Lahat ng Kabanata ng REVENGE: MY EX FAKED HIS DEATH TO BE WITH MY SISTER: Kabanata 111 - Kabanata 120

Elena's POV I smiled as I read the business section of the newspaper, enjoying my morning coffee in the breakfast corner of our penthouse. The photo from the awards ceremony looked perfect. Julian and I were standing together, him in his designer suit and me in a very nice expensive dress. "Entrepreneur of the Year," I said out loud, savoring the words and the title. "And well deserved," Julian said from across the table, looking up from his own newspaper. "After I seal this deal with the white house, our company will likely be worth well over five hundred million dollars. We have a five hundred million dollar empire and are still growing. Not bad for someone who started over from nothing." I laughed, setting down the paper on the table and reaching for another piece of fresh fruit from our breakfast spread. "We started over from nothing. This empire belongs to both of us." "I love the sound of that. Our empire." Julian smiled at me with the same warmth he had shown since our wed

Marcus’ POV I sat on a broken crate behind a convenience store, watching Sophia count the few crumpled bills we collected from our latest pickpocketing run. The money wasn't much, but it would buy us food for another day. "Twelve dollars and thirty-seven cents," Sophia announced, her voice flat with exhaustion. "Better than yesterday," I said, though we all knew it wasn't enough. Isabella was at her dishwashing job at Mama Rosa's, the only legitimate income any of us had. But her minimum wage couldn't support all three of us, and we couldn't keep living like this forever. "We need a real plan," Sophia said, tucking the money into her jacket. "This isn't sustainable." I nodded, but my mind was already working on something else. Something that had been forming in my head for days now. "I've been thinking about Dr. Parker," I said. "The doctor who helped us fake your death?" Sophia looked at me like I was crazy. "Marcus, that was years ago. He's probably in prison or something."

Marcus' POV I climbed the stairs to the third floor of Riverside Apartments, my heart racing with each step. The building was exactly what I expected. It had peeling paint, broken tiles and the smell of mold and cigarettes was hanging in the air. This was where my old friend James ended up after Elena destroyed his career. Apartment 3B was at the end of a dimly lit hallway. I paused outside the door, listening for any sounds that might indicate danger. But this was James' place, and I trusted him completely. I knocked softly on the door. "Marcus?" came James' voice from inside. "It's me." I heard the sound of multiple locks being undone, and then the door opened. James looked like a shadow of the confident doctor I remembered. He was thinner, older, with gray streaks in his hair and deep lines around his eyes. But when he saw me, his face lit up with genuine joy. "Marcus! My God, look at you." James pulled me into a tight hug. "I can't believe you're really here." "I can't bel

Sophia's POV I stood in the doorway of the small bedroom, watching Carmen stare at Marcus and me on the bed. Her face showed confusion first, then suspicion. Perfect. "Carmen, this is my sister Isabella and Sophia," Marcus said quickly, standing up. "The women I told you about. The ones who survived Victor with me." Carmen's eyes moved from Marcus to me, then to Isabella. "Your sister? You didn't mention that before." "I told you Isabella helped me," Marcus said. "I guess I didn't make it clear she was family." Isabella stood up with a slight limp. "Thank you for giving us shelter. Marcus told us about your generosity." I stayed sitting on the bed, watching Carmen carefully. This was a critical moment. If she thought there was something romantic between Marcus and me, she might kick us all out. But if I played this right, I could use her jealousy to make her trust Marcus even more. "I'm Sophia," I said, touching the scar on my cheek in what I hoped looked like a nervous gestur

Isabella's POV I stood at the sink scrubbing pots, my hands red and raw from the hot water and soap. The dinner rush was in full swing, and the kitchen was loud with shouting chefs and clanging pans. My leg ached from standing for six hours straight, but I couldn't stop. If I stopped, Papa Rosetti might think I was lazy. "Isabella, more clean plates!" one of the cooks yelled at me. "Coming!" I called back, grabbing a stack of dried plates and carrying them to the line. This was my life now. Washing dishes, scrubbing grease, carrying heavy stacks of plates while my leg screamed in pain. While Elena lived in a mansion with servants who probably did her dishes for her. The unfairness of it burned in my chest like fire. I limped back to the sink and plunged my hands into the hot, dirty water. Grease floated on the surface, and bits of food stuck to the sides of the pots. This was what Elena reduced me to. "Table seven needs bread," Maria called out from the dining room. Through th