All Chapters of In Bed With My Fiancé’s Father: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

KANE’S POV“My situation,” I repeated. “Enlighten me, then.”The older man pulled the room’s only chair over — I hadn’t even noticed it was outside until he dragged it in — and sat down across from me like this was a business meeting instead of whatever the hell this actually was.“Your father is stable,” he said. “For now. The dose was low enough that with treatment, he’ll recover. You should know that before anything else.”Something in my chest loosened that I didn’t want to admit was relief.“So he’s not going to die.”“Not from this.” He folded his hands. “Which is either good news or bad news for you, depending on how you meant it.”I didn’t answer that. I wasn’t sure myself what I’d meant.“The police have your name attached to an attempted poisoning charge,” he continued. “Cynthia’s name is attached to nothing, because she made sure of that before she left the parking lot. Right now, on paper, you acted alone.”“That’s insane. She measured it out. She told me how much—”“I bel

KANE’S POVHours passed, or maybe it was minutes stretched thin by the silence. Nobody came. No food, no second visit, just the bulb humming faintly above me and the sound of my own heartbeat too loud in my ears.I kept turning his words over like a stone in my palm. Someone who has more to lose than you do. That wasn’t Cynthia — she had everything to lose and she’d already proven she’d burn the house down before she let it touch her. That left almost nobody. Almost.Unless it wasn’t about protecting her at all.Unless it was about protecting him.The thought hit me so hard I actually laughed, one broken sound in the empty room. My father, hiring men to smuggle his own attempted murderer out of police custody. It made no sense until I remembered who he was underneath the suits and the boardrooms — a man who’d spent thirty years burying every scandal that could touch the company before it ever reached a headline. A poisoning trial wouldn’t just end me. It would gut every deal he had in

KANE’S POV“You won’t,” he said again, like repeating it made it truer.I stared at the folder in his shaking hand, refusing to take it. “You almost died three days ago. Because of me. And your first move out of a coma is a business proposition.”“My first move,” he said, “is survival. Yours should be too, if you have any sense left in that head of hers put ideas into.”“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t talk about her like you weren’t the one who put her there in the first place.”Something flickered across his face — not quite guilt, I didn’t think him capable of that anymore, but something adjacent to it. Recognition, maybe. “You think I don’t know what I did to your mother. To you. I’ve had a long time lying in beds like this one to think about exactly what I did.”“And?”“And it doesn’t change what happens next.” He pushed the folder closer, insistent. “Cynthia isn’t finished. A woman like that doesn’t run because she’s afraid, Kane. She runs because she’s regrouping. Right now, tonight, sh

OLIVIA'S POVThe tea was cold, but I didn't notice until Lucious reached across the table and gently pushed the cup toward me."Olivia. You've been staring at that for ten minutes."I blinked, forcing myself back to the present. The kitchen was warm, filled with the soft glow of morning light. Lucious sat across from me, his face pale with exhaustion, his eyes rimmed with shadows."Sorry," I said, wrapping my hands around the cup anyway. The ceramic was cool against my skin. "I was just thinking.""About?"I looked at him. The strain in his shoulders. The way his hand trembled slightly when he reached for his coffee. The fear he tried so hard to hide behind a mask of confidence."About Julian," I said. "About everything."Lucious was quiet for a moment. Then he reached across the table and took my hand, his fingers cold against mine."I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But we're going to get through this. All of us."I wanted to believe him. I really did. But there was something in

Virgil's POVThe coffee shop was nearly empty.Rain streaked down the windows in uneven rivulets, distorting the streetlights outside into blurred halos of orange and gold.I sat in the corner booth, my third cup of coffee growing cold in front of me, my fingers drumming an uneven rhythm against the scratched wooden table.I'd texted Danny forty-seven minutes ago."I need to talk to you. Not about the case."The words had felt like a confession even before I'd sent them. I'd stared at the screen for a full three minutes, thumb hovering over the send button, my chest tight with something I refused to name. Then I'd pressed it anyway, dropped my phone on the table, and spent the next ten minutes convincing myself I hadn't just made a terrible... terrible mistake.The bell above the door chimed.I looked up.Danny stood in the entrance, rain darkening the shoulders of his leather jacket, his hair plastered to his forehead in wet strands. He scanned the room once, twice, and then his eyes