บททั้งหมดของ Your Uncle, My True Love: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

Harry lifted his face slowly. His eyes met James’s gaze—calm, yet firm, like a line already drawn and never meant to be moved again.“I didn’t lie,” Harry said at last. His voice was low. “I just… didn’t tell everything.”James leaned back in his chair. One hand patted Ethan’s back gently, the boy already asleep again, his breathing steady against James’s chest. “That’s the dangerous definition,” James said. “Especially when what’s at stake isn’t only me.”Harry let out a long breath. “They came two weeks ago. Old contacts. Not to threaten. More like… to remind me. That I once played in that circle. That your name—as family—would always cling to me, no matter what you say.”“And what did you tell them?” James asked.“I said no,” Harry replied quickly. “I said this was different. I said I was building something of my own.”“But you let them believe my name could still be a cushion,” James cut in. His tone remained even, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. “That’s not a full re

James stood on the terrace longer than he realized. The porch light was still on, illuminating the small chair where Ethan had been sitting earlier—empty, neat, too neat. In his mind, fragments of events leapt and collided: Daniel’s message, Harry’s half-confession, the blood on the carpet, the altered funding decision. And now this—the house without Ethan.His hand shook as he grabbed his phone and dialed Harry’s number.The line rang. Once. Twice. No answer.“Pick up,” James muttered, his voice breaking. He tried again. Still nothing.Anger rose—not exploding, but creeping—cold, focused. James moved quickly into the living room, sweeping his gaze across the space, then into the kitchen, the guest room. Nothing. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, staring upward as if the boy might appear out of thin air.“I’m sorry, sir, but earlier Ethan was with Mr. Harry on the terrace,” the housekeeper explained, equally panicked.James turned and headed straight back to his car.Inside the ve

Night thickened slowly, wrapping the house in a silence that was no longer unfamiliar. James descended the stairs with careful steps, as if afraid the slightest sound might wake Ethan—or awaken emotions he hadn’t yet managed to tame. In the living room, dim lights cast long shadows along the walls. The stain on the carpet had been cleaned, but James knew better: some traces could not be erased with water and soap alone.He sat down, leaning back, finally allowing exhaustion to catch up with him. His thoughts drifted back to Daniel’s message. They’ve moved to another route. Which meant the pressure hadn’t stopped—it had merely changed direction. And every direction, sooner or later, would lead back to him.James closed his eyes. For the first time since that night, he allowed himself to feel fragile. Losing the baby wasn’t merely grief; it was a blow to the illusion of control he had built so carefully. He had always believed that with the right decisions and clear boundaries, everythi

The next morning arrived without thunder.No bad news interrupted breakfast, no urgent messages forced James to run. That, precisely, was what made him alert—the calm that felt like a held breath before something shifted.James left early. In the car, he replayed last night’s conversation in his head. Stains do not erase value.The sentence was not a defense; it was a foothold.He arrived at the office to find Daniel already waiting, a thin folder in hand.“There’s been movement,” Daniel said, opening it. “They met with second-circle partners yesterday afternoon. No agreement came out of it. There are conflicting interests.”James sat down. “What kind of conflict?”“Impatience,” Daniel replied. “They’re pushing a fast-track scheme. Too fast for people who are usually patient.”James nodded. “Which means they’re under pressure.”“Or they believe time is running out,” Daniel added.James allowed a faint smile. “Either way, it works in our favor—as long as we don’t react.”Daniel closed

The night had not fully deepened when James turned off the bedroom light and invited Emma down to the back terrace. A thin chill brushed their skin, carrying the scent of damp earth left behind by the afternoon rain. The small garden lights glowed softly yellow, just enough to cast gentle shadows across the wooden floor.“Let’s sit for a bit,” James said quietly.Emma agreed. She wore a light sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders. Fatigue still lingered on her face, but so did something new—a fragile calm, imperfect yet real.James took a small blanket from a chair and draped it over Emma’s shoulders. The gesture was simple, but careful.“You’re cold,” he said.“A little,” Emma replied with a faint smile. “Thank you.”They sat side by side, their shoulders touching. There was no need to speak. The wind moved softly through the leaves, like a breath being reset.“I made something,” James said suddenly. He stood, went briefly into the kitchen, then returned with two cups. Thin st