Once His Wallflower, Now His Biggest Mistake 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 61 - 챕터 70

Chapter 61Caleb’s POVPart IV: The Price of TruthThe rain hammered the marble steps outside, but inside the grand hall the air had turned thick, electric, suffocating.I had taken three strides toward the door when her voice cracked like a whip across my spine.“Stop.”One word. Sharp. Absolute.I froze mid-step, every muscle screaming to keep moving, to run, to tear the city apart until I found them. But I knew her. I knew exactly what she was capable of doing if I walked out that door without giving her what she wanted.Slowly, agonizingly I turned.Seraphina hadn’t moved from the foot of the staircase. The crystal glass of brandy still dangled from her fingers, but now her other hand rested lightly on the banister, knuckles white. Her midnight-blue silk coat had slipped further off one shoulder, exposing the delicate strap of whatever lethal little thing she wore underneath. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, controlled breaths.“You really thought you could just walk away?” sh

Chapter 63The silver-embossed invitation felt like a cruel joke in the blistering Andalusian sun. As I watched the perimeter of the Villa de Cristal from the shade of a rented Citroën, the reality of the Sterling security apparatus set in. This wasn't just a party; it was a fortress. The M district was guarded by men with earpieces and eyes that scanned for anomalies with the precision of a predator. Even from three hundred yards away, I could see the shimmering blue light of biometric scanners at the main pedestrian gate. Fingerprints. Retinal scans.I was Mark Reynolds on paper, but my biology was still Caleb Knight, a man the Sterlings had blacklisted from every corner of the civilized world.The heat was a physical weight, thick with the scent of sea salt and expensive gasoline. I wiped the sweat from my brow, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I couldn't walk through the front door. I couldn't climb the walls; the glass shards and motion sensors would scream

Chapter 65The transition from the abyss of the waste bin to consciousness was not a slow drift; it was a violent snap. One moment, I was drowning in a dream of Evelyn’s wedding veil, its delicate lace fluttering like a ghost in the wind, wrapping around my throat tighter and tighter until I couldn't breathe. Next, the sensation of silk, real, high-thread-count silk was against my cheek, cool and unforgiving, like the touch of a lover who had long since turned into an enemy.I didn't open my eyes immediately. My brain, still foggy from the hypoxia and the brutal trauma of the fall into that godforsaken dumpster, tried desperately to make sense of the sensory input crashing over me. The acrid stench of rotting lilies and sour wine that had permeated my nightmares was gone, evaporated like a bad memory. In its place was a sharp, clinical scent: lavender, mingled with the unmistakable oily tang of expensive gun lubricant, and beneath it all, a hint of a spicy, feminine perfume that evo

Chapter 67 Caleb’s POV The morning light in Marbella was far too bright for a man who had just survived a trash compactor and a death threat. It danced off the white-washed walls with a cheerful indifference to my misery. I stood on a street corner, my body aching, dressed in a set of nondescript tourist clothes Ann had tossed at me before she vanished into the shadows of the "M" district.In my pocket, I had exactly four hundred Euros, my final lifeline and a heart that felt like it had been put through a meat grinder.I looked up toward the hills. Somewhere up there, behind walls of reinforced glass and laser-grid security, Evelyn was waking up in Alaric Blackwood’s bed. My children were eating breakfast in a house where another man played the role of their protector.The realization hit me harder than the cold marble of Seraphina’s floor. As "Mark Reynolds," I was a wanted man. As "Jean-Pierre," I was a joke the Sterlings had already laughed at. As "Caleb Knight," I was a gho

Chapter 69Caleb’s POV The first week as Antonella had been a masterclass in psychological endurance. Every morning, I woke at 4:00 AM in the cramped servants' quarters to begin the grueling ritual of self-erasure. I glued the lashes, mapped the contours of a stranger’s face onto my own, and cinched the corset until my ribs groaned, all to step into the role of the woman who governed the Villa de Cristal.But no amount of makeup could prepare me for the sight of Evelyn.She wasn't the wallflower I had left in New York, the woman who wore her heart on her sleeve and walked with a hesitant, hopeful grace. This Evelyn moved through the glass-walled corridors like a specter of ice. Her eyes, once warm enough to melt my coldest moods, were now twin chips of obsidian, polished and impenetrable. She wore her new surname, Blackwood, like a suit of armor, but I could see the way her fingers trembled when she thought no one was watching.The angst was a living thing between us, though she ha