All Chapters of Until I Wrote Him : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Chapter 101India's POV The silence that followed my outburst was the heaviest thing I had ever felt. It wasn't the dead silence of an empty room, but the pregnant, dangerous silence of a powerful predator deciding its next move. My hands were still anchored on Kristov’s polished obsidian desk, my knuckles white, my lungs burning from the sheer violence of my scream. I was shaking, less from fear now and more from the aftershock of uncontrolled emotion.I watched Kristov. The old man hadn't moved a muscle. The unreadable scrutiny in his eyes deepened, shifting from dismissiveness to a piercing, almost unsettling interest. He wasn't seeing a scared woman; he was calculating.He was looking for the variable in the equation.“Krasivyy…Beautiful,” Kristov murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that cut through the air. He leaned back in his leather chair, the sound of the expensive material a soft thud. “And untamed. You remind me of Roman’s mother, before the cold set in.”He t

Chapter 103India’s POVNew York didn’t welcome us with lights or promise.It welcomed us with sirens.The moment the jet’s wheels kissed the runway, everything fractured into urgency. Voices sharpened. Movements became clipped, efficient, almost brutal in their precision. Rory was transferred before I could even process that we had landed before my heart could catch up with my body.I followed the stretcher down the corridor like a ghost tethered to a nightmare, my fingers numb, my chest hollow. Her face was pale against the white sheets, lashes resting too still on bruised skin. I kept telling myself she was breathing. I kept counting it. One. Two. Three. As if stopping would make her disappear.The hospital swallowed us whole.Cold light. White walls. The antiseptic smell that clung to your throat and refused to let go. Doctors spoke in calm, terrifying competence. “Severe trauma.” “Internal bleeding ruled out, but…” “We need scans immediately.”I signed forms with a hand th

Chapter 105India’s POVMorning didn’t feel fragile anymore.It felt… possible.Guillermo’s small hand was warm in mine as we walked up the steps of his school, his backpack bouncing against his spine with every reluctant step. His lower lip trembled, eyes glossy, still shaken from everything that had happened to his mother.Roman told him last night and as a kid, he was worried sick.“I don’t want to go,” he said softly.“I know, Guille.” I crouched in front of him, smoothing his hair back. “But you’re very brave. And brave boys get rewards.”His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kind?”“An irresponsible amount of candy,” I whispered. “The kind your mom would pretend not to notice.”That earned me a smile. A small one but real.“And no tantrums?” I added.He nodded solemnly. “Promise.”I kissed his forehead and watched him disappear into the building, my chest tightening and loosening all at once.Alive.Rory was alive. Guillermo was safe. Roman had finally told me the truth.And

Chapter 107India’s POVI don’t remember how I left Roman’s building.I remember the elevator doors closing.I remember the mirror, my face pale, eyes too bright, lips pressed together like they were the only thing holding me upright.I remember breathing like it was something I had to relearn.In.Out.Don’t fall apart here.By the time the car pulled away from the curb, the city blurred into color and motion, and my chest finally caved in on itself.I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and let the tears come, silent, furious, relentless. The kind that didn’t ask permission. The kind that felt like grief tearing its way out through my ribs.I hadn’t screamed.I hadn’t thrown anything.I hadn’t even said the things burning my tongue.I’d just… left.And somehow that felt worse.The office lights were already on when I arrived, the familiar hum of productivity buzzing around me like a cruel joke. My world had just imploded, and everyone else was still replying to emails, still arg

Chapter 109India’s POVThe first thing I noticed wasn’t dramatic.It wasn’t vomiting or tears or some movie-perfect moment of realization.It was the way Kelly flinched when she took off her bra.We were getting ready for bed, if you could call collapsing onto opposite sides of my apartment “getting ready.” The living room light was dim, the city outside reduced to a low hum, and Kelly stood near the bathroom door, wincing as she unclasped.“Everything okay?” I asked, absently scrolling through my phone.She nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just sore.”I looked up.“Sore how?”She shrugged, avoiding my eyes. “Just… sensitive. Probably stress.”Stress.The universal excuse for everything that didn’t want to be examined too closely.I didn’t push. Not then.But my brain filed it away.The second thing was the nausea.Kelly had always been iron-stomached. She was the woman who could down espresso on an empty stomach and still argue coherently about tax policy. The woman who once ate street