บททั้งหมดของ HIS POISONOUS POSSESSION: บทที่ 141 - บทที่ 150

[The Third Soul]The air in the master suite had gone cold, a stagnant chill that felt less like a drop in temperature and more like the absence of life. Ivy—or the vessel that had been Ivy—stood wrapped in the white silk shroud, her feet bare against the cold mahogany floor. The movement was too fluid, too deliberate. The way she tilted her head to look at Dante carried an elegance that Ivy had never possessed; it was the practiced poise of a woman who had ruled this house forty years ago.Dante remained frozen by the armchair. The obsidian in his eyes was fractured, a thousand shards of disbelief and a hunger so sharp it looked like agony. He had spent his entire life building this bridge, sacrificing his sanity and his morality to bring back the only woman who had ever loved him unconditionally.But now that she was standi

[The Final Cage]The wail of the sirens was no longer a distant threat; it was a rhythmic, screaming pulse that bled through the heavy velvet curtains, staining the room in a violent strobe of red and blue. The master suite, once an impenetrable sanctuary of shadow and obsession, now felt like a glass box.Dante’s hand was a crushing weight on Ivy’s arm as he hauled her off the bed. He didn't care that she was trembling, or that her skin was still sensitive from the raw, carnal war they had just waged. His focus was singular, volatile, and bordering on a manic breakdown."Move," he hissed, his obsidian eyes darting to the open window where the "older" Ivy still stood, silhouetted against the encroaching chaos. "If the Trust finds us here with a body, they’ll bury us both. I won’t let them put you in a cell. I&rsqu

[The Media's Noose]The water of Lake Geneva was not a liquid; it was a cold, black throat trying to swallow her whole.Ivy surged upward, breaking the surface beneath a rotted wooden pier two miles south of the Moretti estate. Her lungs burned, not just from the lack of air, but from the Phase Three serum coursing through her veins. It felt like liquid lightning, sharpening her senses until the distant sound of a siren was a needle in her eardrum and the smell of old algae was a complex chemical map.She dragged herself onto the shore, her evening gown—once a symbol of Dante’s gilded cage—now a sodden, tattered weight. She didn't look back at the lights of the mansion. She knew what was happening there. Arthur would be posing for the cameras, playing the role of the grieving father whose "broken"

[The Architect's Mirror]The farmhouse didn’t just smell of Dante; it breathed him. The scent was a violent intrusion, a phantom limb that Ivy could feel even through the chemical haze of the Phase Three serum. She stood in the doorway, her palm weeping blood onto the floorboards, her heart hammering a rhythm of pure, unadulterated terror.The woman at the desk—the mirror of a future Ivy had never asked for—didn’t move. Her obsidian eyes, so hauntingly identical to Dante’s, remained fixed on a ledger spread before her. The silence in the room was a physical weight, thick with the "Poison" of twenty years of secrets."You’re late, Ivy," the woman said. Her voice didn't have the aristocratic lilt of Eleonora or the sof

The emotional fracture was complete. Ivy realized that Dante hadn't been her only jailer. Arthur had been her architect since the day she was born. Her entire life—her memories, her personality, her "resistance"—was a curated path designed to lead her to this exact moment of synchronization.Dante walked to the terminal, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "It’s all here, Ivy. The truth about your mother. The truth about the Trust. Everything Arthur used to frame me... it’s all stored in this core.""Can we send it?" Ivy asked, hope flicking in her chest for the first time. "Can we show the world?""If we do," Dante said, looking at her with a profound, terrifying sadness, "the Trust will have no reason to keep you alive. You won't be an asset anymore. You'll be a witness. They’ll h