บททั้งหมดของ My Ex Husband Chose My Sister: Now he wants me back Too Late: บทที่ 141 - บทที่ 150

KARA We huddled inside a maintenance room somewhere beneath the city, waiting while Declan’s security team secured the area around us, and I found myself shaking uncontrollably, not entirely from cold. “You’re safe,” Milly said quietly, sitting beside me on an overturned crate. “Breathe, Kara.” “I don’t deserve to be safe.” The words came out before I could stop them. “Not after everything, not after what our family did to you.” “What do you mean?” I looked at her, exhaustion and guilt colliding until I couldn’t hold anything back anymore. “There’s more,” I said. “More than the payments I already showed you. I need to tell you everything, Milly, right now, before I lose whatever courage I have left.” “Mom used to sit me down,” I started, my voice trembling, “back when I was maybe nine or ten. She’d tell me the same thing over and over. ‘Don’t get too close to your sister, Kara. Don’t let yourself love her too much.’” Milly went very still beside me. “I asked her why once,” I c

DECLANAdrian spread the coordinated arrest plan across the table in front of me, dozens of names highlighted across three different federal agencies now working in tandem, and I stared at it for a long moment, trying to absorb the sheer scale of what we’d uncovered.“Twenty-three confirmed members,” Adrian said. “Judges, senators, two media executives, four corporate leaders. Simultaneous arrests scheduled at dawn, coordinated across six states so no one has time to flee or destroy evidence once the first arrest hits the news.”“Vale?”“Included. Federal marshals will take him directly from his chambers.”I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. “This is going to dismantle half of Washington’s power structure in a single morning.”“That’s rather the point,” Adrian said quietly.Richard requested to see me privately that evening, and I found him sitting alone in the small holding room the federal prosecutors had allowed for our meeting, looking older than I’d ever seen him, s

ISAACThe safehouse smelled like mildew and gun oil, and I’d been living in it for six days since the crash, my ribs still wrapped tight enough that every breath reminded me I was supposed to be dead.“You need to stay off that leg,” the doctor said, the only person besides my contact who knew I was alive. “Another week, minimum.”“I don’t have another week.”“Isaac…”“They think I’m dead,” I said. “That’s the only advantage I have right now, and it expires the moment anyone sees me moving around Washington.”He didn’t argue further. He’d stopped arguing after the second day.I spent most of my waking hours going through the files, cross-referencing dates, financial transfers, judicial rulings that conveniently favored consortium interests over eleven years on the bench, building a timeline so complete it left no room for reasonable doubt.Vale had ordered Evelyn Ward’s death.Vale had authorized the sniper at the rooftop gala.Vale had ordered the car bomb that should have killed me

MILLYWe reached the highway forty minutes after Adrian’s call, rain still hammering the windshield despite the storm beginning to weaken, emergency lights flashing red and blue across wreckage scattered along both lanes ahead of us.“Oh God,” I whispered, seeing the destruction spread out before us. Three vehicles, twisted metal, one flipped completely onto its roof.“Stay in the car,” Declan said, already reaching for the door.“Declan, I’m not staying in the car.”“Milly”“That’s Isaac’s car,” I said, pointing toward the mangled vehicle nearest the median, recognition hitting me with sickening certainty. “I’m not staying in the car.”Federal agents swarmed the scene as we approached, and I pushed past two of them despite Declan’s hand tight around my arm, desperate, searching frantically until I saw him.Isaac lay propped against the wreckage of his car, blood soaking through his shirt, an agent pressing a jacket hard against a wound in his side while another shouted into a radio f

MILLYSix months had passed since the sirens, since the highway, since the long stretch of grief and testimony and slow, careful healing that followed. Washington was still recovering, still sorting through the wreckage of an empire that had operated in silence for decades.“They’re sentencing Vale next week,” Adrian mentioned over coffee one morning, scrolling through his phone. “Life without parole, most likely. No plea deal available for what he did.”“Good,” I said simply, and meant it.Richard remained in federal custody as well, his cooperation earning him a reduced sentence but nothing close to freedom. I hadn’t visited him since his arrest. Some wounds, I’d learned, didn’t require reconciliation to heal properly.The Whitmores had lost nearly everything, their fortune seized, their social standing collapsed entirely once the payment ledgers became public record. I felt an odd, hollow sadness about it rather than satisfaction, understanding now how thoroughly fear had shaped ev