All Chapters of Bound by Sin: The Heir & His Stepmother: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The computer never slept.Neither did I, these last few weeks. The bluish glow of the monitors illuminated my pale face, reflected in the multiple screens that covered the Arsenal wall like the eyes of a digital spider. Every pixel was a thread in the web I wove around Tristan and his family—an invisible web, made of code and surveillance, designed to keep them safe.And to detect when someone tried to break it.The alert system I had built was a masterpiece of meticulous paranoia. Any movement around Füssen, any call to Dr. Weber’s office, any suspicious payment to local intermediaries—everything passed through my filters, everything was verified, cross-checked, archived.In the first days after the rescue, the silence was a blessing.No suspicious movement. No strange contact. No gaze lingering too long in the wrong directions.Tristan was recovering in the cabin. Aurora was taking care of him. August was learning to call his real father “Dad.” And I, on the other side of the screen

The journey was long, but I did not feel time pass.I kept August nestled in my lap, his blond hair spread across my chest, his breathing calm and regular. He had fallen asleep again, exhausted from being dragged out in the middle of the night during our escape.Tristan sat beside me but did not touch me. Not because he did not want to—I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his left hand clenched and opened on the armrest—but because he was covered in blood. His blood. The blood that seeped from his abdomen, where the cut had opened again.Edda passed him an improvised bandage. Zahir, in the front seat, kept his eyes on the pilot and the instruments. Mateo, by the opposite window, watched the dark horizon, alert for any sign of pursuit.No one spoke.The hum of the blades filled the silence, a monotonous and hypnotic sound that pulled me into a state of weary alertness. My eyes hurt, my body hurt, my soul hurt. But I could not close my eyes. Not yet.It was Zahir who broke

The phone rang at three thirty in the morning.The sound cut through the silence of my office. I wasn’t sleeping—I hadn’t slept for days, since I discovered that Tristan had taken Aurora and August. The whisky in the glass was warm, without ice, as bitter as my soul.“Speak,” I answered without looking at the caller ID. I knew who it was. Only one person called at that hour with bad news.“Mr. Delyon…” The head of the third group’s voice hesitated. I knew that hesitation. It was the sound of defeat. “The target… is no longer at the cabin.”The glass stopped halfway to my lips.“What do you mean by ‘no longer’?”“The men you sent for reconnaissance… didn’t return. Neither the first group, nor the second. So we sent the third to investigate. They found the cabin empty. There’s no one. Not Tristan, not Aurora, not the child. And the bodies… the bodies of our men were in the woods. All dead.”“All?”“All. Four near the cabin. Executed with precision shots. Silent weapons. With non-convent

The kiss still burned on my lips when Anya stood up, pulled my hand, and dragged me out of the monitor room.“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to catch my breath, my dignity, something.Her small, warm hand wrapped around mine, her footsteps echoing on the concrete floor like a countdown. My brain, the organ I had trained to process data in milliseconds, was short-circuiting.“Taking you to my room.”“Anya, the alerts…”“The alerts can wait.” She didn’t look back. Her tank top was still crooked, the bra already loose, and I could see the curve of her breasts with every movement. “You can’t.”“I need…”“You need a full night’s sleep. And I’m going to give it to you. My way.”Her room was at the end of the corridor, a discreet door I had never entered. Until now.She went in first, released my hand, and I stood there, frozen in the doorway like an idiot. The room was small but tidy—folded clothes on a chair, a black bag in the corner, a lipstick on the dresser. It smelled like her. F

The phone vibrated in my hand for the third time before I had the courage to look at the screen. It wasn’t the usual number—the one I had saved in my contacts as “Tristan (don’t answer if sober).” It was the number I had paid a fortune to obtain. The private number. The one only his closest circle had.And I wasn’t close. I was the best friend of the woman he loved. Which, in the Delyon universe, was equivalent to being a potential threat or a valuable ally. It depended on the day.Nine days, I thought as the phone continued to vibrate. Nine days since he showed up at that damned wedding looking like a living corpse, put on the suit I personally delivered, and disappeared again. This time, I hoped, taking Aurora and August with him.Cassius was furious. You could tell from the headlines—“Businessman Cassius Delyon Cancels Appointments,” “Search for Missing Heir Intensifies,” “Speculation About the Whereabouts of Wife and Youngest Son.” The press didn’t know half of it, but they could