All Chapters of Love At Sea: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The early morning began with a premonition Maeve couldn’t name. At three seventeen, she woke in the silent bedroom, wrapped in the steady breathing of the three men sleeping around her. There were no nightmares, no specific discomfort — only a sharpened awareness, as if her body were whispering secrets her mind had not yet learned to decipher.Then came the first contraction. Different from the Braxton Hicks contractions she had felt in recent weeks, this one carried an unmistakable quality—a primitive urgency, an ancestral message echoing through generations of women: it is time.Maeve remained still for a few minutes, her hand instinctively resting on her belly. The baby moved inside her, a fluid motion that felt like a response, a silent confirmation. The room was bathed in a bluish dimness, with the distant sound of fine rain tapping against the windows and the low hum of the air conditioner. It was a moment suspended in time, the last in

The cover of the third book was a silent declaration of victory. Where the previous ones had carried dark and uncertain tones, this one displayed a watercolor in golds and deep blues—colors that evoked sunrises over the ocean, promises kept, and horizons that had finally revealed themselves within reach. The title, engraved in handwritten letters like an intimate confession, was simple and revolutionary: “To Live.”Maeve held the copy between her hands, seated at the signing table in the bookstore she had chosen with deliberate care. Not the largest, not the most famous, but the one where, at seventeen, she had bought her first poetry book on a rainy afternoon, escaping home to avoid her mother’s acidic comments about her school essay. There was something circular about that choice — the girl who had sought refuge in other people’s words was now offering her own as shelter.The space was full, but not overcrowded. Familiar a

The car cuts through the dark road in silence. I'm in the back seat, next to her. Elara is pressed against the opposite door, as far away from me as possible, wrists and ankles still cuffed. Her green eyes won't stop shooting daggers at me. Every time I breathe, I feel the weight of that hatred burning my skin.I don't say anything during the entire ride. I just watch.She's even more beautiful up close. Even with the bruise on her face and the torn dress, there's something fierce about her. Something that makes me want to break and protect at the same time.Forty minutes later, the iron gates of the mansion open. The house is isolated, surrounded by dense forest and a dark lake in the back. Perfect for keeping someone hidden. Perfect for keeping her safe.The security guards stop the car. I get out first and walk around. When I open her door, Elara tries to kick me. I catch her leg easily and pull her out.— Don't make this harder — I murmur, holding her arm firmly.— Let go of me, y

I wake up with the faint light of dawn coming through the heavy curtains.My body is still tense. I spent the whole night on the sofa, eyes half-open, listening to every breath she took. Elara slept badly. I heard her pulling at the cuffs, sobbing quietly, and finally, silence settling in.Now she's awake.I feel her gaze on me before I even move. When I open my eyes, I find her staring. Her black hair is messy, the thin nightgown clinging to her body, her wrists still tied above her head. There's anger in her green eyes… and something tired underneath."Good morning, little one," I say, my voice hoarse from no sleep.She spits my name."Get these fucking cuffs off. I need to go to the bathroom."I get up slowly. My body aches from being on the sofa. I walk to the bed and lean over her. Her scent—soap, warm skin, and that constant hatred—rises to me. I grip her chin firmly."Ask properly.""Fuck you," she growls.I almost smile. Instead, I release only one side of the cuffs, just enou

I carry her back upstairs as if she weighs nothing.She fights the entire way. Her nails try to tear my shirt, her teeth seeking any piece of skin they can reach, her legs kicking the air with force. I don't let go. My arm is firm around her waist, the other holding both her wrists against my chest. Her scent rises — anger, expensive soap, and that desire she hates to admit. Every movement of her body against mine only makes me more tense."Let me go, you son of a bitch!" she screams, her voice hoarse from all the cursing.I don't answer. I just go up the stairs with firm steps, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. When we reach the bedroom, I throw her on the bed. Her body bounces on the soft mattress, and she immediately tries to get up. I climb on top of her before she can. My knees on either side of her hips, my hands pinning her wrists above her head hard enough to leave marks. The weight of my body immobilizes her completely."Stop fighting," I say, breathless, my voice low and