All Chapters of His innocent weakness : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Mixed point of View The mansion was quiet that evening, too quiet. Missy had spent most of the day replaying the ambush in her mind the gunshots, the heat of adrenaline, and the way Dimitri had appeared in the chaos like a shadow moving through fire. He had saved her. She knew that much. But whether it had been by chance, by design, or as part of a larger game, she couldn’t decide.Mark paced the room, his agitation sharp as knives. “We shouldn’t have trusted that route,” he muttered. “Father sent us to observe, not to almost die.” He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes snapping to Missy. “And you stop looking like you owe him something. Dimitri’s not a hero, Missy. He’s a rival, and rivals don’t save without a price.”Missy leaned against the window, her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “I don’t trust him, Mark. But I can’t ignore what happened. He didn’t pull a gun on me. He fought beside me.”“That’s exactly what makes him dangerous,” Mark hissed.The knock came be

Mark’s POV I could tell the difference in my sister’s eyes.Missy had always been transparent to me too transparent for the kind of world we lived in. I used to tease her about it, telling her that one day her softness would get her in trouble, that one wrong smile could give someone all the leverage they needed. She’d roll her eyes, call me paranoid, then go right back to daydreaming about her books or whatever else was safer than the life we were born into.But lately she wasn’t the same.I noticed it first in the way she lingered by the window, staring at nothing for too long. Then in the way her answers grew shorter, like her mind was carrying on two conversations at once one with me, one with herself. After the ambush, that distraction only deepened. She looked shaken, yes, but also torn. Torn in a way that unsettled me.I didn’t like it.I didn’t like the way her shoulders tensed whenever I mentioned Dimitri.Dimitri.Even the sound of his name grated against my chest. The

Dimitri’s POVIt had been days since the warehouse meeting, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about her.Missy.Her name burned through me like whiskey. The way she held herself, even under the sharp weight of her father’s presence, had been intriguing. Most heirs cracked under the eyes of men like ours. They bent, they flinched, they tried too hard to prove they belonged. But not her. She stood tall, quiet, almost unreadable, except for the flicker in her gaze when I’d spoken to her directly. She tried to hide it, but I saw it. That moment of hesitation. That pulse of curiosity.And I wanted more of it.Which was dangerous.Because she wasn’t just another girl I could charm and discard. She was the daughter of a rival I wasn’t supposed to touch, the sister of a man who already hated me by blood. Every logical part of me knew I should have left her alone. Walk away. Forget her face. Focus on the war that was brewing between our families.But logic didn’t mean shit when it came to her

Dimitri's point of View I’ve always known my father didn’t trust me.It was there in the way he looked at me when I entered a room, his gaze sharp and measuring, as if he were waiting for me to prove him right that I was weak, that I would crack under pressure, that I wasn’t fit to carry the Dimitrov name. I had spent years masking every trace of doubt, every flicker of hesitation. But lately, I could feel the mask slipping.Because of her.Missy.I told myself she was just a distraction. A pawn in a larger game. Another piece on the board that my father wanted moved, manipulated, destroyed if necessary. But the more I saw her the fire in her eyes, the defiance that slipped through even when she tried to hide it the more I felt that noose tighten around my own neck.And my father noticed.He always noticed.At dinner the night before, he had leaned across the table, his voice calm but laced with threat.“The Montoyas are growing too bold. Their little princess Mark’s sister needs

POV: DimitriThe house never slept.Even when the lights dimmed and the corridors fell silent, the Dimitrov estate pulsed with the same quiet menace it always had. Guards at the gates, cameras on every wall, men with sharp eyes and sharper weapons stationed like statues in the shadows. It was less of a home and more of a prison built to remind me who I was the heir.The one chained to bloodlines, traditions, and a legacy I never asked for.My father’s presence weighed heavier than the walls themselves. Ivan Dimitrov. The man people feared even in whispers. To the world, he was a leader, ruthless and cunning, always ten steps ahead. To me, he was a tyrant. The kind of father who measured worth in scars and obedience.Tonight, his words still echoed in my head. “Weakness is death. And if you cannot carry this family, you will be buried by it.”I’d heard that line since I was a boy, beaten into me alongside fists and drills. Sometimes I think I stopped being a child the moment I could