บททั้งหมดของ Unworthy No More : บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

Isla The hum of the copier filled the small alcove outside my office, blending with the low murmur of voices down the hall. Horizon Outreach was not glamorous like the marble floors of Watson’s Bank, but there was a warmth here, a sense of purpose stitched into the walls. I found myself breathing easier every morning when I stepped through its glass doors. For the first time in years, work did not feel like walking into a battlefield.I adjusted the stack of reports in my hands, careful not to drop them. They were quarterly reviews for one of our major community programs, and though most people here treated the paperwork as a chore, I had slipped into it like water finding its stream. Numbers never lied. If you knew how to read them, they told stories more precise than words ever could.When I carried the reports into the general manager’s office, Mark Bennett looked up from his laptop. His salt-and-pepper hair caught the light, and the glasses perched on his nose gave him the air of

Alexander Langston’s POVThe office was quiet, the city stretching out in a muted sea of lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. I leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming on the polished mahogany desk, reviewing the latest reports from Horizon Outreach. Every line, every number, every reconciled budget spoke a single, undeniable truth. Isla Hart was extraordinary.I had guided her once, subtly nudged her in the right direction, and yet, here she was, shining on her own. No strings attached, no favors called in. Just pure talent, focus, and determination. The girl I had once glimpsed in fleeting, chaotic moments, the woman who had survived the world’s cruelties and Nathaniel Blake’s shadow, had emerged as a force in her own right.Mark Bennett, the general manager, had done his part as a quiet ally, ensuring Isla had the space to prove herself, but it was her brilliance that turned every potential challenge into opportunity. Reading her latest quarterly reconciliation, I could

Alexander Langston’s POVFrom the corner of the glass-paneled lobby, I watched her. Isla Hart, standing at the front desk of Horizon Outreach, her back straight, her hands steady, and her eyes calm even as Mrs. Blake’s gaze tried to pierce through her like ice.I had come to check on her progress discreetly, not because she needed me to, but because part of me wanted to see her thrive with no strings attached. No favors. No interference. Just her brilliance, raw and undeniable.She handled it perfectly. The woman in pearls, sharp as knives and twice as venomous, tried to unnerve her, and yet Isla did not flinch. Every word from Mrs. Blake, veiled threats and sly insinuations, was met with composure, with measured calm, with the quiet strength of someone who had endured far worse and come out stronger.I felt a rush of pride I could barely contain. This was my girl. The one I had been searching for across continents and years. Not the timid child who had pulled me from that river, not

Isla Hart’s POVThe morning air was brisk as I walked Sophie to daycare, her tiny hand curled around mine. I liked these small rituals, these moments of ordinary life that made me feel grounded. Each step away from the chaos of the past six years felt lighter than the one before.But the world has a way of reminding you that calm is temporary. When I arrived at Horizon Outreach, I noticed an unusual tension in the office. Mark Bennett, usually calm and composed, was pacing near the reception desk, phone in hand.“Isla,” he said, spotting me, “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Some people have been…inquiring about you. Questions about your previous work, and your personal life.” I frowned, holding Sophie’s backpack tightly. “Inquiring? About me?” Mark’s expression was unreadable. “Nothing overt, but it’s…subtle. Don’t let it distract you. Focus on your projects. Your work speaks louder than anyone’s gossip.”I nodded, my stomach

Alexander Langston’s POVThe buzz of my phone barely registered. Horizon Outreach reports glowed on my tablet, Isla Hart’s name everywhere...projects reconciled, budgets perfected, programs flourishing. Flawless, showcasing her brilliance.But my focus fractured. A jagged premonition slid down my spine, cold and sharp. Years of reading threats had taught me never to ignore it. Something was wrong. Probably with her. The tablet slipped from my hands, my palm slamming against the desk. “Driver. Isla’s street. Now.” By the time we turned the corner, my chest was tight with fury. And then I saw it.Three men boxed her in, like predators circling prey. One gripped Isla’s arm, shoving her back against the wall. Another reached for Sophie, who clung to her mother’s waist, eyes wide, tears trembling on her lashes. My vision went red. Every instinct screamed to kill them where they stood.The car had not fully stopped before I was out. “Let her go.” My voice was low, and calm...too calm. The