Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 201 - Chapitre 207

DARIUSMy lawyer's call comes through while I'm reviewing contracts in my office. The moment I see his name on the screen, my jaw tightens."Davies.""Darius." His voice is crisp, professional. "Lucas has been transferred to a maximum security facility upstate. His sentencing came through yesterday—thirty years, no possibility of parole for fifteen."The words should bring satisfaction. They don't. They just sit heavy in my chest."I thought you'd want to know," he continues when I don't respond. "You have the right to visit if you choose to."I should say no. Should let Lucas rot in whatever cell they've put him in without giving him the satisfaction of my presence."Set it up," I hear myself say.The facility is two hours north of the city, all concrete and razor wire and guards with expressions that suggest they've seen everything and been impressed by none of it. They process me through security with efficiency that borders on hostility, confiscate my phone and watch, make me walk

SERAI arrive at Darius's house at seven in the morning with Luna's backpack slung over my shoulder and my pulse doing weird things in my throat.The gate opens before I even reach for the call button. He's watching the security feed, which means he knows I'm here. Knows I'm sitting in my car in his driveway trying to work up the nerve to face him after last night.I grab Luna's bag and force myself out before I can chicken out and just leave it on the doorstep like some kind of coward.His housekeeper opens the door, her face giving away nothing as she steps aside as usual. "Ms. Jennings. Mr. Blackwood is in the kitchen.""Luna?""Still sleeping." She takes the backpack from my hands. "I'll put this in her room."The kitchen is flooded with morning light when I walk in, all those massive windows Darius loves showing off the manicured lawn and the pool beyond. He's standing at the island with a coffee mug in his hand, staring out at nothing in particular.And he's already dressed for

DARIUSThe past two weeks have been brutal.Between finalizing the partnership with Smith Corporation and trying to be present for Luna, I've barely slept more than four hours a night. My assistant keeps leaving increasingly concerned notes about the bags under my eyes. I ignore them.Because at the end of every exhausting day, I get to talk to Sera.Sometimes it's just ten minutes while she's between sound checks. Sometimes we stay on the phone for hours after Luna's asleep, talking about nothing and everything until one of us is too tired to form coherent sentences. Her voice has become the thing I look forward to most—the way she laughs when I tell her about Luna's latest scheme to avoid bedtime, the little sighs she makes when I catch her off guard with something honest.Worth it. All of it.Today she's supposed to come home. Tonight, actually. Her flight lands at six.But first, I have a meeting.The Smith Corporation conference room is all glass and steel, designed to intimidate

SERAI'm exhausted.Not the physical kind of tired that comes from performances and travel. This is deeper, bone-weary exhaustion that settles in when you realize your life has become public property.Being a Smith changes everything.The tour crew treats me differently now. There's a new distance in how people interact with me, like I've suddenly become someone who needs careful handling. The sound guy who used to joke around during rehearsals now calls me "Ms. Smith" with uncomfortable formality. My fellow performers ask questions that skirt around wanting to know if I'm rich, if I always knew, if this changes my career trajectory.I had to officially change my name. Legal documents, new contracts, updated credits on all my work. Sera Smith. It still doesn't feel real when I see it in print.The media won't let it die. Every day there's a new article dissecting my relationship with Monica, speculating about inheritance and family dynamics and whether this was all calculated for publ