Lahat ng Kabanata ng Sweet Unhappy Heart: Kabanata 141 - Kabanata 150

Third person's POV "That's the question," Dove said, scrolling through more files on her tablet. "I also looked into Avery's movements over the last year. Where she's been. Who she's been seen with. And there's something interesting. Three times in the months after she got pregnant, she was spotted at Astor Sinclair's private hubs. Not his penthouse. Different locations. Meeting him late at night. Staying for hours."Mackenzie felt his stomach drop. "You're sure?""I'm damned sure, but it doesn't necessarily mean something concrete. It could be something or it could be anything." Torres leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "We can't jump to conclusions based on meetings alone.""Yes, Torres is right. But what Officer Dove just provided is significant because if we were to look directly into this matter, I would say that either it's concerning the baby or it's about the incident with Jackson." Mackenzie stood and started pacing. "But let's look at this differently. Let's look at As

Third person's POV Avery's hands were shaking so badly she could barely grip the steering wheel. She'd made it to her car, somehow. Through the alley, around the block, keeping to the shadows until she reached the parking garage two streets over where she kept her BMW.Her suitcase was thrown in the back seat. Her purse on the passenger side. And she was driving with no real destination except away.Away from the police. Away from Liam. Away from Astor and his threats and the whole goddamn mess she'd created.The city lights blurred past her windows as she drove, her mind racing faster than the car. Where could she go? Who could help her? Everyone she knew was either connected to the Maddox family or the Sinclair family or both.Except one person.She pulled over in a parking lot, grabbed her burner phone from her purse. The one she'd bought months ago when all this started. When she'd first realized how deep in trouble she was.She dialed a number she'd hoped she'd never have to use

Third Person's POVLiam left the police station with his mind in chaos, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had gone white. The drive back to the hospital was a blur of streetlights and traffic he barely registered. His mother. Caroline Martinez. Both killed by Astor. Both erased because Elizabeth had dared to choose happiness over staying trapped in a marriage to a monster.His mother had been gay. Or bisexual. In love with a woman. Planning to run away and start a new life. With him. They could have been happy. They could have been free.But Astor had stolen that. Murdered it. Buried it along with two bodies and fifteen years of lies.Liam parked in the hospital lot and sat there for a moment, just breathing. Trying to hold himself together. Trying not to fall apart completely.He walked through the automatic doors, took the elevator to the ICU floor, his feet moving on autopilot while his brain processed horrors he couldn't fully comprehend.Janet was in Jac

Third person's POV Third Person's POVThe evening light filtered through the hospital windows in that particular way that made everything look softer than it actually was. Mr. Richard Maddox walked down the ICU corridor carrying a bouquet of white roses, his footsteps heavy, his shoulders slumped in a way that made him look older than his sixty-two years.He'd been a terrible father. He knew that now. Had known it for a while but had been too proud, too stubborn, too caught up in his empire to admit it.But seeing Jackson in that hospital bed, broken because of choices Richard had indirectly enabled by doing business with men like Astor Sinclair, had finally shattered whatever denial he'd been clinging to.The nurse at the station recognized him. "Mr. Maddox. He's awake. Can't speak yet but he's responsive. Go on in."Richard nodded his thanks and walked to Jackson's bay. Through the window, he could see Janet sitting beside the bed, her laptop open, probably working on something for

Third Person's POVThe federal holding facility was a concrete fortress designed to break spirits before trials even began. Cold. Gray. Smelling of industrial cleaner that never quite masked the underlying scent of human desperation.Astor Sinclair sat in his cell, a space barely eight by ten feet, with a metal bed bolted to the wall, a toilet with no seat, and a small metal desk that wobbled when he tried to write. The orange jumpsuit he wore was rough against his skin, a constant reminder that his thousand-dollar suits were gone. His penthouse was gone. His empire was crumbling.But his mind was still sharp.Still planning. Still calculating. Still looking for the angle that would save him.The door opened. A guard stood there, expressionless. "You've got a visitor. Conference room three."Astor stood. Let himself be handcuffed. Let himself be led through corridors where other inmates watched him with a mixture of recognition and contempt. Everyone knew who he was. The news coverage