บททั้งหมดของ The Debt Collectors Bride: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

Damien’s pov:I had learned a long time ago how to recognize the exact moment before something breaks.I stood at the edge of the Black Tide’s territory, the engine of my car idling with a low growl. My men were standing by, waiting for me to say the word, but my mind wasn't on the mission. I felt a chill settle deep into my bones. Sera had changed.I didn't know the details yet. But I knew it as surely as I knew the weight of the pistol holstered at my side or the sound of an enemy approaching in the dark. You don't watch someone for twelve years without learning the rhythm of their soul.She wasn't the girl I had left behind a few days ago…. and that thought hurt. We had spent the last few days erasing our tracks, moving in the shadows, and bleeding the Black Tide dry in vital places they wouldn't even notice were gone for weeks. Silas would think I’d gone into hiding because I was scared. He’d think I was off somewhere, shaking and planning my next move.He wouldn't expect me to

Damien’s pov: I slept.Not the kind of half-sleep I had been surviving on for weeks, where my eyes closed but my mind stayed armed. Not the shallow drifting that broke at every sound, every imagined scream. This was different. This was heavy and absolute, like my body finally dragged my mind down with it and refused to let go.When I opened my eyes, I didn’t know where I was at first.The ceiling above me was unfamiliar in its calm. No exposed beams. No flickering light. No dust in the air. Just the quiet luxury of my room in the Vescari mansion, untouched by war. My body felt too still and warm. My limbs were heavy, my head dull, like I had been drugged.I sat up abruptly.Pain flared behind my eyes, a reminder that rest did not erase damage. My knuckles were still bruised. My ribs ached. There was dried blood under my nails that no amount of scrubbing had completely removed.“How long?” I muttered.“Thirty-six hours,” Luca answered calmly.I turned my head. He was seated in the cha

Damien’s pov: I was still two hours away when the phone buzzed. It wasn’t the mansion calling. It wasn’t Luca. It was Outpost Three. The heavy silence on the other end before anyone spoke told me everything I needed to know. My stomach twisted. Outpost Three was on the edge of our territory, close enough to matter, but far enough away that Silas could hit it just to see if we’d flinch. Silas never goes for the heart first. He likes to poke at the edges, bruising you slowly just to see where it hurts the most. “Say it,” I barked into the phone. “There was an explosion,” the captain said. His voice was brittle, that fake kind of calm men use when they’re trying not to look at the bodies at their feet. “It was a small but precise attack. The building is still standing. Two dead. One in bad shape.” I leaned my head back against the car seat and closed my eyes. I was exhausted. My head was pounding from weeks of running on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline. I could still feel th

Damien’s pov:I only went to her room because I couldn't stop myself anymore.I’d spent days holding back, trying to be the man she needed instead of the man I am. I stayed away because I wanted to prove I could. I wanted to give her air to breathe and space to think, hoping that by loosening my grip, she wouldn't feel the need to pry my fingers off.But this morning, the hunger to see her was just too much. I needed to know she was okay.I stood outside her door, my hand frozen in the air. I hesitated, as if I could somehow delay whatever was waiting on the other side. Then, I knocked. Softly.No answer.I frowned and tried again, calling her name. Still nothing. My stomach did a slow, heavy roll.I pushed the door open.The room was empty.Her bed was made, neat and untouched. No signs of a struggle, no broken glass, no mess. The window was shut tight. The room just smelled like her, paint and clean linen.My chest tightened, but it wasn't fear yet. It was that sharp, cold realizati

Damien’s pov: The smell of the sea hit me first. It wasn't just salt and water. It was iron and the smell of blood that had soaked into the stone years ago and never truly washed away. The coastline opened up in front of me, a jagged stretch of rocks and concrete. It’s the kind of place men choose when they don’t want forgiveness to follow them. Luca had been right. This wasn't just a memory for her. It was the scene of a crime. I cut the engine far enough away to avoid noise and took the rest on foot, my boots sinking slightly into damp sand. I counted breaths, steps, angles. There were too many blind spots here. Too many places to hide men who believed fear was a weapon. My body remembered this terrain even if my mind refused to put a name to it. The warehouse stood there, half-collapsed near the waterline. Then I saw movement. Black Tide. There were three of them at first, they were spread wide, patient, circling inward the way predators do when they already know the prey i