جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 60

​The silence in the penthouse suite was suffocating after the door slammed shut behind Rossy. August's skin still humming with the electrical shock of his own betrayal. ​Spring. ​He had shouted her name. He had reached for the memory of a dead woman and grasped the image of a living one instead. To August, it felt like a desecration. He needed to bury that slip of the tongue. He needed to prove to his own treacherous heart that Spring was nothing more than a biological necessity—a fluke of chemistry that could be replicated by anyone with the right features. ​He turned away from the window. ​“Fanel.” ​The door opened instantly. Fanel had been waiting in the hallway. He stepped in, his expression professional, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of concern at the state of his boss. ​“Yes, President?” ​“That woman,” August said, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low tone that usually signaled a corporate takeover. “What was her name?” ​Fanel hesitated for a heartbeat, c

​"Madam, you're back!" Mrs. Gable greeted me with a bright, genuine smile. She was busy setting the table. "You look... different today, Madam. There’s a glow about you."​I offered her a small, tired smile. "It was a good day, Mrs. Gable." I glanced toward the grand staircase, my heart doing a nervous little flutter. "August... has he come back yet?"​"Not yet, Madam," she said, smoothing down the tablecloth. "He hasn't called. But please, freshen up. Dinner is almost ready, and I’ve made that herb-crusted lamb you like."​"I'll wait for him," I said, already turning toward the stairs. "You and the rest of the staff should have your dinner. Don't feel like you need to wait on me tonight."​I didn't wait for her protest. I hurried up to my room. As soon as I stepped inside and the lock clicked into place, the composure I’d maintained at the gallery shattered into pure joy.​I jumped onto the bed, burying my face in the pillows to muffled a squeal of delight. I rolled onto my back and

The morning sun had barely begun to filter when the phone on my bedside table vibrated, cutting through the silence.It was Grandpa.​His voice was gruff but carried a warmth. He gave me an address. There was something in his tone that suggested no room for argument.​I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and pulled my planner onto my lap. I checked my schedule for the Ashford Art Gallery. One of the many miracles of my new residency was the freedom they had granted me. They were incredibly considerate, allowing me to choose my own hours. It was a luxury of autonomy I wasn't used to, and it made it easy to say yes to Grandpa.​But as I stared at the address, a knot of anxiety formed in my stomach. What was the Old Master planning? ​A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.​"Madam, this is the Old Master’s butler, Hui. Can you receive a parcel, please?"​I wrapped a robe around myself and opened the door. Uncle Hui stood there. He bowed with a precision that was both res

​"Of course," he said, but his voice was tight. He didn't let go of my hand this time. His grip was firm.​We entered the next chamber. The Kitchen of Sorrows. It was a macabre display of fake gore, but it was the silence that was the scariest part. No music. Just the sound of our own breathing, synchronized and shallow.​"You're walking very slowly," I mocked. "Are you waiting for the ghosts to ask for an autograph?"​"I'm keeping pace with you," he countered, though his eyes were scanning every corner of the room. "I don't want you tripping in the dark and blaming me for that."​"I'm fine, August. It’s your face I’m worried about. You’re turning grey again."​"I am not—"​Suddenly, the floor beneath us dropped an inch with a loud BANG.​"AH!" I let out an involuntary yelp, my heart practically jumping out of my chest.​August didn't scream, but he pulled me closer, his arm wrapping around my waist for a second before he caught himself and pulled back.​"A pressure plate," he muttere

The overhead speakers crackled. "Drivers! Powering up in three... two... one... GO!"​The floor hissed with electricity, and the ceiling sparks rained down like tiny stars. I slammed my foot onto the pedal. My car didn't move. It just growled and vibrated.​"I'm stuck!" I yelled over the noise.​August’s car shot forward which was frankly insulting. He spun in a perfect circle, his hair blowing back, and looked at me with a smugness in his face. "You have to turn the wheel, you idiot! You’re stuck against the starting rail!"​I spun the wheel frantically to the left. The car jerked, my head snapping back, and suddenly I was flying backward. I screamed, slamming into the car behind me with a THUD.​"Wrong way!" August yelled, laughing so hard he nearly let go of his own wheel. He circled back around.​"I'm learning!" I shouted, finally figuring out how to coordinate the steering and the pedal. I managed to straighten out, lurching forward into the middle of the arena.​The game was a f