Todos os capítulos de TIED TO MY FATHER'S MURDERER: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

“Do you need anything else from me sir,” Isabella asked softly in the car, her voice careful and contained as she stared down at her notepad like it was the most interesting thing in the world.Victor did not answer her, his hands steady on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, and the silence between them felt thick enough that Isabella could almost hear her own breathing echo in it.She shifted slightly in her seat, cleared her throat, and said nothing else because it was clear he had decided she did not deserve a response, and she focused instead on the scribbles on her pad even though she was not actually reading them.When they arrived at the office building, Victor parked and stepped out of the car without a word, the door shutting firmly behind him, and Isabella waited a second before opening her own door, oddly relieved that he did not bother with any forced politeness.“I am fine with that,” she muttered to herself as she stepped out, adjusting her bag on her

“How far along are you,” Victor asked calmly, his voice steady like they were discussing quarterly projections.“Six weeks,” Isabella answered without hesitation, her hands resting flat against her thighs as she sat where he had told her to sit, her spine straight because she refused to look small in front of him.He nodded once, absorbing it, then lifted his eyes to her again and asked, “And you are certain the child is mine.”The question hit harder than she expected, a sharp sting that crawled up her chest and settled behind her eyes, but she did not flinch or raise her voice when she answered.“Yes,” she said evenly, meeting his gaze, “there is no doubt.”Victor studied her for a moment, searching her face for something she could not name, then he stood up and walked toward the window, his hands sliding into his pockets as he looked out at the city below.Isabella stayed quiet, counting her breaths, listening to the hum of the building and the distant sounds of traffic, the two mi

“I am not going to sleep again tonight,” Isabella whispered into the empty room, her voice rough as she stared at the ceiling and already knew lying there pretending would only make her thoughts louder.She lay still for a while longer, counting nothing, thinking nothing useful, then finally pushed herself up and said quietly that this was pointless and that she might as well move, because the bed was starting to feel like it was holding her down instead of letting her rest.In the bathroom she wrapped the robe around herself and tied it too tightly, then loosened it again, muttering that this place was too quiet and too big and that five in the morning should not feel this heavy.She opened the door and stepped into the corridor, the floor cool under her feet, and said under her breath that she was only walking and not going anywhere in particular, as if saying it would make it true.Without meaning to, she stopped in front of the study again, and she sighed softly when she realized

“Nothing happened,” Isabella said to herself quietly as she stood in the corridor outside the painting room, her fingers resting on the edge of the wooden box as she gently closed the lid and placed it back exactly where she found it, careful like even breathing too hard would make everything worse.She stayed there a moment longer, staring at the closed box, then whispered, “It is not my business,” and turned away even though her chest felt tight in a way she did not want to name.Back in her room she sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded together, and said again, softer this time, “It is not my business,” like repetition could lock it away somewhere permanent.She leaned back slowly and stared at the ceiling, letting the silence settle around her, and after a while she said out loud, “An old photograph, a name, nothing more,” and then she turned her head slightly and added, “I am not doing this to myself.”Still, the name stayed.Brown.She whispered it once, then again, then sto

“I am fine,” Victor said to no one in particular as he lay in his room staring at the ceiling, the words coming out low and controlled like they had been rehearsed enough times to sound real even when they were not.He did not move for a long time.“I am fine,” he repeated again, quieter now, as if repetition could turn it into something true.The ceiling stayed the same.The room stayed the same.His thoughts did not.“It is work,” he said out loud, shifting slightly on the bed, “Zachary Belt, the contracts, the board waiting for answers, everything is exactly what it always is.”He paused, then added, “Nothing is different.”The silence in the room did not agree with him.At four he got up without needing to decide it and walked to his study and turned on the lights and sat down like the day had already started without permission.“I will clear the backlog,” he said softly to himself as he opened the first file, “then everything will settle.”He worked till seven, when Rosa knocked