Hiding The Devil Billionaire's Daughter のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 121 - チャプター 130

Hunting WARNING: This chapter contains mature, sensitive, and graphic scenes not suitable for young or sensitive readers. Please proceed at your own risk. THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW "Fuck you, Kidd! That almost got me killed!" Ace's shout bounces off the abandoned building's concrete walls, raw with fury. Blood seeps through his shirt as he shoves a jagged wooden plank-dark with crimson-against the chest of the man pinned beneath him. "Fuck you right back! I called out, but you were too busy playing hero to listen!" Kidd roars, jaw clenched tight. His hands wrap around another man's throat, fingers squeezing until the man's face bleaches pale and his eyes glaze over, teetering between unconsciousness and death. Kieran clicks his tongue, kicking aside a discarded blade. "You idiots, hurry up! We need to clean up. How long have we been gone? We still have to tell Lucian about these bastards!" All three curse, taking in the

Their SufferingSERAPHINA "Sera" MORTEZ'S POINT OF VIEW I freeze where I stand, mind going empty as a hollow room. Who would've thought she'd come back after all this time? Nearly four years later, her hatred still clings to me-all because Lucian chose not to be with her. I stare at her, feeling the heat of it roll off her skin, sharp as broken glass. It's etched in every line of her face: brows drawn tight, lips pulled back in a snarl, eyes so bright with fury they look feverish. One wrong move, and I know she'll end me without a second thought. "W-What did you do to Hera...? Why did she get dragged into this?" The words spill out before I can stop them. Truth is, I should hate Hera. I'm terrified of what she's become, and she's the reason I'm here facing this woman again. She helped set this up-twice now she's betrayed me, nearly putting my boys in danger. So why... why do I feel my chest tighten at the thought of her? Why

Lucian Vitale 1LUCIAN VITALE'S POINT OF VIEW When I was a child, I had everything any kid could dream of: a mansion with grounds that stretched beyond the treeline, cars that gleamed like polished coins and made my friends' fathers look away with tight smiles, my own basketball court where the hoops never wobbled. Toys arrived wrapped in silk paper, their price tags hidden away-costing more than most families made in a year. Above all, there was perfection: a perfect family, a perfect life. I wanted for nothing. Mom and Dad loved me with a ferocity that felt like shelter. Ask for a new action figure, and it would sit on my bedside table by morning, still warm from the store's plastic wrap. Crave pastries from that patisserie in Paris, and they'd arrive in a wooden box lined with white cloth, their sugar crusts crackling under the kitchen light. I knew I was lucky. Knew I'd never have to work a day if I didn't want to-they'd carry me through li

Lucian Vitale 3LUCIAN VITALE'S POINT OF VIEW "How are you, hmm? Been far too long. You've grown-I thought you'd be smaller in person. I watched you on the feeds while you were in there. Glad you survived. Proves you deserve to live. I suppose I ought to be proud-" "Cut the crap, old man." My words caught in my throat as cold metal pressed to the side of my head. A gun, steady as stone, held by someone just out of sight. I kept my gaze locked on the man across from me, seated behind an ornate desk of dark, polished wood. We were in his office-only us three: him, me, and the armed guard by the door. Percy, Kiddeon, and Keiran were already asleep in the rooms they'd been given, their bodies finally resting after years of running. He laughed, sharp as broken glass cutting through the quiet. "Some manners you've got. Is that how you treat the man who-" "You're not my grandfather. Just someone I used to know." My voice was flat,

EpilogueTHREE MONTHS LATER... LUCIAN VITALE'S POINT OF VIEW I can't sleep. Haven't had a full night's rest in over a month, pulling overtime at the office every single day. I glance at the wall clock as I shut down my laptop-six in the morning. Time flies when you're drowning in numbers and deadlines. It feels like just yesterday I was staring at the same screen, the clock reading ten at night. I stand up and slip on my coat, the wool heavy against my tired shoulders. I grab my phone and car keys from the desk-cool metal and plastic in my palm. I need to get home. They'll be waiting. "Good morning, sir. Overtime again?" One of the morning-shift guards greets me at the exit, his breath fogging in the cool lobby air. I offer him a gentle smile. "Yeah-gotta do it for the family." He grins back, lines crinkling around his eyes. "How about some coffee first, sir? You'll give yourself a stomach ache burning th