Todos los capítulos de The Final Goodbye : Capítulo 121 - Capítulo 130

Emilia could barely sleep through the night. Even after handing everything she and James found during their investigation, to Inspector Dennis, her mind refused to settle. The relief she expected never came. If anything, the weight on her chest doubled. She kept pacing her apartment, checking the locks, checking her phone, replaying every moment of the past few days.Her boss’ safety was all she could think about. Amara, alone in London, surrounded by strangers, cameras everywhere, people everywhere and somewhere among those people, a murderer was possibly watching her. Roland. A man dangerous enough to kill without hesitation.Emilia pressed her palms against her forehead, exhaling shakily. “God, please keep her safe,” she whispered. The tension in her voice was enough to break her.At 7 a.m., she made the same mistake she’d made almost every morning since Amara travelled. She called. Not to report anything, not to demand anything, just to hear her voice. Just to feel assured.Am

Amara returned to New York with a kind of silence that even the airport lights could not soften. She stepped out of the arrival gate without waiting for anyone, her black coat wrapped tightly around her body as if the fabric alone could hold her together. Her driver hurried to take her luggage, but she waved him off and moved quickly toward the exit. She didn't want questions. She did not want pity. She didn't want a single reminder of London.Especially not the reminder that Alex had been only a few doors away from her for days.She rode back to her office in the company car, staring through the tinted window, lost in the restless noise inside her chest. When she finally reached the building, her security team escorted her straight to the boardroom. The directors were already waiting. Their files were open, projections neatly placed, faces rehearsed with corporate confidence. Yet, from the moment Amara walked in, they read her like an open page.She greeted them with quiet firm

Roland slipped into New York the same way a stain slides into clean water—quiet, unnoticed, and poisoning everything beneath the surface. He chose a shabby motel just outside the city, the kind where no one asked for real identification and the receptionist barely looked up when guests walked in smelling of danger. His room was on the second floor, overlooking a flickering neon sign that buzzed like an insect trapped behind glass.He threw his fake passport on the bed, sat at the edge, and wiped the sweat off his face. The city felt tight, crawling with police presence. Too many patrol cars. Too many checkpoints. Too many eyes.He’d already sent Alex the coded message: "I'm here."Hours passed. The motel walls hummed with the noise of distant traffic, but Roland stayed still, staring at the door like he expected someone to burst through it.Then his phone vibrated.A single message: “Tonight. 1:45 a.m. Dock 19.”He shut the phone, pocketed it, and walked out into the night.*******

Inspector Dennis stood with his arms folded as two of his officers finished setting up the portable surveillance feed inside the unmarked sedan. Their breath fogged the air—New York’s night breeze carried that sharpness that always made people glance over their shoulders. But tonight, Dennis wasn’t relying on instincts; he had movement, timing, and patterns mapped out across neighborhood screens.Roland’s rented black Nissan had been found parked three blocks from Amara’s gated home. The officers traced it earlier in the evening, stopping short of confrontation so the target wouldn’t sense them. Now, hidden cameras blinked quietly, watching the walkway, the street lamps, the corner house, and every car that slowed down suspiciously.“He’ll circle back,” Dennis muttered, shifting his jaw slightly as he leaned forward to study the monitor again. “He always returns to observe before he strikes.”One of the officers, Lopez, nodded quietly. “You think he’s looking for the woman?”“Oh,

Adaobi had barely allowed Amara a moment to settle before she started pacing the length of the living room, anger and fear woven into every step she took. Her voice trembled, not with weakness, but with the kind of frustration that comes from watching someone you love walk straight into danger.“You can’t keep quiet about this, Amara. You can’t,” Adaobi said, her arms folded tight across her chest. “This is not something you hide. Threats? Anonymous calls? Flowers with no names? Pictures of Martins’ car? This is serious.”Amara sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on her knees, palms pressed against her forehead. She looked wrung out, like every beat of her heart carried exhaustion. "I just… I don’t want to go through that cycle again. Report something, wait for the news channels to twist it, see people online speculating about me, questioning me, pitying me. Adaobi, I don’t have the strength for that again.”Adaobi stopped pacing. “This is not about the media. This is about your l