All Chapters of His Uncle's Priceless Jewel: Unmasking His Regret: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

65 Chapters

The Boy in Zurich

THALASSA'S POV:My phone buzzed at two seventeen in the morning.I was deep in chapter sixteen of my manuscript, the one where the detective finally realizes the killer has been hiding in plain sight the whole time. The words had been flowing for hours, that magical space where my brain just worked and my fingers could not keep up. I hated being interrupted during those moments. But the buzzing was insistent, and my encrypted line only buzzed like that for one reason.Someone needed the Miracle Doctor.I saved my document and opened the secure messaging app. The message was short, which meant urgent. A contact in Geneva, someone I had worked with before, someone who did not waste words when time mattered."Diplomat's child. Six years old. Hospital in Zurich. Three specialists have failed. They are asking for you."I stared at the screen. Diplomat meant powerful. Powerful meant careful. If I saved this child, I would gain an ally in high places. If I failed, my reputation would take a

The Absence of Her

3RD POV:Eulalie Ashworth had been living in the Deveraux mansion for three weeks and Cassian was already exhausted.He had imagined this differently. In his head, the days after the divorce would be golden. He would wake up next to a beautiful woman, drink coffee on the terrace, and feel the weight of his failed marriage lift off his shoulders like a heavy coat finally hung in the closet. Eulalie would bring lightness back into his life. She would laugh at his jokes and touch his arm and make him feel like the man he used to be before the accident, before the blindness, before Thalassa and her creepy mask and her silent presence in every corner of his house.That was not what happened.What happened was Eulalie woke up at eleven in the morning and complained that the curtains were too thin and the sunlight was hurting her eyes. What happened was she sent back three different breakfasts because the eggs were too runny and the toast was too brown and the fresh squeezed juice was not fr

The Book Launch

THALASSA'S POV: The invitation had arrived three weeks ago, printed on thick cream card stock with gold lettering. Julian Thorne's book launch. The event of the season, according to every literary magazine and gossip column in the city. Everyone who was anyone in the publishing world would be there. Editors, agents, critics, fans, the whole circus. I had almost said no. The old me, the one who lived in the Deveraux mansion, would have said no without thinking. Too many people. Too many questions. Too much risk of being seen, recognized, remembered. But the old me was gone now, buried somewhere in the past with the marriage I had walked away from. The new me said yes. The venue was a converted warehouse in the arts district, all exposed brick and dramatic lighting and walls covered in posters of Julian's book cover. The theme was masks, which was either brilliant marketing or a cosmic joke directed at me personally. I chose to see it as the former. I wore a mask I had commissione

The Second Encounter

3RD POV:Alaric Deveraux had been to exactly one book launch in his entire life, and he had sworn he would never attend another. The wine was always warm, the conversations always pretentious, and everyone spent the whole night trying to prove they were smarter than everyone else in the room. It was exhausting. It was boring. It was exactly the kind of event he had built his entire career avoiding.But his assistant had cornered him in his office three days ago with that look on her face, the one that meant she had already made up her mind and was just waiting for him to catch up."Julian Thorne is the biggest literary sensation of the year," she had said. "Everyone who is anyone will be at his launch. You need to be seen there. It is good for the brand.""My brand does not need books," he had said."Your brand needs to look like it has a soul."So here he was, standing in a gallery space that had been transformed into something between a ballroom and a library, wearing a Venetian mas

The Masked Intellectual

3RD POV:The party was winding down. The crowd was thinning. Alaric realized he had been standing here for hours, talking to this woman, and he did not want to leave.But the room was emptying around them, waiters starting to clear glasses, the hostess making her rounds to thank people for coming. The magic of the evening was fading, replaced by the practical reality of closing time.Lyra looked around, noticing the same thing. "I should probably go," she said. "My car will be here soon.""You could stay a little longer," Alaric said. "The night is still young."She laughed, that warm genuine laugh he was starting to enjoy. "I have been here for four hours. My feet are killing me and I have to be up early tomorrow.""Then let me walk you out."She hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. "Okay."They walked through the emptying gallery together, past the posters and the empty champagne glasses and the few remaining guests who were too drunk to notice anyone else. The night air hit th

The Business Rival

CASSIAN'S POV:I was in my study, going over the quarterly reports, when James knocked on the door with that particular look on his face. The one that meant he had bad news and was trying to figure out how to deliver it without getting yelled at."Mr. Cassian," he said, "I have just received word about the waterfront development project."I looked up. The waterfront project was mine. It had been mine since before the accident, my baby, the thing I had been building toward for years. A massive mixed use development that would transform the entire district and make the Deveraux name synonymous with progress. I had been planning it, dreaming about it, working on it even when I was blind and could not see the blueprints."What about it?""The board has decided to go in a different direction." James's voice was carefully neutral. "They have awarded the contract to another firm."I stood up so fast my chair scraped against the floor. "What? That is impossible. The contract was mine. Everyon

Coffee and Candor

THALASSA'S POV:I spent three days staring at the white card on my kitchen counter before I actually called him.Three days of picking it up, reading the number, putting it down again. Three days of telling myself I was being ridiculous. Three days of convincing myself that one coffee date did not mean anything, that I could handle it, that I was not going to let one interesting conversation at a party derail my carefully constructed new life.On the fourth day, I called.He answered on the second ring. "I was starting to think you would never call.""You were starting to think that after three days? Impatient.""Impatient, yes. Also hopeful. There is a difference."I smiled despite myself. "There is a coffee shop near me. Small place, not fancy. The coffee is terrible but the atmosphere is good.""Terrible coffee. That sounds perfect. When?"We met the next morning. I got there early, because I always got there early, and I sat in the corner booth with my laptop open in front of me,

A Medical Miracle

THALASSA'S POV:The message came through at 3:17 in the morning, which was always the time when the hardest cases found me. Something about the witching hour made doctors desperate. They had tried everything, exhausted every option, and now they were reaching out to a ghost in the machine, hoping that the mysterious Miracle Doctor would have answers when no one else did.I was deep in chapter twenty two of my manuscript when my encrypted phone buzzed. The notification was different from the usual ones, a specific pattern that meant the message had come through the highest level of the network. Someone important was reaching out. Someone who knew exactly who they were contacting and why.I saved my document and opened the message."Dr. Miravel. I hope this message finds you well. I am Dr. Marcus Webb, Chief of Surgery at St. Catherine's Hospital in London. I have a patient who is dying and I have run out of options. I am told you are the person to contact when all else fails. Please. I

Eulalie's True Colors

CASSIAN'S POV:I was supposed to be in a meeting. That was the excuse I had given Eulalie when I left the house that morning. A meeting with the board, important business, do not wait up for dinner. All lies, of course. The meeting had been canceled hours ago, but I had not wanted to come home. I had not wanted to listen to Eulalie complain about the curtains or the silverware or the way the staff looked at her. I had not wanted to pretend that everything was fine when everything was clearly not fine.So I drove around the city for a while. I parked near the waterfront and looked at the development site that was no longer mine. I walked through a park and watched children play and thought about nothing at all. I sat in my car and stared at the steering wheel and tried to figure out how my life had gotten so far from where I wanted it to be.Eventually, I ran out of places to go. I drove home.The mansion was quiet when I walked in, which was unusual. Eulalie was usually somewhere maki

Eulalie's True Colors(2)

CASSIAN'S POV: But I could not move. I could not speak. I could only stand there, listening, while my entire world crumbled around me. "That is the thing about these rich families," Eulalie was saying. "They think they are so smart. They think they are so untouchable. But they are just as stupid as everyone else. They see a pretty face and they forget to ask what is underneath. It is almost too easy." I finally found my voice. "Is it?" Eulalie froze. Her head snapped toward the doorway, her eyes widening when she saw me standing there. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the couch cushions. "Cassian," she said, and her voice was high and thin. "I did not hear you come in." "Clearly." I walked into the room, my legs finally working again. "Who were you talking to?" "Just a friend. An old friend. We were just..." "I heard everything, Eulalie. Everything." She stood up, her face pale. "You did not hear everything. You heard some things. Out of context. I

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