All Chapters of Once His Wallflower, Now His Biggest Mistake : Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

Chapter 151The doctor’s words were a death sentence wrapped in a medical euphemism. We don’t know. The Chairperson of Sterling Industries knew how to handle market crashes, hostile takeovers, and boardroom betrayals, but those required a target, an enemy she could sue, bankrupt, or break. You couldn't sue a chemical. You couldn't bankrupt a coma.I felt a roar building in my chest, a primal scream that threatened to shatter the expensive crystal chandeliers hanging above us. My vision blurred, the sterile white of the infirmary bleeding into a sickening grey."Evelina," Nikolai said, his voice unusually soft as he reached for my arm. "The doctors are the best in the world. They will…""Don't," I snapped, my voice a jagged shard of glass. I recoiled from his touch, my boots backing away until I hit the cold steel of a medical trolley. "Don't you dare finish that sentence with a lie.""Evelyn, look at me," Yamelyan pleaded, stepping away from the children’s beds. His face was a map of

Chapter 153 Nikolai didn’t argue. He didn’t even glance at Yamelyan, who was watching him with the wary gaze of a cornered wolf. My brother simply bowed his head, a gesture of submission that felt heavy in the sterile silence of the infirmary. "I’ll get the intel," Nikolai said, his voice dropping an octave. "And no one will try to stop you, Evelina. Not Sergei, and certainly not the brothers. Not after they saw you nearly crack Mikhail’s ribs with a piece of silver." "Good," I snapped, my eyes never leaving the rhythmic, agonizingly slow rise and fall of Leo’s chest. "Because I’m done being the piece on the board. I’m the one moving them now." Nikolai stepped further into the room, his shadow stretching across the linoleum. "You need to understand something before we go down to the levels. Volkov isn't just a man. He’s a rot. He has been systematically dismantling our borders for three years. He uses children as leverage and ghosts as soldiers. If you step outside these walls

Chapter 155The silence that followed my provocation was not empty; it was pressurized, like the air in a deep-sea trench just before the hull snaps. I stood there, my chin tilted upward, practically begging for the click of a trigger. The guns pointed at my skull didn’t feel like threats; they felt like invitations to an exit I was becoming increasingly desperate to take.Loaded barrels remained fixed on me. The guards, gray-faced men who had likely never seen a soul defy Sergei Prokofiev and live to see the next sunrise waited for the signal to paint the marble with my defective blood. My brothers stood in a frozen semicircle, a collection of lethal statues. Mikhail’s hand was on his holster, but his eyes were wide, caught between the conditioning of his training and the raw, terrifying reality of who I was.Sergei breathed hard. The sound was ragged, a wet, rattling struggle for air that seemed to age him by decades with every exhale. He looked at me, not with the fury of a Pakh

Chapter 157The world turned into a kaleidoscope of blinding white flashes and high-pitched chatter. Before I could even draw breath to snarl a rebuttal, Cyprian’s hand slid from my waist to the back of my neck. He pulled me in, crushing his lips against mine in a kiss that was as open-mouthed as it was theatrical. The cameras clicked like a firing squad.He pulled away, his eyes dancing with a terrifying sort of mirth. "Gentlemen, please! Give the lady some air. She’s been a secret for twenty-five years; let her get used to the light.""A daughter? Prokofiev has a daughter?" a journalist shrieked, shoving a recorder toward my face. "Is she the heir to the ports? Why now?"Cyprian didn't give me a chance to answer which was fortunate, as I was currently debating between vomiting and pulling the Sig Sauer from my thigh. He swept me past the throng of vultures and through a heavy set of gilded doors, locking them behind us.The silence of the private study was deafening."You arrogant

Chapter 159The snow didn't just fall; it bit. It was a million tiny needles of ice trying to stitch my eyes shut, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins was a roaring furnace. I stood in the shadow of a rusted warehouse, my breath coming in ragged, ghostly plumes. My shoulder was a pulsing knot of agony, the bandage I’d thrown together already feeling wet and heavy with blood.I stared at the screen of the stolen phone. The light felt like a beacon in the darkness, a digital tether to a life that felt like a dream I’d had a hundred years ago. I pressed the call button.The ringback tone was steady. Monotonous. It was the sound of a world that operated on logic, contracts, and the cold, calculated ambition of Silas Sterling.“Silas Sterling.”The voice was deep, authoritative, and vibrated with the familiar rasp of expensive cigars and effortless power. For a second, my heart performed a painful somersault. This was the man who had tucked me into bed, the man who had taught m