All Chapters of The Price Of Her Mercy: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

MIRAThe drive down home from the airport is quiet. Jackson knows not to talk about anything in Paris and I act accordingly. My whole body glues to the chair. My head kissing the window slowly watching the road as Jerry drives home. The mansion looks different now. It looked different when I worked as a stable girl. It looked different when I owned it and it looks different now that the court has pronounced us Co-owners. The mansion greets us with silence. The lights hums and the air smells faintly of vanilla and dry wood. But everything feels… unfamiliar and neatly rearranged. Too bright in some corners, too dim in others.Jerry and Jackson both walk ahead of me through the entrance, I follow, keys dangling from my right hand, the mini duffel bag on my left.“This is your home too now,” I whisper to Jackson as I pass him through through the stairs moving up to Nora's room. The words should have warmed me. They didn’t. I move my fingers along the bannister. Maybe I am happy to be ho

MIRAIt’s strange how power changes the air in a room.Months after the ruling, after courts and police stations and hospital corridors, I’m sitting in a glass conference room high above the city, staring at a stack of documents thicker than any textbook I ever held in school.The estate lawyers call it “the unification.” I call it the end of an era. And maybe, if I’m brave enough, the beginning of another. Jackson sits beside me, his recovery slow but steady. His arm rests on the table, long fingers tapping lightly, betraying nerves he’ll never admit to. He hasn’t shaved this morning; a shadow of stubble darkens his jaw. He looks… softer. Human. A man remade from rubble.Across from us, an army of board members watches like hawks. Their suits are sharp. Their expressions sharper. To them, I’m a miracle that arrived in dirty boots.To them, I’m also a threat. The lead lawyer slides the final document toward me.“Nora’s Holdings,” he says. “A consolidated trust. Both estates, all prope

MIRAWe finish dinner with extra careful neutrality, discussing Europe, the logistics of merging teams, and cultural strategy. He's brilliant, I can’t deny that. He thinks in out of the box arcs and moves in unpredictable ways, and sometimes his expressions are unreadable. He’s mastered stoicism, and for the first time in months, I feel intellectually challenged, pushed, even slightly inspired. But, also studied and watched too closely.When we stand to leave, he helps me with my coat. The gesture is old-fashioned, too gentlemanly. Almost as if he’s trying to impress me, or get to my ‘best side’. But when his hand brushes my shoulder, a chill runs down my spine, not because of attraction, but because he feels like someone who always has one intention hidden beneath another.Like words beneath words and plots hidden beneath each other. Outside, the night is cold enough to burn my lungs. It’s unfair to judge this book by its cover, but Damian doesn’t exactly look like an apple that

JACKSONThe first sign wasn't the headline. It was the silence. Silence in our bedroom. It stretches between us like a coastline I don't know how to navigate anymore. Silence in the kitchen where Mira used to hum while checking emails on her tablet. Silence in the car when we drop Nora off at school. Her new bodyguard trails behind us now. But the headline makes the silence impossible to ignore.THE POWER COUPLE AT WAR: JACKSON MELIŚ LOSES THREE MAJOR CONTRACTS TO WIFE’S RISING EMPIREI stare at the news alert on my phone. I'm sitting at a red light. My hands tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. Beside me, Nora sits with her backpack on her lap. She's tapping quietly on a small coding device Jerry bought her.She doesn't look up. She doesn't have to. She already feels the tension. Even before the world printed it."Dad," she whispers. "Are you and mom fighting?"I swallow."No. Just… adjusting."Nora doesn't believe me. I see it in the quick, sharp glance she g

MIRAThe world has a strange way of folding itself beneath my feet these days. Three years ago, I was running a restaurant kitchen with pans and a prayer. Three years ago, I was fighting for my life, my name, and my marriage, until I signed a contract that changed the trajectory of my entire existence.And now? I’m standing on the observation deck of the Burj Khalifa, watching Dubai glitter like a circuitry board made of gold. The desert wind brushes my hair back as I stare at the city stretching beyond the glass, modern, impossible, ambitious. a place built on grit and sand and the audacity to dream. In a strange way, it felt like looking at a mirror. Behind me, my assistant, Lily, spoke softly. “Mira… the car is downstairs.”I exhale, nodding. She didn’t say you’ll do great or they already love you. She didn’t need to. This summit, this moment, isn’t about being loved, It’s about being seen because for the first time in my life, I’m not standing beside someone else’s legacy. I’m s