《A GAME OF LIES》全部章節：第 61 章 - 第 70 章

The room was so silent after his words that Amira felt the ticking clock above the mantel vibrate in her chest. Montez’s voice still echoed in her head, sharp and cold. Equally rising to her feet, she dropped the remote onto the couch, her fingers trembling as if she had been holding fire. She tried to open her mouth, to explain, but the words stuck. The television was still blaring, still showing her, still tearing her apart with its merciless exposure. Finally, she whispered, “It isn’t what it looks like.” Montez’s eyes narrowed, his jaw flexing. He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on her like a predator cornering its prey. “Then tell me what it is. Because from where I sit, I see you prancing half-naked under cheap neon lights with another name. And now, the entire city sees it too.” Her lips quivered. “I—I-I had no choice. You don’t know what I went through.” “No choice?”

The flash of cameras was blinding. Amira held her breath as the car door opened and Montez stepped out first, towering in his black suit, his expression carved from stone. His bodyguards immediately moved to create a barrier, but the press was merciless, their voices rising in a storm of questions. Amira hesitated for a moment inside the car, her hands trembling in her lap. This was it—the battlefield. Her name was already in the mud, her past already stripped bare for the world. She was about to step out into the light where every sneer, every whisper, would slice through her. “Now, Amira.” Montez’s voice cut through her panic, sharp and commanding. “Hold your head high. These people want to see you cower…..never let them.” He didn’t even glance back, but she could feel the weight of his demand. Swallowing her fear, she slipped her hand into his waiting one. His grip was firm, grounding her as he pulled her

Amira’s pen scratched across the page as she reviewed the last of the contracts stacked on her desk. The aftermath of the anniversary still lingered, and Montez had doubled the workload on everyone. She tried to focus, tried to ignore the whispers in the office halls that still followed her, but every time she looked up from the paperwork, she couldn’t help but feel judged. She set her pen down and rubbed her temples. The office was quiet, only the hum of the AC filling the air. She allowed herself a moment to breathe. The door slammed open without warning. Her head jerked up, eyes narrowing as Nathan strode in like he owned the place. His suit was crisp, his hair perfectly styled, but his expression was anything but calm. His eyes burned as he shut the door behind him with a forceful click. “What the hell is wrong with you, Amira?” he spat, stepping toward her desk. Amir

Yanov’s smirk lingered in the air long after his words had fallen still. He leaned comfortably into the couch as though the Mansion were his, and not Montez’s domain. Montez didn’t flinch or show the unease that flickered deep inside. He had learned long ago that men like Yanov thrived on fear. “Then stay,” Montez said coolly, his tone even but heavy. “The city will no doubt benefit from your presence, Sergei.” Yanov chuckled, his sharp eyes gleaming. “Generous as always, Montez. I will be around for a few days. Business, pleasure, perhaps both.” His gaze flicked toward Amira, lingering on her in a way that made her skin crawl. Amira felt the weight of that stare like oil dripping down her spine. She gripped the strap of her bag tightly and forced herself to move. “I’ll… go freshen up,” she muttered, her voice tight. Without waiting for permission, she hurried past the men and vanished down the hall.

The morning sunlight spilled into the dining hall, painting the polished mahogany table in a soft golden glow. Silverware clinked against fine china, and the faint scent of coffee curled in the air. Amira sat stiffly across from Montez, her fork trembling faintly in her hand as she picked at her eggs. She could barely swallow a bite, her stomach twisted into painful knots. Every sound seemed too loud, every silence too heavy. Montez sat with his back straight, movements precise and calm, though his eyes were hard. He buttered a slice of toast slowly, his mind elsewhere, his jaw flexing from time to time as though he were restraining himself. Neither spoke for several minutes, the air between them thick with the words that had gone unsaid since last night. The heavy doors creaked open. Yanov Sergei entered, his usual arrogance dimmed. His limp was obvious as he crossed the