All Chapters of Once His Wallflower, Now His Biggest Mistake : Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

Chapter 212Evelyn's POV Move! Get inside!"The harsh thrust of a guard’s palm slammed against the small of my back, sending me stumbling over the hem of my emerald silk gown. The heavy iron door of the cell shrieked on its rusted hinges, a sound that vibrated straight through my skull before it clashed shut behind me with a definitive, mechanical boom. The echo reverberated down the damp, concrete corridor of the precinct, leaving nothing but the suffocating stench of cheap disinfectant and old sweat. "Listen to me!" I roared, turning around instantly and slamming my bruised, zip-tie-stung wrists against the thick steel bars. "You have no legal authority to hold me without formal processing! Bring me my lawyer! I demand my phone call!" The guard didn't even look back. He merely adjusted his tactical belt and walked away, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the stone."Hey! Turn around and look at me!" I screamed, my voice cracking, the raw fury tearing through my throa

Chapter 214The echo of Amy’s blood-curdling shriek had barely vibrated into the cold, damp concrete of the cell walls before the distant sound of a plastic chair scraping against a floor cut through the corridor.“Blyat!” a heavy, gravelly voice barked from the far end of the subterranean block.The heavy, unhurried posture Amy had described vanished in an instant. The rhythmic, sluggish drag of boots was replaced by the panicked, erratic thumping of heavy footsteps sprinting down the concrete hallway. He was running. The sheer terror of losing a high-value, multi-billion-dollar transactional asset before the paperwork could clear was the only currency that could make a lazy, vodka-soaked Russian guard find his footing.“Keep crying!” I hissed against the copper taste of her blood filling my mouth, my voice dropping into that terrifying, clinical vacuum. “Don’t stop! Make him think you are dying right now!”Amy didn't hesitate. The raw, survivalist instinct had completely taken over

Chapter 216The space between us didn't just feel small; it felt entirely crushed under the sheer, suffocating weight of his presence. Ten years of absolute silence, and there he was, crossing the threshold of the library as if he had simply stepped out for an evening stroll.Jasper Kitonio waltzed into the room, flanked by four silent, tier-one private security operators who fanned out instantly, locking down the perimeter of the double doors with mechanical precision. He didn't look like a man who had spent a decade fighting a brutal, continental shadow war across the frozen assets of Europe. His face remained entirely, infuriatingly unchanged, smooth, mocking, and radiating a dark, predatory authority that instantly colonized every single molecule of oxygen left in the room.Without taking his dark, devastating eyes off my face, he unbuttoned his charcoal-gray jacket, slid it off his broad shoulders, and carelessly dropped the tailored overcoat onto a nearby velvet armchair.“You

Chapter 218Evelyn Prokofiev's POVThe fabric was a cage. The heavy charcoal wool of Jasper’s tailored three-piece suit pressed against my skin like cooled lead, holding the frantic, erratic rhythm of my heart completely invisible to the two monsters standing less than three feet away from me. Underneath the crisp white collared shirt, the medical binding tape wrapped around my chest was pulled so tight it felt like it was cracking my ribs, restricting my lungs to shallow, agonizing sips of air. Sweat rolled down the center of my spine, cold and agonizingly slow, but I didn't dare twitch a single muscle.My entire body was screaming. My jaw throbbed with a dull, white-hot heat under the layers of heavy, professional-grade theatrical wax and dense liquid foundation. It had taken Jasper’s top cosmetic artists two hours of grueling, silent labor in the back of a damp, windowless transit van to turn Evelyn Prokofiev, the broken, hunted ghost of Moscow into Adrian, the pristine, untouchab

Chapter 220Evelyn Prokofiev's POV The heavy leather contract deck remained frozen between the tips of my scuffed municipal boots for exactly three seconds after Yamelyan turned his back. The square of black leather was a physical insult, a standard piece of Radov psychological degradation dropped onto the marble floor like table scraps for a stray dog.I didn't bend from the waist. A low-tier chauffeur with corporate-discipline training bends from the knees, keeping the spine perfectly vertical, ensuring the line of sight never inadvertently challenges the retreating perimeter of the principal assets. I knelt, my knees pressing into the freezing, mirror-polished stone, and swept the authorization keys into my left hand with a single, practiced glide. The plastic edges dug into my palm through the thick cowhide gloves.“This way, Adrian,” Leo’s voice cut through the cavernous quiet of the foyer. It was the flat, deadened tone of a prisoner directing a guard to a new cell block, but