near to be close. She lives in the space between peace and paranoia. And lately, that space felt smaller. A week had passed since the envelope arrived. Adrian had new security protocols in place. Cameras. Motion sensors. Shadow scans. But none of it stopped the feeling crawling under my skin. The feeling of being watched. I’d started writing more—pouring every detail I remembered from Mira’s compound into a hidden notebook. Her tactics. Her routines. Her weaknesses. It wasn’t just therapy anymore. It was strategy. Adrian watched me one night as I wrote. “You never take a break,” he said. “I don’t want to forget,” I replied. He leaned on the counter. “You won’t. Trust me.” “I’m not writing for me anymore,” I said. “

The silence in the room was unbearable.The audio file still echoed in my mind:“I’ll stay close to assess whether she’s a true asset… or a liability.”I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the flash drive like it might shatter. My chest was tight, my thoughts messy. Elka had never escaped Mira. She’d been Mira’s eyes all along.Adrian stood across the room, jaw clenched, staring at the floor. “We trusted her.”“No,” I said. “I trusted her. You were cautious. I let her in.”“You did what anyone would do,” he said softly.“No, Adrian. I did what Mira expected me to do.”Morning came, but it didn’t feel like a new day.The sun was up, but all I saw was gray.I didn’t want coffee. I didn’t want breakfast. I wanted answers.We tried calling Elka’s burner. Nothing. Dead line.Then came the message.An email. No sender.Just a subject line:“Now do you see?”Attached was a single GPS coordinate.Somewhere just outside Andorra.No note.No explanation.But I didn’t need one.Mira was pullin

We left the warehouse in silence. Adrian kept one hand on the wheel, the other near his sidearm, eyes scanning every road, every reflection in the mirror. I sat beside him, staring at the flash drive Mira had tossed so casually onto the table before disappearing into the shadows—again. “This is the last piece,” she’d said. But something in her tone told me it wasn’t a gift. It was a test. Back at the safehouse, we didn’t waste time. Adrian wiped an old laptop clean and disconnected it from every network. No Wi-Fi. No Bluetooth. No GPS. Just one drive. One screen. One moment of truth. He plugged it in. I held my breath. For three long seconds, nothing happened. Then… Access Panel Loaded. Enter Key Code: We glanced at each other. Of course. Mira’s legacy wouldn’t come without a lock. I remembered what she said at the warehouse. “I didn’t give you power. I just showed you where it was hiding.” I tried the phrase as the code. ACCESS DENIED. Adrian entered the date we firs

The hardest part of chasing ghosts is realizing one might be wearing your face. For days, Adrian and I followed the digital trail Mira left behind. We used the SIM card’s encryption key to unlock a set of coordinates. The data took us to Amsterdam, then to a VPN node in Lagos, then to a government shell server hosted in Tel Aviv. Each stop led to a dead end. Each end whispered the same message: “This is bigger than her.” And that’s when it hit me. Mira hadn’t just trained people to replace her. She’d planted seeds inside old allies. Old enemies. Old scars. We were back in London when it happened. Adrian was asleep on the couch, still wearing his gun holster. I sat at the desk, laptop open, staring at a decrypted folder we almost missed. It had been buried beneath layers of corrupted metadata labeled as "trash." Inside were only three files. A photo. A surveillance video. And a single name: Mara Vale. I froze. The name wasn’t just familiar. It was mine. At least, it

I couldn’t sleep.Not after that photo.Not after seeing her—the woman I’d mourned for more than a decade. The woman I thought Mira had taken from me when I was sixteen.My mother.Smiling.Alive.Standing beside a building in Casablanca, Morocco.The date on the back? Two weeks ago.Adrian watched me from the other side of the safehouse living room.He didn’t say anything.He didn’t have to.There are some silences so heavy, even words can’t carry them.I finally broke the quiet. “If this is real, everything I know about my past is a lie.”He nodded slowly. “If it’s a trap, it’s designed to unmake you.”“Or…” I looked down at the photo again. “It’s the one truth Mira was afraid I’d find.”The next morning, we flew to Casablanca.No time to think. No time to doubt.I wore a scarf over my hair, sunglasses low, coat tight to my body. Adrian carried the photo, scanning every street like a soldier in enemy territory.We found the building from the picture. A café, modest, tucked between t