บททั้งหมดของ THE CURSED NECKLACE: บทที่ 101 - บทที่ 110

Adrian stood frozen in the shadowed corner of the hallway, the small stone cold and heavy in his palm. Elena remained wrapped in Dante Francesco’s arms, her face buried against his shoulder as if seeking something familiar. The sight burned through him like acid. Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and walked away, footsteps echoing down the marble corridor.He pushed through the side exit and slid into the waiting car. “Drive,” he ordered Daniel, voice flat.“Sir… Ms. Ricardo is still inside—”“Do you work for her or me?!” Adrian snapped, eyes blazing. “Drive!”The car pulled away from the venue, leaving the glittering lights and Elena behind.---Inside the hallway, Elena gently pulled herself from Dante’s embrace. She stepped back, smoothing the shimmering gold fabric of her dress.“Elena,” Dante said softly, his voice thick with emotion.She paused but didn’t turn.“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he continued. “I know this isn’t a good time, but I still love you.

Adrian gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white as the car tore through the city streets. The investigator’s voice crackled through the speakerphone, feeding him the latest update in clipped, urgent tones. “Dante’s private jet is scheduled to depart from Teterboro in forty minutes. Terminal 3 private hangar. We’re still trying to get the final flight plan, but it looks like they’re heading overseas.”“Get me there,” Adrian snarled. “Now.”Daniel pushed the accelerator harder, the luxury car weaving aggressively through traffic. Adrian’s mind was a whirlwind of fractured memories and burning rage. Elena. Berta. His daughter. The child he had only glimpsed in broken dreams and fleeting Harbor visions. He had finally remembered enough—enough to know they belonged to him—and now Dante had taken them.The pain was visceral. He had already lost them once in death. He refused to lose them again in this second life.The car screeched into the private airfield, security

The first night in the villa felt endless.Elena lay awake in the large, unfamiliar bed, staring at the ornate ceiling where a crystal chandelier hung dark and silent. The room was beautiful — soft lighting from bedside lamps, silk sheets that smelled of lavender, and a balcony door that opened to a view of moonlit gardens. But the beauty only made the cage feel more cruel.Berta slept peacefully in the adjoining nursery, exhausted from the long journey and the excitement of new toys. Elena had sung her to sleep earlier, her voice barely steady as she stroked her daughter’s dark curls. At least Berta was safe. At least she didn’t fully understand what was happening.The door to the bedroom clicked open softly. Dante stepped inside, still dressed in a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal scars. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, watching her with that intense, possessive gaze that never seemed to leave her.“You’re not sleeping,” he said quietly,

Elena sat by the tall window in the living room, staring at the manicured gardens beyond the reinforced glass. The villa was beautiful—ivory walls, soft lighting, and luxurious furnishings that should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like a beautifully decorated prison. Three weeks had passed since Dante brought them to Italy, and each day blurred into the next under the weight of isolation.Berta was thriving in her new routine. The private tutor came daily, and Dante spoiled her with endless gifts: silk dresses, a custom dollhouse larger than their old apartment, and toys that filled an entire playroom. The little girl ran through the halls laughing, calling Dante “Papa Dante” with innocent affection. Elena never corrected her. It was safer this way.The sound of the front door opening pulled her from her thoughts. Dante staggered in, shirt soaked with blood, face bruised and cut. His knuckles were raw, and a deep gash ran along his forearm. The mafia was crumbling faster th

The silence in Dante's mansion was a physical weight. It pressed down on Elena, muffling her thoughts and making each day bleed into the next without distinction. Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Dante had spirited her and Berta away from the life they knew, depositing them in this sprawling, isolated estate in the Argentinian countryside. The house was a fortress of glass and stone, beautiful and utterly inescapable. High walls, topped with razor wire, encircled perfectly manicured lawns that stretched for acres before meeting a dense, imposing forest. There were staff, but they spoke only Spanish and moved through the house like ghosts, their eyes always averted from her. They were Dante's creatures, not her allies.Berta was her only tether to reality. Her daughter, with her innocent laughter and boundless energy, was a splash of vibrant color in a world of gray. Dante, in his twisted benevolence, showered Berta with gifts. Her room was overflowing with dolls, her wardrob