Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 121 - Chapitre 130

The second round has begun.The announcement echoed through the hall like a bell tolling fate.I quickly stood up, my chair scraping softly against the polished floor as I followed my assistant. The noise around me swelled—chairs moving, heels clicking, hushed murmurs rising as competitors prepared themselves. My heart pounded harder than I wanted it to.I turned briefly before walking away.Behind me, I heard a familiar, cold voice.“Boss, it seems that it’s time for a meeting.”“I’ll stay,” Vincent replied.I didn’t turn again.Walking back into the competition space, my shoulders felt heavier with every step. The atmosphere inside was different now—thicker, sharper. This was no longer admiration and curiosity. This was war.I climbed up alongside the other competitors, the elevated platform feeling suddenly too exposed. We sat down in our arranged chairs, each seat carefully positioned, each table aligned with military precision.I exhaled slowly.Something wasn’t right.I could f

The silence after time was deafening.Not loud. Not sudden. Just heavy. Like the room had been emptied of oxygen without warning. One moment there had been movement everywhere, fingers racing across glass, quiet curses under people’s breath, that frantic energy right before the end. Then it stopped. Completely.I didn’t move.My hands hovered above the iPad, fingers stiff, half-curled, as if my body still believed I had a few more seconds. One more adjustment. One more line. One more detail that could somehow make everything… acceptable.My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was hitting my ribs from the inside. I could hear it. Feel it in my ears, my throat.The design stared back at me.It was bare. Too bare.Simple in a way that didn’t feel elegant, just exposed. Almost harsh.This wasn’t what I had planned. It wasn’t what I had practiced in my head night after night, replaying the design until I could see it with my eyes closed. That version had layers, depth, intention car

“Mr. Markson, do you have anything to say to Alex?”Louis’s voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk. It was calm, polite even, but I knew Louis well enough to hear the warning underneath. He did not speak unless he was already prepared for consequences.I stood between the two men, my fingers curling slightly into the fabric of my coat. The hallway felt too narrow, the air too tight, like the walls were listening.I looked from Louis to Vincent.Two very different men.One all warmth hidden behind humor, loyalty disguised as carelessness. The other sharp edges and silence, a presence that bent the atmosphere without raising his voice.Vincent did not answer immediately.His eyes rested on Louis, unreadable, cold, patient. The kind of patience that came from knowing the world usually moved aside when he asked it to.“Why don’t you leave with your fiancée?” Louis asked again, his tone still light, almost conversational.My heart skipped.“Louis,” I called quietly, instin

It was already 4 p.m. when we got to the cemetery.The car slowed as it turned onto the narrow road that led inside, the tires crunching softly over gravel. The world outside the window seemed muted, like someone had lowered the volume of life. The sky hung low, washed in pale gray, neither bright nor dark, as if it too was undecided on how to feel.I stepped out of the car slowly.The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of earth and old stone. The cemetery stretched quietly before me, rows of headstones standing in solemn stillness. There was no wind strong enough to disturb the peace, no loud sounds, only silence layered upon silence.I walked ahead alone.Each step felt heavier than the last, my heels sinking slightly into the soft ground. I did not rush. I never did when I came here. This place demanded patience. Respect.I stopped in front of a small tombstone.It was simple. Almost painfully so.No grand carving. No elaborate sculpture. Just a name, dates, and the weight of e

Ms. Alice, the dress has been prepared already.That was the first thing I heard that morning, the voice cutting gently into my sleep, like someone knocking softly on a door they were not sure they were allowed to open. My eyes fluttered open slowly, my head heavy, my thoughts tangled and slow, like they were wading through thick water.My assistant entered the villa with groceries, her arms full, paper bags rustling as she moved toward the kitchen like she had done this a thousand times before. The familiar sound grounded me a little. Morning light streamed through the tall windows, pale and quiet, touching the white walls and polished floors. It felt too clean for how I felt inside.“Merry Christmas, Mary Jane,” I said, my voice rough as I flopped back onto the sofa, letting my body sink into the cushions.My head was still buzzing from the wine I took last night. Not a sharp hangover, but a dull, persistent ache, like a reminder I could not shake off. My mouth felt dry. My eyes bur