บททั้งหมดของ HIS POISONOUS POSSESSION: บทที่ 131 - บทที่ 140

[The Gilded Reset]The white-out didn't lead to the void. It led to a sun-drenched terrace overlooking a version of Lake Como that was too perfect to be real. The water was a static sapphire, the air stilled into a permanent, fragrant spring. Ivy lay on a lounge of wrought iron and white silk, the heavy smell of blooming jasmine making her head spin.The man stood at the stone balustrade. He looked exactly like Dante—the same broad shoulders, the same elegant, aristocratic profile. But when he turned, the air in Ivy’s lungs turned to lead. The obsidian storm in his eyes was gone. The jagged, volatile edge of his presence had been smoothed into a terrifyingly serene warmth."You've been asleep for a long time, Ivy," he said. His voice was melodic, devoid of the gravelly rasp that usually signaled his descent into obsession. "T

[Silk Against Glass]Chapter 90: Silk Against GlassThe air in the decaying garden didn't hum with the vibration of a processor; it smelled of damp earth, rotted cedar, and the metallic tang of an approaching storm. Ivy stood trembling, her bare feet pressing into the unyielding grit of reality. The transition was a physical trauma. Behind her, the "Result"—the perfect, digital Dante—had vanished like a burst bubble. Before her sat the ruin of a man.The old man in the wheelchair was a skeleton draped in fine, moth-eaten wool. His skin was translucent parchment, but those eyes—obsidian, bottomless, and terrifyingly lucid—belonged to the monster who had haunted her across eighteen layers of simulated hell."You look... just as I designed you," the old man rasped. His voice wasn't a resonan

[The Sub-Cellar Pact]The air in the sub-cellar was ancient, tasting of limestone and the cold, damp scent of deep earth. It was a space designed for secrets—thick stone walls that swallowed sound and reinforced iron doors that didn’t recognize the laws of the world above. Above them, the muffled thuds of Arthur’s rage and the frantic shouts of the police sounded like a distant storm, impotent and far away.Dante didn’t let go of Ivy’s wrist. His grip was a steel manacle, his pulse thrumming through his thumb and into her skin—a frantic, rhythmic Morse code of a man who had finally burned his bridges. He kicked the heavy door shut, and the click of the deadbolt echoed like a gunshot.The only light came from a single, low-hanging industrial bulb that cast long, grotesque shadows across the room. Dante turned to her, his chest heaving, hi

 "The Trust is not a 'who,' Dante. We are in equilibrium," the man replied. He didn't look at the gun on the floor. He looked at Ivy. "Arthur, you told us your daughter was a liability. That she was the only witness left who could link the Trust to the 'accident' twenty years ago."Arthur swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Ivy, filled with a pathetic, desperate guilt. "She found the files. I didn't have a choice. I had to bring the police to neutralize the situation.""And yet," the man in grey continued, stepping further into the room, "it seems she hasn't been neutralized at all. She seems quiet... integrated into the Moretti household."Ivy felt the chill of the man’s gaze. It wasn't sexual; it was clinical. To the Trust, she wasn't a woman. She was a leak in a dam.

[The Maintenance of Love]The black vial sat on the vanity like a small, obsidian heart. It caught the filtered morning light, refracting it into a dull, sickly purple. Ivy stared at it, her fingers curling into the velvet of her robe. Maintenance. The word was clinical, an insult to the frantic, heart-stopping heat she felt every time Dante touched her. It suggested that the soul-crushing gravity of her love was nothing more than a chemical script that needed a regular update.Behind her, the steam from the shower had begun to dissipate, leaving the room heavy with the scent of sandalwood and damp skin.Dante approached. He didn't walk; he prowled, his presence expanding to fill every corner of the suite until Ivy felt like the walls were leaning in t