All Chapters of Behind The Mask : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Zara's POV Back home continued to listen, earbuds in, the faint hum of Elena’s surroundings filtering through the spy app. Her voice was tight with urgency as she called Cassain. He barked at her to stop calling him, but she pushed back, promising she had an important message this time.Reluctantly, he agreed to meet her that evening at the club. A small smile curved on my lips. Later that night, during their meeting, the feed shifted. A car door slammed, then another, they were in a car now.“What is it?” Cassain demanded, his tone sharp and defensive.“Look, I apologize for the wrong information,” Elena began carefully.“Look, Elena, or whatever you call yourself,” Cassain snapped. “You’ve bled me dry. You lied that my wife asked you to follow me, to get something on me. You made me pay you. Who knows if you’re both in this together?”“Listen,” she said quickly, “none of that was a lie. Zara asked me to follow you.”“Here we go with the Zara talk again,” he muttered bitterly.I hea

Zara's POV I couldn’t focus at work. Even the Emerald meeting, the one everyone spent weeks preparing for, blurred into static.Numbers, charts, and voices faded behind the noise in my head.Was my real body still out there somewhere? Was Aria living in it now? And what happened to the pregnancy?What if she survived, my body survived, and gave birth to the child I could still feel lingering in my dreams? That grief, that confusion, I couldn’t shake it off.“Mrs. Aria? … Mrs. Aria?”The voice cut through the fog. One of the board members, her tone tight, concerned.I blinked, realizing the room had gone silent. Every pair of eyes was on me.“Yes?” I asked, forcing my voice steady.“Are you okay?” she asked carefully.“I’m fine,” I said too quickly.Her brows furrowed. “Are those… tears in your eyes?”My hand shot up before I even realized it, fingertips brushing wetness on my cheeks. I hadn’t even felt the tears falling. Heat rushed up my neck as I grabbed a napkin, dabbing at my fac

Sterling’s POVThe door to my office slammed open so hard the glass wall trembled. Aria stormed in like a hurricane.I blinked, startled. “Aria?”Her eyes were fire. Her hands were clenched so tightly I could see the strain in her knuckles.Behind her, my secretary stumbled in, breathless. “I’m sorry, sir… she didn’t wait for me to announce her…”“It’s fine,” I said calmly, lifting a hand. “Go back to your desk.”The door clicked shut, sealing us in the kind of silence that hums before a storm.“What’s wrong?” I asked gently.Without a word, she slammed a stack of papers onto my desk. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.I stared at them, then at her. “What’s this?”“Read,” she said, voice low and dangerous.I picked up the first page, and froze. A report, detailed and brutal. The chemical poisoning, the displacement, the exploitation of workers in that damned African village. The same report we buried years ago. My blood ran cold.“I…” I started, trying to find the righ

Zara's POV After arriving, I didn’t waste a second pretending it was a vacation. I was here to work, not to heal. Healing was for people who still believed in peace.By morning, I was already at the vineyard with Nico and Tessa, the wind from the countryside sharp against my face. The scent of ripening grapes filled the air.Mr. Biden, the man Mr. Everhart appointed to oversee the Vineyard, was already waiting to show me around. Some workers had quit after Vanderlyn’s death, and new applicants were trickling inI nodded politely, keeping my tone clipped and professional. “Let’s make this quick. I want every department back to full operation before the end of next week.”We met with the HR team in the glass conference room overlooking the vines. While I spoke, I caught one of the men muttering under his breath in German, low, but not low enough.“Wer ist sie, dass sie hierherkommt und Befehle erteilt?”Meaning ‘who is she to come here and give orders?’I understood every word. My mot

Zara's POV We entered the basement, and memories I had buried long ago began to stir.When my mother died, I stayed in that house until I could afford to leave. I sold most of our belongings just to gather enough money for a flight ticket. With trembling hands and a heart heavy with grief, I traced the address of the woman who had sent me my mother’s photos, her old friend.But when I arrived, she seemed terrified to even see me. I never understood why. She simply handed me a set of keys, whispered that the restaurant belonged to my mother, and urged me to leave before anyone saw me.With nowhere else to go, I went to that restaurant and slept there, alone, at fifteen. I took any job I could find, cleaning floors, carrying boxes, doing anything to survive. After some time I visited the friend again, to understand why she was terrified but she passed on.Years passed before I could rent my own place and rebuild the restaurant business from scratch. The only things I had from my mothe