บททั้งหมดของ The Debt Collectors Bride: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

POV: SeraThe boat ride to the private island was the quietest hour of my life. My father sat near the stern, wrapped in a blanket, his eyes closed as he listened to the waves. Damien stood at the front, his back to us, watching the horizon. He looked like a statue made of stone and scars.When we finally stepped onto the white sand, the sun was just starting to set, turning the sky into shades of bruised purple and soft orange. The villa was small, hidden by palm trees, and far away from the blood and concrete of the city.Inside, the rooms were cool and smelled of sea salt. I helped my father into a guest room. He looked at me, his eyes tired but filled with a peace I hadn't seen in years."He saved us, Sera," my father whispered, gripping my hand. "I spent my life fighting men like him, but he’s the only reason I’m still breathing. He’s a good man, in his own way."I kissed his forehead and stepped back out into the main room. Damien was there, standing by the large glass doors tha

POV: SeraLife on the island felt like a dream I didn't want to wake up from. The days were long and filled with the sound of the ocean, and for the first time in my life, the air didn't taste like fear.My father was getting stronger every day. He spent his mornings sitting on the porch, reading books he hadn't had time for in years. But while he was resting, I was restless. I didn't want to be the girl who waited to be saved anymore. I didn't want to be the reason Damien had to choose between his life and mine."Again," Damien said, his voice a low rumble.We were on a flat patch of sand behind the villa. The morning sun was already warm, and the salt spray from the waves dampened my skin. Damien was dressed only in loose shorts, his bare chest glistening with a light sweat. He looked like a god of war standing in paradise."I'm trying," I huffed, wiping a stray hair from my face."Don't try. Do it," he commanded, stepping toward me. "If a man grabs your wrist, don't pull back. He’s

POV: DamienI was up before the sun, as usual. I was standing on the edge of the dock, staring at the gray horizon, when a speck of white appeared. It wasn't a fishing boat. It was moving too fast, cutting through the waves with a precision that made my hair stand on end.I didn't need binoculars to know who it was. The Council had found us.I reached behind my back, my fingers brushing the cold grip of the pistol tucked into my waistband. I felt the familiar weight settle in my chest… the cold, hard stillness of the hunter. The "man" Gideon wanted me to be retreated into the shadows, and the "Ghost" stepped forward to take his place.The boat was a sleek, blacked-out interceptor, it slowed as it approached the dock. Two men stood on the deck. They weren't wearing masks or tactical gear. They wore dark, expensive suits that looked out of place against the tropical backdrop.They were messengers, and in our world, you didn't kill the messenger— unless you wanted the entire world to com

POV: DamienThe pre-dawn light was a cold, sickly blue, filtering through the small window of the villa’s back room. My skin was still humming, sensitized by the memory of the night before. Even as I stood over the glowing screens of my equipment, I could still feel the weight of Sera’s body against mine. I could still smell the jasmine in her hair and the faint, sweet scent of her skin that seemed to have bonded to my own.I closed my eyes for a second, letting the memory wash over me. I remembered the way she had looked at me in the dark with her eyes wide and trusting, even as we both knew the world was ending outside our door. I remembered the soft, broken sounds she made when I moved inside her, the way she clung to me. Being with her like that... was a surrender. For a few hours, I wasn't a killer or a target. I was just a man who loved a woman. I wanted to stay in that bed forever. I wanted to wake up with her every morning for the next fifty years and forget that I ever kn

Third person pov:In Cell 402, Silas was waiting. He had been in the jumpsuit for four days. To anyone watching the security cameras, he looked defeated. He sat on the edge of his cot with his head bowed, and his hands resting limply in his lap. But beneath that calm exterior, Silas was counting. He was counting the seconds between the guard rotations, the intervals of the camera sweeps, and the heartbeats of the men who thought they were his masters. He knew that loyalty in his world was a lie. People didn't follow leaders because of respect; they followed them because of fear or greed. And Silas was a master of both. He had spent a decade weaving a web of secret favors and blackmail that extended even into the darkest corners of the Council’s private guard.The breakout started with a sneeze.Down the hallway, a guard named Miller reached up to rub his nose. Miller was twenty-four, a former soldier who had taken the Council’s paycheck because it was better than the meager pension t