All Chapters of The Price Of Her Mercy: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

MIRATo the world, strength is loud, but not to me. Today, as I stand in front of a mirror while the stylists fuss over my hair and Jackson tries to button his cuffs with hands that keep trembling, I realize that strength is silent, it’s like a pulse beneath bruises, and a breath between nightmares. Jackson catches my reflection in the mirror.“Mira.. you’re shaking,” he says softly.I don't deny it. “So are you.”He gives a tired, cracked smile that still manages to warm me. “I guess we’re a matching set, then.”I step closer and button his cuffs for him, my fingers steady while my heart isn’t. The fabric is smooth, expensive, and yet the man inside it looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. And after all that happened in the mansion, neither have I.The memory of the rose on my pillow lingers like cold fingers at the back of my neck. The image of the shadow standing over my bed still wakes me at night. Jackson holds me every time, whispering I'm here, I'm here, like it’s a prayer. We

JACKSONIt's dawn already, and the storm has started. Gray clouds press low against the horizon. The kind of sky that feels like it's waiting to break. I don't sleep, and neither does Mira. Sleep is now a luxury we can barely afford.She sits at the edge of the bed with her elbows on her knees, and her fingers threaded in her hair like she's holding her thoughts in place. I watch her from the doorway, and my chest tightens. She hasn't said a word in hours.The half-burned photo still lies on the dresser between us. Aurora and Mira's father standing together like they belong in the same frame, like they shared a special father-and-daughter moment.The longer Mira stares at it, the more she seems to fall inward."Hun, please say something," I whisper.She doesn't turn."I wish I…I don't know what to say." She exhales.The storm cracks open with thunder and It shakes the window. She finally lifts her head. Her eyes look hollow, they look haunted by things she's trying to piece together.

MIRAJackson and I race up to the attic, and some security follow behind, it's their job, but they're not as curious as both of us. There, we find traces of someone living there. They're blankets, some stolen food items, a broken burner, a small laptop she uses to monitor the house. Among those is an envelope addressed to me in a handwriting I don't recognize. The name on it is Aurora Mckurkin. The security searches the place for anything that can tell us the exact identity of the rat in the roof. They find strands of hair on the blankets and take it in a box to check for the DNA of the person who had been living in the attic."Here," I yell, pulling out strands of my hair. Scan to see if they match. “Ma’am…we’re not sure that’s a..” “Do it. Please.”“Okay ma'am, we'll let you know when it’s ready. Jackson shoots a surprise look at me, but I needed to be sure. I nod slightly, and moved down the attic stairs. The paper trembles in my hands. DNA doesn’t care about lies. It doesn't

MIRAI reach for the file. Inside are documents, contracts, old correspondence, unfamiliar signatures stamped with organizations I don’t recognize, and yet I feel their shadow instantly. Shell companies layered on top of bigger shell companies,financial manipulation, incentive payments, legal edges sharpened to wound from first slice.My father’s name appears in some places not as the instigator, but as a piece on a board and so does Jackson's father’s name. Both of them tied to a quiet, faceless consortium operating beneath the surface of government, banking, and private acquisition. In other words, they were a part of the third party organization.“They didn’t just pit our families against each other,” Aurora says. “They orchestrated the war, they fueled the hatred, every loss, every betrayal, every rumor… was a carefully planned strategy, not coincidence.”I turn the pages slowly, letters that were never sent, emails altered and re-sent through anonymous servers, bank transfers ro

JERRYNew York hits me the second I step out of the cab. First with the noise of busy people going about their business, then the smell of cold breeze, dust, and luxury, then cold air cutting through my jacket. Horns scream, and people move like they have somewhere to be even if most of them don’t. The city doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve survived. It just keeps going. I respect that.Mabel, my love waits near the entrance of her building, phone in hand, coat half buttoned like she ran down without thinking. When she sees me, her whole face shifts into the warmest smile I’ve seen in a while. Without hesitation, she walks straight into me and wraps her arms around my neck.“Hello to my favorite investigator,” I mutter, kisses pouring on her neck.“You look tired,” she says into my collar.“Yeah? You should see the other guy,” I answer, a small laugh escapes her, soft and real.Her apartment is warm. Really clean as usual, but lived in. There's a half folded blanket on the couc