Todos los capítulos de Married to My Father's Killer: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

The drive was long and silent.Ariella stared out the window, the city slipping past like ghosts of another life. Lucien hadn’t said a word since they left the mansion, his jaw tight, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. The tension between them was heavy—thick enough to choke on—but it wasn’t anger anymore. It was something deeper. Something that hurt to touch.She didn’t know where he was taking her, only that the road ahead wound into the outskirts, where the world looked older and colder. The rain from last night had left the air sharp, and the sky hung low like it wanted to swallow everything whole.When Lucien finally pulled over, they were in front of an abandoned chapel. The stone walls were cracked, ivy creeping up the sides, and a broken bell hung above the door like a warning.Ariella frowned. “Why are we here?”Lucien didn’t answer right away. He just got out of the car and walked toward the chapel. His coat brushed against the wind, his movements slow, almost re

The wind at the docks carried a kind of silence that didn’t feel natural. It was too heavy, too aware — like the night itself was listening. Ariella tightened her coat around her shoulders, her fingers numb from the cold. The sea stretched endlessly before her, black and restless, waves crashing against rusted steel.Lucien was a few steps ahead, flashlight cutting through the mist. His movements were sharp, focused, like a man chasing ghosts.“Are you sure this is the place?” she asked quietly.He didn’t look back. “This is where it happened. Where your father was last seen alive.”The words hit her harder than she expected. She stopped, staring at the faint outline of the old warehouse ahead — half-collapsed roof, shattered windows, and shadows that seemed to move even when the wind didn’t.Something about it made her chest tighten. “Lucien…”“I know,” he said, voice low. “It feels wrong.”They stepped inside. The air was thick with dust and salt. Old ropes and fishing nets hung fro

The storm had passed, but the air still smelled like gunpowder and fear. Broken glass glittered across the marble floor, moonlight slicing through the cracks of the ruined window.Ariella sat by the edge of the sofa, knees pulled close, her palms still trembling. Her heartbeat hadn’t slowed since the attack. Every sound—the creak of a floorboard, the sigh of the wind—made her flinch.Lucien stood by the doorway, his white shirt streaked with dust and blood. He hadn’t said much since they barely escaped the gunfire. The silence between them was too heavy, too full of everything they didn’t say.Finally, Ariella spoke, her voice small but sharp.“Who were they, Lucien?”He turned, his expression unreadable. “People who don’t want you to find the truth.”She swallowed hard. “And you do?”He hesitated, then moved closer, kneeling in front of her. “I didn’t plan for any of this, Ariella. But if we stop now, you’ll never know what really happened—to your father, to me, to Mateo.”Her head s

Morning came too soon.The light that spilled through Ariella’s window was soft and golden, but it did nothing to warm her chest. She hadn’t slept a minute. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw her father’s letter, Lucien’s face, and the sound of his voice—low and full of something she couldn’t untangle. It was truth and betrayal woven together.By the time she rose, the mansion was silent. Too silent.She moved through the hallways like a ghost, the hem of her robe whispering against the marble floor. Every creak in the boards made her stop and listen. The quiet wasn’t peace—it was tension. Watching. Waiting. She could feel Elise’s presence even when she couldn’t see her.When she reached the parlor, last night’s piano still sat open, a single note left unfinished. The candle beside it had melted into a pool of wax. But what made her pause was the faint line of muddy footprints leading toward the back door.Lucien’s boots. He’d gone out before dawn.Ariella’s stomach tightened. Was

The silence that followed Elise’s footsteps was worse than the sound itself. It filled the room, thick and heavy, pressing down on Ariella’s chest like the air was running out. Lucien moved first. He shoved one of the barrels aside, the muscles in his arms tightening with effort. “There has to be another exit,” he muttered. “A shaft, a tunnel—something.” Ariella ran her trembling hand along the cold stone wall. “She locked us in here, Lucien. She planned this. She knew we’d come.” He gave a low, sharp laugh with no humor in it. “Then that means she wants us down here—for a reason.” The air felt colder now. Damp. The smell of metal and dust filled Ariella’s nose as the lantern light flickered weakly, barely keeping the dark at bay. She turned back toward the table where her father’s papers were scattered—and froze. There was something she hadn’t noticed before. A faint line running under the table’s surface. “Lucien,” she whispered. “Come here.” He crouched beside her, and tog