บททั้งหมดของ Wounded Rose of Garden Metro: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

Elara awoke to the soft light of dawn filtering through her curtains, painting the room in shades of gold and muted gray. For the first time in what felt like forever, her sleep had not been punctured by nightmares or shadows that chased her through the dark. Instead, she had drifted into a deep, quiet rest, as though her mind had finally loosened its grip on the endless cycle of fear.She lay there for several minutes, listening to the faint hum of the city beyond the estate walls, the distant murmur of traffic beginning to stir. It was a strange sensation— waking without dread sitting heavily on her chest. A fragile sense of peace lingered, so delicate that she almost didn’t want to move, afraid it would scatter like mist.Eventually, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. The weight of yesterday lingered in her body, but not in the suffocating way she expected. Instead, it felt like proof— a reminder that she had faced something terrifying and had come through the other side intact.When sh

The morning light spilled across Garden Metro, catching on the tall windows of the Marino estate. Elara rose earlier than usual, her sleep shallow and broken. Though the memory of the wilted rose still lingered, it was not the words on the paper that had kept her awake—it was her own reaction.For the first time, she hadn’t broken apart. She had faced Cassidy’s cruel reminder and, though shaken, had refused to let it define her. The realization was like a small ember glowing inside her. Fragile, yes—but it was hers, and she couldn’t let it die out.Elara dressed slowly, her mind heavy with thoughts. She couldn’t simply wait for Cassidy to strike again. Hiding behind Vincent and his people forever felt like another form of weakness. She needed to do something, anything, that would allow her to stand on her own two feet when the next storm came.Lena found her in the kitchen, absently stirring a cup of tea she hadn’t touched. The older woman tilted her head, studying her with keen eyes

By the end of her first week, Elara’s body was a battlefield of aches and bruises. Her knuckles were tender despite the wraps Vincent had taught her to use, her shoulders ached from drills, and her legs felt like stone every morning.Yet something inside her kept urging her forward. The pain no longer felt like punishment — it felt like proof. Every bruise was a mark of effort, every ache a reminder that she had chosen to face her fear instead of hiding from it.But today was different. Today Vincent had said one word that made her stomach twist with both dread and anticipation: sparring.When she entered the training room, the air was thick with tension. Vincent stood by the wall, arms crossed, watching as Damien wrapped his hands, the smirk on his face sharper than usual.“So, the rose gets to bleed today,” Damien said. His tone was mocking, but there was an edge to it — almost like he wanted her to succeed just so he could push harder.Elara swallowed, trying to ignore the thunderi

Cassidy Quinn had never tolerated failure, least of all her own.Her penthouse office was a world of glass and steel, perched so high above Garden Metro that the city seemed like a miniature kingdom beneath her gaze. The skyline glittered as it always did, neon and gold and restless, but tonight it wasn’t enough to soothe her.She sat at her blackwood desk, back straight, a glass of deep red wine untouched beside her. A stack of files lay open before her — contracts, bank records, shareholder agreements — and she flipped through them with the precision of a surgeon preparing for an operation. Each page was a potential weapon.Her reflection on the glass wall stared back at her: flawless makeup, sharp eyes, the perfect queen. But behind her reflection lurked another shadow — the image of Elara Quinn, standing tall at the gala, turning humiliation into a declaration.Cassidy’s lips curled. Not again.She began with what she knew best: money.Money was the lifeblood of Garden Metro. It b

Morning broke over Garden Metro with a pale, gray light. For most of the city, it was another day of routine — taxis honking in traffic, vendors opening their stalls, and businessmen rushing into towers of glass and steel.But in certain corners — the ones that truly mattered — whispers had already begun.Cassidy Quinn woke before dawn, her routine precise as always. She padded across her penthouse in silk, poured herself black coffee, and stood before the enormous window as the city stretched awake beneath her. In her other hand, she held her phone, scrolling through the overnight updates she had anticipated with the patience of a hunter waiting for prey to step into the snare.Her first smile of the morning came quickly.A council aide had forwarded notes from a closed-door meeting: Councilman Harris had presented the first fragments of “evidence.” Nothing public yet, but murmurs had already reached two other council members. The phrase in the notes made her smirk — “credible concer