Semua Bab The Billionaire's Hidden Vows: Bab 91 - Bab 100

The walls of the new facility rose like a cathedral carved from obsidian and light—glass panels that breathed chilled air and steel corridors that hummed with the frequency of control. It was not just science anymore. It was spectacle. The evolution of Echo into something far more dangerous than a lab. A throne for a new kind of empire.No longer hidden beneath coastal ruins or drenched in salt and secrecy, Echo had become sleek, state-sponsored, and disturbingly sanitized. Biotech logos gleamed like insignias on every pane of reinforced glass. Government crests hovered above biometric locks. The hum of the place wasn’t just mechanical—it was operatic. A symphony of ambition and money, fusing flesh and code into legacy.Weston stood at the pinnacle of it all, his posture regal in a fitted gray suit that clung to his tall frame like armor. No longer the haunted man in lab coats and bloodied gloves. No. He had emerged from the fire of the old Echo remade—stone carved into steel.Behind

Berlin’s late afternoon skies lay heavy over the courthouse square, as if mourning what Echo had taken from innocents. Savannah stood in sunlight patched by gray clouds, her coat still carrying dried rain from last night’s storm. Across from her, Nika—who claimed to be Magnolia’s half-sister—pulled out a small crate etched with fading lab barcodes.“This child exists,” Nika began, her voice low, reverent. Inside the crate: a framed photograph. A little girl, pale, with wings painted behind her in red ink—eyes too old for her face.“I found her in Prague,” Nika continued. “With Weston’s own handwriting beside her: ‘Experiment C12 – Subject Elira.’” She lifted the frame gently, revealing skin beneath the glass. “He called her Observer. Not the host. Not the echo. The observer.”Savannah’s stomach recoiled. Elira’s eyes broke through the glass like a scream. Something in them recognized Savannah.“Weston—did this?”Nika nodded. “With volunteers from multiple trials. One birth. Three gir

Rain murmured against the villa’s high glass windows like a thousand soft accusations. It fell in slow arcs across the veranda, each drop carving the stillness with a private grief. The leather couch beneath Savannah creaked as she shifted awake, her muscles sore from sleep without rest, her thoughts jagged and restless like broken film reels left spinning through the night.The fireplace behind her had died down to grey ash. No warmth remained—only the scent of charred birch and something older, buried.On the low table: a wax-sealed envelope. Crimson. Bright, unnatural red, like arterial blood. Its edges were serrated, not torn—ritualistically shaped. And stamped with a crest she hadn’t seen in over twenty years.The Briggs family seal. Ouroboros coiled around a four-pointed star.Her breath caught.There was no return address. No explanation. No reason for its existence except to upend hers.She rose, every movement deliberate, dreamlike. Her pale fingers hovered over the envelope

Heavy fog drifted through the olive groves surrounding the villa, blurring the world into soft shadows and silent doubts. Savannah stood at the balcony's edge, the braided rail pressed against her palms. The rain had stopped, but the air tasted of sorrow and questions.She held Weston’s coded message—“Eva isn’t your only child”—like a lit match in darkness. It burned through her mind, unrelenting.Colton, inside, flipped through photographs he found in a hidden file—they were delivery-room Polaroids, scratched red by mishandled labels. One image showed Savannah’s wrist and a nurse’s gloved hand holding a stopwatch. Another—cold static obscured part of it, but she could clearly make out her infant body in a crib, while a second blanket-shrouded form lay low in the adjacent frame.Savannah exhaled slow. Her voice was distant: “That baby… could’ve been a twin.”Colton’s hands trembled. “No. I remember.” His jaw tightened. “I saw you holding only Eva.”She turned to face him. “Maybe you d

The night rain hammered so fiercely it felt as though the villa itself might shatter. Savannah stood in the foyer, candlelight trembling across her face as she held Eva’s notebook close to her chest. The pages were littered with sketches—repeated visions of two girls standing hand-in-hand in a sterile corridor, twin cribs, red-coded doors—all eclipsed by faint tears.Eva lay asleep on the couch, her breaths shallow and rhythmic, clutching her old wolf plush.Savannah’s fingertips drifted over the sketches, tracing the line that separated one figure from the other. The smaller figure’s body swiveled slightly—untouched by crayons, yet alive.She heard Colton’s footsteps in the hall—steady, hesitant.“She’s real,” she whispered, not looking up.Eva stirred, turned, but said nothing.Colton appeared in the doorway, damp hair clinging to his forehead. He paused at her voice.“She’s alive,” she repeated.He swallowed, his chest tightening. “Ellie?”Savannah didn’t speak.Eva finally stirred