All Chapters of Unworthy No More : Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Isla HartThe moment my phone buzzed with the first notification, I thought it was a mistake. The email subject line blinked insistently: “National Survivor Advocacy Forum, Invitation to Keynote.” My hands trembled slightly as I scrolled through the details. An entire room of influential policymakers, activists, and media figures wanted me, not as a senator, not as Nathaniel’s ex, not as a woman defined by the mistakes of others, but as a voice. A voice that could guide, inspire, and remind people they were not invisible.I sank into the chair at my kitchen table, letting the magnitude of it settle. The city outside was quiet, Sophie asleep upstairs, the hum of life continuing like nothing had changed. But everything had changed. I had changed.Alexander’s presence was the first anchor I sought. He came in, a faint scent of cedar in his coat, a newspaper tucked under his arm. His gaze met mine, calm and deliberate. “You look like you’ve seen a gh

Alexander LangstonThe victories had been decisive. Senator Harlan was neutralized, his allies either apprehended or in hiding, offshore accounts frozen mid-transfer, and the media barely had time to process before the public rejoiced. Yet power, I had learned long ago, is never fully erased.I leaned back in my chair, reviewing the latest feeds on the wall screens. Multiple monitors flickered under dim lighting, each displaying live security cams, federal data feeds, and financial audits. I knew the moment I stopped paying attention, a single thread could unravel the net. And some threads, I had already learned, had minds of their own. Not everyone had been caught. Not everyone had surrendered.A shadow group still lingered in the background, loosely aligned with Harlan’s network, but smart enough to keep faces hidden and actions subtle. Their communications were encrypted, routed through layers I had anticipated. I traced them to a series of sh

Alexander LangstonThe morning was bright, almost cruelly cheerful, like the sun itself had no idea what chaos it was illuminating. I watched from the Langston residence as the newsfeed lit up the living room, television channels flipping automatically, headlines scrolling across every network, every news site, every social platform.NATHANIEL BLAKE UNDER FEDERAL INVESTIGATIONThere it was. In black and white. The man who had tried to control, manipulate, and terrify an entire network of people now found himself in the glare of public scrutiny. Not hidden, not obscured. Exposed.The country’s pulse shifted immediately. Tweets, posts, status updates, reactions all boiled over. Some citizens cheered. Some were incredulous. Some, who had known his reach firsthand, whispered warnings, but the whispers were drowned out by the roar of those demanding justice.I sipped my coffee slowly, careful not to show the satisfaction in

Alexander LangstonPower is a fragile thing. I have seen it built from fear, wealth, and connections, and I have seen it crumble like brittle glass under pressure applied in all the right places. Tonight, Nathaniel Blake and Dwight Harlan would understand that truth in ways they had never imagined.I arrived at the courthouse early, not because I was summoned, there was no summons for me, but because I wanted to see the ritual of arrogance stripped bare. The press were already setting up along the perimeter. Cameras, microphones, blinking lights, the symphony of public attention that would feed the spectacle. Nathaniel had always thrived under the lights, or so he thought. Harlan, too, had worn respect like armor, until today.Inside, the courtroom smelled of polished wood, stale coffee, and the underlying tension of men used to control finally feeling it slip. Nathaniel was the first to enter. I could tell before I even looked at the cameras. Th

Isla HartThe first thing I noticed when Alexander returned that evening was the weight of his calm. Not a casual calm, not the kind that comes after long hours of strategy. No, this was the kind of calm that follows a storm, the kind that comes when something impossible has been done, quietly, efficiently, and without error.He didn’t need to speak to tell me he had rescued Viola. I could see it in the way his eyes softened, a rare warmth reserved only for the moments when he had ensured someone’s safety. “She’s safe,” he said finally, setting down the folder on the kitchen counter. “In transit to the Dawn Foundation. Her condition… it’s fragile, but she’s stable.”I closed my eyes and let the words sink in. Viola. The woman who had caused me so much pain. The woman who had once been cruelly manipulated into thinking the world could only offer her imprisonment. The woman I had spent months trying to understand, to forgive, even as the shadow of