Lahat ng Kabanata ng Heir of Secrets: My Enemy's Child: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

The file arrived at 9:12 a.m. in a secure inbox that didn’t show previews.Independent counsel forwarded it to Legal, who forwarded it to the forensic lead, who forwarded it to a clean-room drive before anyone let a single thumbnail breathe. The subject line from GoodNovel support was the same sentence I’d heard on the phone last night: We did not open it. We preserved it.The attachment name was plain, like it wanted to look harmless.PROOF.zipNo fireworks. No caps lock. No threat.Which meant it was either a trap or a confession. Either way, it was designed to make me move wrong.Noah was at the table pretending math was a wall. He watched me watch the laptop. He didn’t ask to see the file. He didn’t ask to be included. He was learning the same discipline I was—curiosity is expensive when someone else is setting the price.“Is it… something?” he asked carefully.“It’s a thing they want to control,” I said. “So we’re not letting it control anything.”He nodded and returned to his wo

The command “close the door” sounded simple until you watched how many doors a building actually had.Security didn’t sprint. They didn’t shout. They didn’t turn it into a scene. They moved like a tide—quiet, directional, inevitable. Two guards slipped into the service corridor from one side. Two more came up the stairwell from below. One held the elevator at sub-basement without pressing any alarm. Another stood at the parking exit and smiled at a passing staffer like it was a normal day.Luis Del Rosario didn’t know any of that yet. He was still in the stairwell with a hard drive case, walking with the confidence of a man who believed doors existed for him.In the conference room above, the air was tight enough to taste.“We have eyes,” Security’s lead said into the room’s speaker. “He’s at the landing. He’s moving toward Exit B.”Luca stood with his phone in hand, eyes winter-grey, posture controlled. He didn’t look like a man chasing a villain. He looked like a man closing a sprea

Noah wore his backpack like it was a decision.He stood in the doorway with his shoulders squared and his hair still damp from a shower he took too quickly, as if speed could make fear miss him. The guard assigned to the building waited two steps behind, hands visible, posture neutral. On the kitchen table, Noah’s phone sat face down beside his workbook, silent on purpose.“You don’t have to go,” I said, because it was my job to offer him an exit even when he didn’t take it.“I do,” Noah answered, and his voice didn’t shake. “Not because I’m brave. Because I’m tired of being reduced to a lock icon.”I swallowed. “Then we go the safe way.”Noah nodded once. We had rehearsed the route like it was a math problem with only one correct answer: the car waits out of sight, the drop-off is not the main gate, the walk is short, the counselor meets him at the door, the phone stays silent, no photos, no replies, no engagement. He’d agreed to every part, not because he liked it, but because he un

The hallway outside the boardroom had a particular kind of quiet—the kind that wasn’t peace, just insulation. Thick carpet. Soft lighting. No windows. No audience. A place designed so decisions could be made without seeing the faces they affected.I stood there anyway.Not inside the room. Not on the stage. Exactly where I said I would be: the hallway. A clean line between “no theatre” and “not invisible.”Security lingered down the corridor, far enough not to look like a guard detail, close enough to make the air feel structured. My driver waited two floors below. My phone sat in my palm like a pulse. Noah was at home, or in transit, depending on which hour the day had stolen from him.I tried not to imagine Celeste smiling.The boardroom door opened.Luca stepped out first, not looking at me immediately, as if the act of seeing me would change the temperature of his own restraint. Legal followed, binder against the chest like armor. Behind them, voices leaked—controlled, professional

Noah laid out his clothes the night before like the world was normal and he was determined to treat it that way. A clean shirt. A pair of jeans. Socks folded into a square. He even packed a snack—something small and quiet he could eat between classes without making a story out of it.He looked up from the open backpack and said, “I want to go.”I didn’t answer immediately, not because I wanted to deny him, but because I needed to hear the word and feel what it did to my body. My belly tightened once, a small warning band, then loosened when I breathed through it.In for four. Out for six.“We go,” I said, and my voice didn’t shake. “But we go with rules.”Noah nodded like he’d been waiting for that exact phrasing. “Rules,” he echoed.I told him the plan again, not like a lecture, but like a map we’d both agreed to live inside. No headphones. Phone silent. No replying to unknown messages. No accepting “verification.” No stepping out alone if someone calls him to the office; he texts me