Semua Bab Bound by Sin: The Heir & His Stepmother: Bab 71 - Bab 80

Morning light poured through the dining room windows like a balm, golden and soft, almost maternal. It was as if the sun, for the first time in years, had decided to bless that mahogany table that had always seemed like a gallows to me.Cassius was locked away in his room, under the care of the doctor and his own newly discovered fragility. Lena, exiled in her own disgrace. Erika, hysterical in her wedding dress stained with imaginary tears. For a moment, they were all off the stage.Only the three of us remained.August was sitting to my right, his little feet swinging under the chair, a piece of bread with jam in his hand and eyes shining with a joy I hadn’t seen in weeks.“Mami, Onkel Tristan said that today I can play in the garden after breakfast!” he announced, his mouth smeared with red.“Onkel Tristan said?” I raised an eyebrow, looking at Tristan, who sat across from me with a cup of black coffee between his hands.“He did,” Tristan confirmed, his voice softer than I had ever

The suitcase on the bed was small, discreet, black. Inside, there were no clothes. There was enough for a war: three extra magazines for the Nachtkönigin, a case of carbon steel blades, a first aid kit with bandages and coagulants, two thermal camouflage devices the size of cigarette packs, and the biodegradable bullets — green, translucent, lethal. Each one a poem of silent destruction. Each one, my signature.My body still vibrated with the memory of Aurora, her scent on my skin, her taste in my mouth. But the beast was being set aside. Now, the strategist was speaking.The bedroom door opened without a sound. She entered like a shadow, the champagne-colored silk robe wrapping her body, her loose hair falling over her shoulders. Her eyes found the suitcase, the weapons, the devices. She didn’t ask what it was. She knew.“When are you coming back?” Her voice was calm, but there was tension in it.“Depends. Tomorrow. Maybe later.”She approached, her fingers tracing the edge of the su

“Tristan, they are converging on your position.” Zahir’s voice came through the radio. “At least fifteen men, maybe more. You need to get out. Now.”“I’m getting out.”I ran. Footsteps echoed behind me. The corridor was a labyrinth, every turn a new threat. I fired blindly, trusting instinct, the precision of my weapons, and the darkness that enveloped me.A guard appeared on the left. The Nachtkönigin sang. He fell.Another on the right. Another shot. Another body.“We’re leaving the perimeter.” This time it was Luca’s voice on the radio. “The helicopter is incoming. Tristan, where are you?”“On my way.”I lied. I didn’t know where I was. The corridor forked, the lights flickered, the alarm wailed like a funeral siren. Guards appeared from all sides, armed ghosts emerging from the walls.I killed one. I killed another. I killed one more.The Nachtkönigin was hot in my hand, the magazine nearly empty. I swapped it in one fluid motion, the green bullets gleaming in the dim light.“They

Tristan slept for three days.Three days of silent agony, of monitors beeping, of blood-soaked gauze being changed, of fever that rose and fell like a cruel tide. The doctor didn’t leave his side even to go to the bathroom. We took turns in exhausting shifts, each of us dealing in our own way with the possibility that the Löwe might never wake up.Anya brought coffee and talked nonstop about random things — the weather outside, a series she was binge-watching, the hair color she wanted to dye. I knew it was her way of not going insane with the silence, with Tristan’s irregular breathing, with the fear we all felt but no one dared to name.Zahir monitored the equipment in silence, his dark eyes always alert, his hands always ready to adjust a parameter, change an IV, note a change. He was methodical, patient — the opposite of me, who paced back and forth until Edda gave me a shove and told me to sit down.Edda kept guard on the perimeter but visited the recovery room every hour, her ic

“You shouldn’t be standing,” the doctor said, for the fifth time in the last hour. “You have a low-grade fever and your blood pressure…”“I don’t care what you think I should or shouldn’t do.” My voice came out rougher than I intended, my throat dry. “What I need to know is whether you can keep me on my feet for the next few hours.”He hesitated. His eyes scanned my battered body as if assessing the damage from a car accident, which wasn’t far from the truth.“I can administer strong painkillers. Morphine, perhaps. But the side effects…”“I don’t want morphine. I want something that keeps me lucid. Something that kills the pain without clouding my mind.”The doctor sighed, resigned. He opened his black case, took out a syringe and a small vial with a clear liquid.“This is a low-dose cocktail. Stimulants mixed with fast-acting analgesics. It will keep you on your feet for a few hours. But when the effect wears off…” He paused, his eyes meeting mine. “You’re going to feel every broken