บททั้งหมดของ My Father’s Enemy, My Obsession : บทที่ 131 - บทที่ 140

The promise he makes on the kitchen floor doesn’t stay abstract for long.Within forty‑eight hours, the Empire of Sin has a new, unofficial policy:Anything that might stress, jostle, exhaust, annoy, or even mildly inconvenience Ava Moretti is now a top‑tier security concern.Damian doesn’t announce it in a memo.He just starts acting like it’s already written.It begins with the medical team.Ava walks into his office one morning to find a woman in a white coat sitting across from him, portfolio on her lap.She looks up, smiling.“Ms. Moretti,” she says. “I’m Dr. Shah. High‑risk obstetrics. Your partner asked me to consult on designing an appropriate…care environment.”Ava looks at Damian.He looks entirely unbothered.“You hired me an OB?” she asks.“I hired you a team,” he says. “Dr. Shah coordinates. There will be a nutritionist, a physiotherapist, and a therapist who specializes in pregnancy after trauma. All on retainer. All sworn to confidentiality tighter than Cass’s firewalls

The proposal is the easy part.Everything after is logistics.“Who knew,” Ava mutters one afternoon, “that signing a multi‑billion‑dollar joint venture would be easier than picking a venue?”Riley, buried in a stack of glossy portfolios at the office conference table, snorts.“Welcome to the real war,” she says. “Florists.”They sit amid a chaos of swatches and sample menus, security diagrams, and seating charts. On Nolan’s tablet, a risk assessment glows beside a spreadsheet of projected costs and a tab labeled PRESS STRATEGY.“Church is out,” Riley says, flipping a page. “You’d combust on the threshold. Also, acoustics suck for microphones.”“Thanks,” Ava says.“Courthouse?” Nolan suggests, half‑joking.Both women glare.“Absolutely not,” Ava says. “We have spent enough time in courtrooms.”“Rooftop?” Riley counters. “Symbolic, visually stunning, probably a nightmare for Leo’s team, but that’s his problem.”Leo, passing by the open door, pauses.“Already mapped the sightlines for th

“It happens on a Tuesday, a few weeks after the rooftop wedding—close enough to term that Dr. Shah has started every appointment with, ‘Any signs of early labor?”The pregnancy, once a fragile secret, has become a visible fact. Ava’s belly leads her into rooms now; the bump has its own gravitational field. People’s eyes flick to it when she enters, then guiltily back up.She pretends not to notice.She’s in a comfortable dress that accommodates both the bump and the need to look like she can still terrify a lender. Damian sits to her right, Nolan to her left, Leo a quiet shadow near the door.On the screen, a map of the East River glows.“We can’t sign off on this unless we’ve got triple redundancy on the pumps,” Ava is saying, laser pointer hovering. “We all know which buildings flooded last time the city pretended the tides were a suggestion—”The contraction hits mid‑sentence.It's not the gentle tightening she’s grown used to over the last couple of weeks. Not the Braxton Hicks Dr

The first sign of trouble is the silence.Not the bad kind—no alarms, no shouting, no crash of breaking glass—but the particular, focused quiet that only happens when a toddler is up to something.“Ava?” Damian calls from the kitchen. “Where is she?”“Coloring,” Ava answers from the shared office, glancing up from her screen. “At the table. With paper. Supervised. We are responsible.”A beat.“Define ‘supervised,’” he says.“She was supervised seven minutes ago,” Ava says. “Which, in toddler time, is basically constant.”He appears in the doorway a second later, holding out a small, sticky hand.On it is a perfect, tiny fingerprint in blue marker.There is also a blue marker on his shirt.And the edge of the hallway wall.And, faintly, in his hair.Sofia Emilia Kade—two years old, curly‑haired, currently feral—toddles in behind him clutching the offending marker in her fist.“Ahem,” Damian says dryly. “Would you like to explain your daughter’s artistic choices?”Ava tries very hard no

If Ava and Damian’s wedding was a carefully controlled rooftop statement, Riley and Nolan’s is…not that.It’s chaos dressed in fairy lights.They rent out the top floor of an old converted warehouse down by the river. Exposed brick, beams strung with mismatched lanterns, a view of the water through huge industrial windows. The ceremony is in the same room as the reception; the chairs will be shoved aside later to make space for dancing.“Very us,” Riley declared when they first toured it. “Glamorous industrial accident.”Now, on the actual day, she stands behind a sliding barn‑style door, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers and taking sharp, panicked breaths.“I think I’m going to puke,” she announces. “Is it too late to fake my own death?”Ava, in a deep blue dress that manages to hide the worst of the toddler‑induced marker stains, squeezes her shoulders.“If you puke, you’ll ruin your eyeliner,” she says. “And you spent an hour on that.”“Shallow,” Riley mutters. “I like it.”Cass l