Semua Bab Game over. : Bab 41 - Bab 50

Maddie’s POVThe conference hall still echoes with the flashing of cameras and the furious shouts of unanswered questions as Logan and I step away from the podium, the twins already being led to safety down a side corridor with their nanny. My heart is still beating in a steady, forceful rhythm that feels like the pounding of war drums, not from fear, but from the knowledge that what has been said today cannot be taken back, cannot be undone and cannot be softened by explanations or apologies. Bella Rosa is finished. My engagement to Logan is no longer a private promise but a public declaration. Conner and Carmen are no longer just my children. They are the Rossi heirs, their existence carved into the headlines that will run before the day is even over.The heavy doors swing closed behind the last of the reporters, and for a moment, there is silence. The silence does not last long, though, not because of the cameras or the shuffling of assistants, but by the measured sound of footste

Michelle’s POVThe apartment is silent except for the television, though inside me the silence has already curdled into something dangerous, something restless and unwilling to remain passive, because I am not the type of woman who folds beneath headlines or watches her life be rewritten by another woman’s ring, and as I stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering skyline sprawled out beneath me like a jeweled battlefield, I know that the first strike must come from me, deliberate and devastating, because if there is one thing I have mastered in this life it is the manipulation of a story, the shaping of an image, and the ability to turn desire into inevitability with nothing more than a smile angled at the right camera.My phone vibrates on the marble counter, the screen lighting up with a notification from one of the tabloids I allow to orbit me like moths around a flame, and before I even swipe it open I know what it will say, the headlines practically writing themsel

Owen’s POVI lean back in the worn leather chair, the faint scent of tobacco curling around me from the cigar I’ve just lit, watching Sean and Roman across the table with an expression that masks the full extent of my satisfaction. They don’t yet understand how much we have the upper hand, but they will, soon enough. Their excitement is palpable, the kind of thrill that comes from knowing that you’re about to take something that doesn’t belong to you but feeling entirely justified in doing so. Maddie has made this too easy. She walks around like she owns the world, showing off the twins, holding Logan Rossi’s hand.“They think they’re untouchable, don’t they? Maddie parades those children around in public as if the world could never reach them. As if Rossi would actually do something if anyone tried. They’ve made themselves careless, and that carelessness is going to be their downfall. Connor and Carmen are everything we need, the leverage we’ve been waiting for, and when we have them

Owen’s POVI park the car a short distance from the school, letting the engine idle as I watch the grounds through the tinted windows. The morning sun glints off the playground equipment, children running and laughing without a care, their voices carrying across the neatly trimmed lawns. A faint thrill curls in my chest as I remind myself why I’m here. These are my grandchildren, and though they do not know it, the key to reclaiming what has been stolen lies in their small, unsuspecting hands.I straighten my tie, exhaling smoke from the cigar tucked behind my ear, and step out, letting my movements appear unthreatening but deliberate, confident. The teachers glance up, nodding politely as I approach the front entrance. They know me, Owen O’Connor, father of Madeline, grandfather by blood, but they do not know the full measure of my intentions. They have no reason to. Appearances are everything.I enter the school with a warm, practised smile, holding a small bag of sweets and two car

Owen’s POVIt has been a week now since I first walked through the polished glass doors of that private school, the kind of place where money spills across the floor in the form of spotless uniforms, neatly tied ribbons, and the faint scent of old books and waxed tiles, and every day I make the same ritual, carrying toys tucked under my arm or boxes of sweets in glossy wrapping, pretending to be the caring grandfather who has suddenly reappeared in the lives of two children who know nothing about me, but who smile politely because that is what they have been taught to do.At first, I thought it might take time for them to soften, that they might push me away or show suspicion, but I was pleasantly surprised when they accepted the gifts without question, their little hands reaching out, their voices polite, almost too polite, as they thanked me in unison, their eyes big and curious. I took that as a victory. Each day after, I brought something more, a doll with a silk dress for the gir