บททั้งหมดของ Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend: บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 90

"Move!"Drakon’s scream is the last thing I hear before the world turns white.Andreas presses the button.There is no sound at first. Just pressure. A physical wave of air that hits me like a solid wall. It lifts me off my feet. It throws me backward.Then, the noise arrives.CRACK-BOOM.It’s the sound of the earth splitting open. The steel support beams of the warehouse shriek as they shear in half. The concrete roof groans, then gives way."Down!"Drakon tackles me mid-air.His heavy body slams into mine, driving me into the floor behind the pallet stack. He curls around me, a shield of muscle and Kevlar. He tucks my head into his chest, covering my ears with his hands.The lights go out.Then the ceiling comes down.I feel the impact through Drakon’s body. He jerks violently, once, twice, as heavy debris rains down on his back. He grunts—a wet, forced sound—but he doesn't let go. He crushes me into the concrete, taking the weight of the collapsing building on his spine.Dust fills

"Put it on."Nikos throws a garment bag onto the silk sheets. He unzips it with a sharp zzzzzip that sounds like a zipper on a body bag.I stare at the fabric spilling out. It’s blue chiffon. Floor-length. Backless.I recognize it instantly. It’s the dress I wore to the rehearsal dinner two years ago. The night Drakon almost killed him. The night my life became a lie."Where did you get this?" I whisper, clutching the sheet to my chest."I kept it," Nikos says, smoothing the fabric with a possessive hand. "Storage. Along with the wedding album and the china. I knew we'd need it for the reset.""Reset?""We're starting over, Thalia. New house. New life. New loyalty." He looks at me, his eyes bright with a manic, terrifying hope. "But first, we need to dress the part. Kyros is expecting us for dinner.""I'm not eating with him. He's a monster.""He's my father," Nikos corrects sharply. "And your father-in-law. You will show respect."He walks to the bedside table. He picks up the key to

The convoy is a funeral procession of three black SUVs cutting through the night.I am in the middle vehicle. Sandwich meat.Nikos sits to my left, his leg bouncing with manic energy. A Reaper guard sits to my right, his assault rifle resting across his knees, the barrel digging into my thigh.The leather interior smells of new car scent and Nikos’s cloying cologne—sandalwood masking the metallic tang of the blood he washed off his hands."Saint Martin," Nikos says, staring out the tinted window at the blurring highway lights. "No extradition. I bought a villa on the French side. Private beach. Gated compound."He turns to me, his eyes gleaming in the dashboard glow."You'll like the sun, Thalia. It'll be good for the baby. Vitamin D.""You're delusional," I whisper, clutching my stomach. "You think you can just leave? After what you did?""I can do whatever I want," he snaps. "I'm the King. Kyros handles the business here. I handle the legacy."He reaches for my hand.I pull away. "D

The splash of Drakon’s guns hitting the water echoes like a gavel strike in the hollow pipe."Good boy," Nikos sneers.He doesn't let me go. He tightens his grip on my hair, dragging me backward into the suffocating dark."Drakon!" I scream, my voice tearing at my throat.Drakon lunges. He splashes through the black water, hands reaching, veins bulging in his neck. He looks like a man willing to tear the concrete apart with his teeth.Nikos fires.BANG.The shot is deafening in the confined space. The bullet sparks off the curved wall inches from Drakon’s head.Drakon flinches, stumbling.Nikos uses the second. He hauls me around a bend in the pipe. A rusted iron ladder climbs into a vertical shaft—a maintenance access."Up," he orders, shoving the gun into my spine.I climb. My hands slip on the slime-coated rungs. Nikos is right below me, his breath hot on my ankle.We burst out into the night air. A vacant lot. Tall weeds. A waiting sedan with the engine running.Nikos shoves me in

The room Kyros locked me in is an office. Mahogany desk. Leather chairs. No windows. Just a heavy oak door locked from the outside and a vent pumping in recycled air that smells of lemon polish and impending death.I pace the expensive Persian rug. My reflection in the glass-fronted bookcase is a ghost in a blue chiffon dress, hair wild, lip swollen."Ten million," I whisper. "You lied about ten million dollars."The lie bought me an hour. Maybe two. Nikos is out there right now, trying to access offshore accounts that don't exist. When the screen stays black, when the numbers don't add up... he’s coming back. And he’s bringing the knife.I need a distraction. I need chaos.I scan the room. Books. Paperweights. A humidor.My eyes land on the desk.Sitting next to a crystal ashtray is a silver Zippo lighter. Kyros must have left it. A careless mistake from a man who thinks he’s untouchable.I grab it. The metal is cool, heavy. I flick the lid. Clink. I strike the flint.A yellow flame