Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 21 - Chapitre 30

NATHANIELThe North Ridge estate was no longer a sanctuary; it had become a command center, a fortress of glass and steel hidden within the jagged shadows of the canyon.Outside, a relentless California rain began to streak the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the lights of the city below into a smear of cold, neon blue.I stood by the window, my reflection ghost-like against the dark glass.I wasn't using the cane. I stood with my feet planted wide, my weight distributed perfectly, feeling the subtle hum of the H.I.S. interface beneath my skin. I was no longer a patient.I was a predator waiting for the moon to rise."Miller," I said, my voice low and vibrating. I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. I could hear his rhythmic breathing, the frantic tapping of his fingers on a tablet. "Status on the Bel-Air perimeter.""Mark has tripled the private security, sir," Miller reported, his voice tight with exhaustion."He’s jumpy. Paranoiac. He’s been seen arguing with your mother on th

NATHANIEL"The optics have to be pathetic, Nathan. If you walk in there looking like a Greek god, they’ll shoot you before you reach the hors d'oeuvres."I looked at Ava, who was currently pacing the war room of the North Ridge estate in a pair of silk pajamas, a tablet in one hand and a protein bar in the other. She had spent the last eight hours as 'Ava Reed,' dismantling Mark’s ego at the office, and now she was back to being the tactical genius who had resurrected me."Pathetic?" I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. "I’ve spent four months learning to stand so I could tower over Daniel Vance. Now you want me in a chair?""Not just a chair," Miller interjected, suppressing a grin as he rolled a sleek, motorized wheelchair into the center of the room. "A chair with a built-in whiskey dispenser and a very loud, very annoying 'low battery' beep. It screams 'I am a broken man who has given up on life.'"I stared at the contraption. "I hate all of you.""We love you too,

NATHANIELIf silence had a sound, it was currently the high-pitched ringing in Daniel Vance’s ears.The air in Saint Ambrose Cathedral didn't just go cold; it turned to liquid nitrogen. From the vantage point of my motorized wheelchair, the view was spectacular. I sat there, draped in a $10,000 charcoal cashmere throw that screamed "tragic invalid," while my internal processors were busy syncing with the cathedral’s Wi-Fi to begin the slow-drip leak of the Vance offshore tax records.The entrance had been a choreographed masterpiece of psychological warfare.First, the Bennetts had rolled up in a vintage 1965 Rolls-Royce Phantom, blacker than a politician’s heart. Thomas looked like a retired MI6 agent in a bespoke midnight-blue tux, and Eliza was a vision of understated vengeance in silver silk. They didn't look like "scholarship parents"; they looked like the people who owned the bank.Then came my parents. Arthur and Margaret King had arrived in a bulletproof Bentley Mulsanne. Marg

NATHANIELThe motor of the Maybach hummed a low, satisfied purr as we cleared the gates of the North Ridge estate.We had taken the long way back, weaving through the canyon passes and switching cars at a darkened warehouse Miller had prepped, ensuring that if Daniel Vance had sent any "shadows," they were currently chasing a decoy van toward the coast.The moment the heavy oak doors of the mansion swung shut behind us, the atmosphere shifted.The oppressive, perfumed air of the gala was replaced by the scent of old wood and the cooling night breeze.I didn't wait for the ramp. I stood up from the wheelchair, kicking the cashmere throw aside.My legs felt stiff from the hours of forced stillness, but they were solid."I am never," I announced, stretching my arms until my joints popped, "sitting in that motorized bucket of bolts again.Miller, I want it dismantled and turned into a toaster."The room erupted.It started with a low chuckle from my father, Arthur, who was already pouring

**AVA**The obsidian wig was back on its stand, and the "Ava Reed" armor was tucked away in the closet.I sat in the sun-drenched breakfast nook of the North Ridge estate, my natural hair damp from a shower, wrapped in a thick wool cardigan.My parents—the ones who had chosen me—sat across the table. The atmosphere was quiet, but heavy.We had discussed the wedding and the Vance infiltration, but there was a ghost in the room that had nothing to do with Daniel Vance."Dad," I said, my fingers tracing the rim of my coffee mug. "I had another one today. A flash."Thomas Bennett set his newspaper down, his expression instantly sharpening into one of concern."Was it like the others? The colors? The sound of the water?""No," I whispered. "It was a building. Gray stone, covered in ivy. And a boy. Not Nathan, and not Justice. Someone older. He was crying."I looked at them, my heart beginning to throb in my ears. "The accident when I was eighteen. You always said I fell during a hiking tri