Goodbye, Mr. Wrong: The Heiress Returns의 모든 챕터: 챕터 141 - 챕터 150

Aria’s POVThe first thing I felt was cold.Not the sharp, biting kind—but the quiet kind that seeped into your bones, the kind that made you curl inward without realizing it. Then came the sound. A steady, rhythmic beeping that echoed somewhere far away, like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to me.I tried to move.My fingers twitched instead.My lashes fluttered, heavy as if they’d been glued shut, and when I finally managed to open my eyes, the world came into focus in fragments—white ceiling tiles, harsh lights, blurred shadows moving near my bed.I was still in the Hospital.The realization settled slowly, bringing with it a dull ache in my chest and a tightness in my throat.“Dad?”My voice came out weak. Too weak. It scared me.Almost instantly, a shape leaned over me, blocking out the light. Familiar eyes. Tired eyes. Eyes that looked like they hadn’t slept in days.“Aria,” Dad breathed, like saying my name was the only thing keeping him standing. His hand wrapped gently around

Sylvia’s POVThe house was too quiet when I got home.Not peaceful. Not calm. Quiet in the way a place gets when something is already rotting beneath the surface.I kicked off my heels near the door, the sound echoing louder than it should have. Bella followed me in, locking the door behind us like she expected someone to break in.“They were together,” I said suddenly.Bella looked up from her phone. “Who?”“Sienna and Gabriel.” I paced the living room, my nails digging into my palms. “In Aria’s room. Alone.”Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course they were.”“And don’t get me started on Aria,” I continued, anger flaring hot in my chest. “He had the nerve to say she asked for Sienna. As if a child just wakes up and decides that on her own.”Bella snorted. “Please. Kids repeat what they’re told.”Exactly.I stopped pacing and turned to her. “That’s what scares me.”Bella straightened. “Meaning?”“She’s getting close to Aria,” I said slowly. “Too close. And Gabriel is letting

Gabriel’s POVThe doctor didn’t bother pulling me aside this time.He stood at the foot of Afa’s bed, chart in hand, eyes already resigned, like he was delivering news he’d repeated too many times to count.“There’s no significant improvement,” he said. “We’ll adjust the treatment again, but… we need to be realistic.”Realistic.That word followed me out of the hospital room, down the sterile hallway, into the elevator that smelled like antiseptic and quiet despair. I watched the doors close and felt something heavy settle in my chest. Afa lay upstairs, thinner than she’d been last week, her skin too pale against white sheets. She still smiled when she saw me. Still tried to joke.She was getting worse, and everyone knew it.By the time I got home, my patience was already hanging by a thread.Sylvia was on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone like the world wasn’t slowly collapsing around us. The television murmured in the background, some pointless show I c

Gabriel Vale’s POVThe house had never felt empty before.Even when Sylvia traveled. Even when the staff went home early. Even when silence stretched long enough to echo.Tonight, it felt abandoned.Not physically—no, the furniture was still where it belonged, the lights still warm, the air still faintly scented with whatever expensive diffuser Sylvia had ordered last month—but emotionally. Like something essential had been stripped out and replaced with a lie.I stood in the foyer longer than necessary, listening.Nothing.No soft footsteps upstairs. No murmur of a phone call. No irritation-laced sigh when she realized I was home earlier than expected.Just quiet.I loosened my tie and moved through the house slowly, methodically, the way I did when something was wrong at the office. When instincts whispered that the numbers didn’t add up.Aria’s room was the first place I went.The door was slightly ajar.She lay curled beneath her blankets, her small body too still, her cheeks flus

Desmond Blackwood’s POVMy father didn’t raise his voice.He never needed to.The study smelled of old paper and expensive wood polish, the kind of room designed to make men feel small no matter how much power they carried outside its walls. Sunlight filtered in through tall windows, cutting the space into neat, unforgiving lines.Order.That was his religion.“You’ve grown careless,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass without drinking it. “That usually happens when men start believing they are untouchable.”I remained standing.“I’ve grown efficient,” I corrected. “The American operations are thriving.”“Yes,” he said mildly. “And yet, they are not why you’re here.”Silence settled between us.I’d faced armed men with steadier nerves than this. Faced death without flinching. But sitting across from my father always returned me to something raw and unfinished.He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.“You were given a task,” he continued. “A simple one. Observe. Infiltrate.