บททั้งหมดของ Twice You: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

The Dublin sun enters shyly through the kitchen window, as if afraid of disturbing what we’re trying to pretend is normal. It’s almost seven in the morning. The smell of fresh coffee, burnt toast, and bacon mixes with the faint scent of baby shampoo still lingering in the air after Claire came running down from her bath. I’m at the sink, scrambling eggs with cheese and herbs — exactly how she likes them. Declan sits at the table, already dressed, jaw locked as he reads messages on his phone. Harvey leans against the counter, a cup of black coffee in his hand, his light brown eyes sweeping across the kitchen as if mapping every possible entry point.The three of us are here. Together. Trying to make breakfast as if we hadn’t returned from Boston covered in blood less than forty-eight hours ago. As if I hadn’t shot a man for the first time in six years. As if we hadn’t just discovered that Richard Ashford is the true mastermind behind everything.Claire comes in skipping, her blond hair

The video is still in my head when I close the bedroom door.The images won’t stop replaying: Claire sleeping, her room filmed, the three of us being watched like animals in captivity. Ronan selling every second of our lives to Richard. My daughter being used as currency once again.I lean against the wall in the second-floor hallway and feel my legs give out. I slide down to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. The crying starts silent at first. Then it becomes something bigger. Something I can’t hold back.I cry for Claire, who almost lost her mother twice. I cry for the man I shot in Boston. I cry for all the new scars we carry. I cry because, even after everything, Richard can still reach us.I don’t hear Declan approaching. I only feel it when he kneels in front of me and holds my face with both large hands.“Evie,” he calls softly. His voice is hoarse, worried. “Look at me.”I lift my swollen eyes. He’s crouched down, still wearing the black shirt stained with dried blood fr

DeclanThe basement smells of old blood and damp concrete.Marcus is tied to the metal chair, wrists and ankles locked in chains. His face is already swollen, lower lip split, nose crooked. Even so, he’s still holding out. It’s been almost two hours.I circle him slowly, black shirt sleeves rolled up to my elbows. Harvey leans against the back wall, arms crossed, watching in silence. Every now and then he asks a precise, surgical question. I prefer to use my hands.“Once more,” I say, voice hoarse. “Who gave the order to film Claire?”Marcus spits blood onto the floor.“Richard,” he answers, exhausted. “It was always Richard.”I slam my fist into his ribs. The air explodes out of his lungs with a sickening wheeze. Marcus contorts in pain but doesn’t scream.“Why does he want pictures of my daughter?” I demand, leaning in close to his battered face. “Answer.”Marcus lifts his swollen eyes. For the first time, something different flickers in them. It isn’t just fear. It’s resignation.“

The decision was made in less than an hour.After Declan named the place, the air in the room shifted. No one argued anymore. Harvey simply nodded once and immediately reached for his phone to start organizing everything. Declan stayed quiet for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on mine, as if waiting for me to refuse. I didn’t. I only squeezed his hand tighter.“Tonight,” he repeated. “As soon as it gets dark. Without leaving a trace.”I went upstairs to Claire’s room while they began planning.She was sitting on the bed drawing again. When I walked in, she looked up and smiled, but the smile disappeared the moment she saw my face.“We’re going on a trip, aren’t we?” she asked, as straightforward as always.I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed my hand through her hair.“Yes, we are. Just for a while. Daddy thinks it’ll be safer.”Claire was quiet for a second, staring at her drawing. Then she asked softly:“Is it because of Uncle Marcus?”My chest tightened.“Yes. And other things to

Luka found the test.I don’t know exactly how. Maybe when he went to empty the trash in my bathroom. All I know is that in the middle of the afternoon, while I’m in the kitchen trying to force down a piece of toast, Declan appears in the doorway with a closed expression.He doesn’t say anything at first.He just stands there, staring at me.Harvey is sitting at the table, reading something on his tablet. When he senses the shift in the air, he looks up.“What is it?” he asks, already knowing something is wrong.Declan walks into the kitchen slowly. In his hand is a small transparent plastic bag. Inside it, the pregnancy test I threw away.Two bright blue lines clearly visible through the plastic.I feel the floor disappear beneath my feet.“Declan…” I start, but my voice comes out weak.He sets the bag carefully on the table, as if it might explode.“Luka found this in your bathroom trash,” he says, his voice low and tightly controlled. Dangerous. “He brought it to me. Thought I neede