All Chapters of Once His Wallflower, Now His Biggest Mistake : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Chapter 82The data-skimmer was a cold, jagged weight in the palm of my hand, a sliver of silicon and steel that held the power to decapitate Alaric Blackwood’s future. It was evidence of high treason, a digital noose for a man who had mistaken my invisibility for insignificance. But as I slipped from Alaric’s office back into the labyrinthine corridors of the West Wing, the air seemed to thicken with a different kind of danger.I could still hear the distant, muffled pulse of the gala, the violins crying out in a desperate waltz but here, in the dim gold light of the gallery, the silence was predatory.I had to hide the skimmer. My apron pocket was too obvious, my room was no longer a sanctuary, and I knew with a bone-deep certainty that I was being watched. I reached beneath the heavy navy silk of my skirt, my fingers fumbling with the industrial elastic of the compression leggings I wore beneath the petticoats. With a grunt of effort, I tucked the small, sharp device into the in

Chapter 84The Villa de Cristal was a house built on transparency that hid nothing but lies. But tonight, as a rare Mediterranean storm lashed against the reinforced glass, the transparency felt like a threat. The thunder rolled over the cliffs of Marbella, echoing the slow-motion collapse of Alaric Blackwood’s dignity.Following the Crab Incident and the "Brine Debacle," Alaric had retreated into a cocoon of scotch and paranoia. He was a man who knew he was being hunted but couldn't see the predator. This left a vacuum in the heart of the villa, a cold, silent space that Evelyn was forced to inhabit alone.Until she turned to the only person who didn't want something from her. Or so she thought.It was nearly midnight. The children were asleep, their breathing rhythmic and innocent against the backdrop of the howling wind. I was sitting in the rocking chair, mending a tear in Leo’s favorite architectural book, when the door creaked open.Evelyn stood there, wrapped in a robe of cr

Chapter 86The silence that blanketed the Villa de Cristal was no longer the serene quiet of luxury; it was the heavy, suffocating stillness of a tomb. By 3:00 AM, the whispered rumors had solidified into a terrifying reality. Silas Sterling, the iron-fisted Patriarch, the sun around which this entire solar system of greed and power orbited had collapsed.The high-priced specialists had arrived by helicopter, their heels clicking rhythmically against the marble, but their modern medicine was hitting a wall of ancient stone. Silas was not just sick; he was fading, his body rejecting the sterile, chemical solutions of the twenty-first century. He had descended into a feverish delirium, thrashing against his silk sheets and calling out for a ghost."He won't take the fluids," Evelyn’s voice drifted into the kitchen, fractured and raw. She stood in the doorway, her silver gala dress from the night before now wrinkled, her eyes hollowed by a grief she wasn't ready to name. "The doctors

Chapter 88The interior of the Sterling limousine smelled of sunblock, expensive leather, and my own impending doom. As we wound down the coastal road toward the private cove, I sat rigidly between the two children, my hands folded over a canvas tote bag that contained the most shameful garment ever conceived by man."Antonella," Leo whispered, poking my arm. "Why are you sweating? We haven't even reached the sand yet.""It is a Navarino tradition, *pequeño*," I rasped, dabbing my forehead with a lace handkerchief. "We sweat to keep the internal humors balanced before the shock of the salt water.""You look like you’re going to a funeral," Lucien remarked from the opposite seat. He was already dressed for the water in tailored short-shorts and an unbuttoned linen shirt that showed off a chest far too tanned for a man who spent his days being a Fox. He was nursing a mimosa, his eyes dancing with a terrifying mirth. "Cheer up, Nanny. The Mediterranean doesn't bite. Unless, of course,

Chapter 90The Mediterranean sun had begun its slow, crimson descent, bleeding across the horizon in shades of violent violet and bruised orange. But inside the West Wing of the Sterling estate, the air was not cooling; it was curdling.Evelyn Sterling stood in the center of the master suite, her silver-threaded beach wrap still clinging to her shoulders, though she felt a chill that no sun could warm. In her trembling hand, she held a sleek, obsidian-black smartphone, one that did not belong to her. It had fallen from Alaric’s blazer pocket when he’d carelessly tossed it onto the chaise lounge to shower.It hadn't been locked. Alaric’s arrogance was his greatest weakness; he never believed anyone would dare to look.The screen was a kaleidoscope of betrayals. Dozens of photos, high-resolution and damning, flickered under her thumb. There was Alaric in a high-rise penthouse in Madrid, his arm draped around a woman who was a younger, sharper, more predatory version of Evelyn. There w