All Chapters of Until I Wrote Him : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Chapter 92 Roman's POV Night had settled over the yacht like a velvet curtain, thick and quiet, broken only by the low hum of generators and the distant lap of waves against the hull.The newly fixed railings gleamed in the moonlight, smooth lines of polished steel catching silver reflections from the water below. They looked untouched, reborn, as if the attack had never happened.I rested my palms against the cool metal, phone in hand, its harsh white glow cutting through the darkness.Notifications spilled across the screen in relentless succession, a financial anomaly flagged by my system, movement on the island’s east perimeter, an encrypted update from Enzo all demandingI typed furiously.Short. Efficient. Surgical responses that shut down problems before they grew teeth.My thumbs moved fast, commands firing off like bullets.Re-route the funds.Double security on the west dock.Tell the engineer the reinforcement is still in

Chapter 94 Roman's POV The Gulfstream G650 touched down on the private airstrip in Teterboro with a jolt that rattled my teeth, a stark contrast to the fluid, dreamlike haze I had been living in for the past forty-eight hours. Rain lashed against the reinforced glass of the porthole. New York was weeping. Gray, miserable, and cold. It was a fitting welcome. I unbuckled my seatbelt, the click sounding like a gunshot in the pressurized silence of the cabin. My body was here, encased in a bespoke Italian suit, prepared for war. But my mind? My mind was still two thousand miles away, drifting on a turquoise tide in the Exumas. India. The name was a heavy stone in my gut. Leaving her had been the hardest thing I had ever done. Harder than building an empire from the ashes of my father’s failures. Harder than pulling the trigger the first time I had to kill a man to save my mother I checked my watch. 10:45 AM. She would be awake by now. She would have reached across the

Chapter 96 Roman’s POVThe darkness was the first thing to greet me, followed closely by a pounding, skull-splitting ache that felt like my brain was trying to escape my cranium. My eyes flickered open, but there was little to see beyond the rough, damp concrete that seemed to swim into focus beneath me.Concrete.Not the polished teak of the Imperia. Not the silk sheets of my stateroom.A low, guttural sound escaped my throat, a mix of confusion and pain. I tried to move my arms, but a searing pressure immediately radiated from my shoulders down to my fingertips. My wrists were shackled, the cold, unforgiving metal biting into my skin, and the chains stretched taut above me, hoisting my weight until only the tips of my boots brushed the floor. I was dangling, crucified by circumstance and cheap industrial hardware.*The plan.* The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow, worse than the impact that had knocked me unconscious.The ambush. The attack. The chaos that erupted

Chapter 98 Roman's POV The residual ringing in my ears was a small price to pay for freedom.The chain on my right wrist, shorn by the blast from the suppressed muzzle pressed against it, swung loosely. Rory had simultaneously pulled a similar, albeit less elegant, maneuver on the bolt attaching her chains to the wall, a sharp, high-speed yank on the remaining fixed chain, timed with the gunshot. The rusty hardware had snapped, sending her sprawling, but freeing her hands.“Well, darling, that was certainly a bang for our buck,” Rory gasped, already rolling to her feet.I didn’t dignify the comment. The urgency was a cold blade in my gut. “Move. Now.”We scrambled away from the makeshift execution chamber, the cold, damp concrete floor slick beneath my boots. The tunnel leading out of the cistern was narrow and poorly lit, but we moved with the practiced synchronization of two people who had relied on each other in tight spa

Chapter 100Roman's POVThe room was a suffocating pressure cooker of stale air and barely suppressed violence. The raw scent of fear was palpable and it wasn't mine. It was Mikhail's, masked poorly by bluster, and Ethan's, brittle and radiating from the pit of his stomach.After shooting Rory, they had cuffed us down again.I was cuffed to a bolted-down chair in the center of the warehouse office, but I was not a prisoner, I was the bait, and the lure was working. The truth was, my meticulous plan hadn't failed because of some tactical error; it failed because I relied on predictable greed, and Mikhail knew exactly where to inject the poison of distrust. Ethan was the weak link, but the weakness was amplified by Mikhail's superior ability to turn a mole into a double agent."You really think you're safe, Ethan?" Mikhail spat, his Russian heavily accented, pacing the room like a caged beast. He hadn't touched me yet, not truly. He was savoring the victory, but the victory tasted of