Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 41 - Chapitre 50

Mira’s P.O.V The late afternoon sun spilled golden light through the French windows, casting long shadows across the living room. I sat curled into one corner of the cream-colored sofa, sipping chamomile tea more for comfort than taste. My mind kept drifting back to the conversation I’d overheard that morning—Luca’s voice low, sharp, speaking to someone named Marco. I hadn’t caught everything, but there had been an edge in his tone, the kind that came out when something—or someone—threatened control. I had been ready to ask him about it over lunch, but when I came downstairs, I found him in a tailored navy suit, a stark contrast to my loose maternity dress, holding a thick cream envelope in one hand. His expression shifted when he saw me. “Perfect timing,” he said, walking toward me. “I was going to bring this to you.” I set my tea on the coffee table. “What is it?” He handed me the envelope. The heavy cardstock bore the embossed insignia of the Manila Heritage Foundation—gol

Mira’s P.O.V The rain had stopped hours ago, but the scent of it lingered in the air—damp earth, cold wind, and that faint metallic taste that always seemed to come after a storm. It should’ve been calming. It should’ve been the kind of night that lulled me to sleep. But instead, my nerves were stretched thin, my heart restless. Luca wasn’t home yet. It was past midnight. The faint hum of the security lights outside was the only sound cutting through the silence of the mansion. I’d already changed into my robe, brushed my hair, and told myself a dozen times to stop pacing—but my feet wouldn’t listen. Every time I glanced at the clock, I counted the hours since he’d left. And every time, my mind went back to that look in his eyes when he stepped out tonight. Cold. Determined. Like he was going somewhere dangerous, somewhere I wasn’t supposed to follow. I hugged myself tighter. Manang Silva had gone to bed, but not before giving me that knowing glance again—the one that said she w

Mira’s P.O.V. The morning sun spilled gently across the mansion, golden and soft, contrasting sharply with the heaviness that had settled in my chest. After last night, after the anonymous package and the video I had seen, I felt restless, a mixture of fear and determination twisting through me. The baby stirred gently inside me, her tiny kicks a reminder that I wasn’t alone in this storm. I sat on the edge of the bed, absently rubbing my stomach, letting her movements guide my thoughts. Every detail of the security footage played repeatedly in my mind—the figure approaching Cassandra’s car, the way he moved, deliberate and careful. I knew it was Luca. I couldn’t deny it, no matter how much I wanted to. And yet… I also knew that jumping to conclusions wouldn’t help. I needed answers, clarity, and timing. Luca’s absence had become almost routine these days. He was always just beyond reach, moving in shadows, dealing with matters I couldn’t see. But today, something felt different

Mira's P.O.V The night pressed down like a weight, heavy and suffocating. Darkness clung to the corners of the De Silva mansion, filling the silent halls with an unsettling chill. Even the chandeliers above, usually warm and steady, flickered as though disturbed by some invisible presence. I sat in the study, the room awash in dim lamplight. Papers littered the desk before me... photographs, notes, printouts from weeks of obsessive research... and tucked away in the locked drawer was the newest USB drive. Its mere existence gnawed at me, a silent threat wrapped in steel and plastic. Whoever had sent it knew too much. Whoever had left it at my doorstep wanted me closer to the truth… but at what cost? My tea had long gone cold, untouched beside me. I cradled the cup anyway, more for the comfort of holding something than the drink itself. My mind replayed the moment from earlier... the faint outline of a figure outside the mansion, lingering, watching. I couldn’t shake the image. The

Mira’s P.O.V The air was heavy with the scent of the sea as we approached the pier. Waves crashed against the wooden posts below, sending sprays of saltwater up into the cool evening air. My hands instinctively rested over my stomach, feeling the small but persistent movements of our baby. Seven months along, every kick reminded me that I wasn’t just carrying my own fears...I was carrying a life that depended on me. I adjusted the long, flowy tunic I’d chosen for the evening, the soft fabric stretching over my bump. Underneath, I wore comfortable maternity leggings and low, sturdy flats...practical for moving quickly if needed, and much safer than any kind of fashion statement. Luca had noticed my outfit earlier, his eyebrows lifting in silent approval, but he didn’t comment. He never did. His eyes were always scanning, always calculating. The pier was dimly lit, the last rays of the sunset glinting off the water, but I could feel the tension in the air like a static charge. Luca’s