Semua Bab Married Twice, Loved Once : Bab 151 - Bab 160

3:45 AM. Private Hangar, Kendall road.The black sedan moved through the empty streets like a phantom, gliding past the sleeping city, past the mainland bridges, and turning onto a restricted access road near the airport.Inside the car, Sophia sat on the edge of the leather seat, her hands clutching her trash bag of clothes. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, but the panic was slowly being replaced by a dizzying sense of relief.She looked at the partition separating her from the driver.“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice small. “Where are we going? Is it the Airport?”Silence.“Please,” she pressed, leaning forward. “I just need to know if I’m safe. Does Damian know I’m leaving?”The driver didn’t turn around. He simply tapped a button on the dashboard. A prerecorded voice filled the cabin—synthesized, distorted, impossible to identify.“Sit back. Silence is the price of your survival.”Sophia shrank back against the seat. The voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she

Unknown Time. Unknown Location.Sophia woke up to the smell of sea salt and lemon antiseptic.Her head felt like it had been split open with an axe. The grogginess from the champagne was gone, replaced by a sharp, throbbing dehydration.She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the blinding brightness of the room.It wasn’t a dungeon. It wasn’t a cell.It was a suite.The walls were painted a soothing, creamy white. The floors were polished travertine. There was a plush king-sized bed with high-thread-count linens, a mahogany writing desk, and a vase of fresh white lilies on the nightstand.Sophia sat up, clutching her head. Where am I? London? Paris?She swung her legs off the bed. She was still wearing the clothes she had fled the motel in—wrinkled jeans and a stained t-shirt.She walked to the door. It was a heavy, solid wood door with a brass handle.She turned the handle.Locked.Sophia frowned. Maybe they locked it for my safety?She knocked. “Hello? Is anyone there? I’m awake.”Silenc

2:15 PM. St. Nicholas Hospital, ICU.The rhythmic whoosh-click of the ventilator was the only sound in the dimly lit room.Aria locked the door behind her with a soft click. She moved with the efficiency of an assassin, placing her Chanel purse on the chair and retrieving the vial of muscle relaxant she had stolen from Damian.She held it up to the light. Clear. Lethal.She walked to the bedside. Vivienne looked pale, her skin almost translucent against the white sheets. The bruises on her face had turned a sickly shade of yellow-green."I didn't want it to end this way, Viv," Aria whispered, uncapping the syringe she had swiped from the tray. "But you’re a loose end. And I don’t like loose ends."She drew the liquid into the syringe. She flicked the barrel to remove the air bubbles.She reached for the IV port on Vivienne’s arm.She was inches away—the needle hovering over the rubber stopper—when the rhythm of the room changed.The whoosh-click of the ventilator hitched.Aria froze.

Wednesday, 2:30 PM (Local Time). Location Zero.The Atlantic Ocean was calm today, a flat sheet of turquoise glass stretching to the horizon. But inside the white concrete walls of The Sanctuary, the air was suffocating.Sophia sat in the common room a sterile, high-end lounge with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of her prison. She was wearing the facility's uniform: loose white linen pants and a matching tunic. No shoes.She was curled up on a beige sofa, her eyes glued to the large wall-mounted television.It was the only channel allowed: Global News.On the screen, the chaos of New York City played out in high definition.Sophia watched as the NYPD van doors opened. She watched as Selene stumbled out in the orange jumpsuit, the chains rattling around her waist.Sophia’s hand flew to her mouth.“Selene,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.She saw her former partner, the woman she had conspired with, laughed with, plotted with reduced to a weeping mess.Th

8:30 PM. The Cross Mansion Aria stormed through the front door, tossing her Chanel bag onto the foyer table with enough force to knock over a small vase. It didn’t break, but the clatter echoed sharply in the quiet apartment.Damian was in the living room, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. He looked up, his expression unreadable, as Aria paced into the room, her heels striking the marble floor like hammers.“She locked the door, Damian!” Aria exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “She actually locked the door in my face. Her own daughter!”Damian set his glass down. “Your mother?”“Yes! My mother!” Aria paced to the window and back, her chest heaving. “I went there to bring soup. To be kind. And she looked at me like… like I was a stranger. She wouldn’t let me near the bed. She put a chair in front of the door like a guard dog.”She grabbed a glass from the bar cart and poured herself a drink, her hands shaking slightly not from sadness, but from the sheer frustration of having her plans thw