Semua Bab The heir's mask : Bab 71 - Bab 80

The day had finally arrived. The sun had fully set, yet the weight of how it would unfold still tormented him. Beside him, Ken slept on, peaceful and unaware.Today they would stop running from the world outside, the scandals, the cameras, and the endless judgments of people who seemed perfect.They rose and dressed. No guests waited. Only Maria, the villa’s longtime caretaker, would stand as witness. Her family had tended these grounds for three generations; they understood what the small stone chapel in the olive grove had always been for.They walked the shaded path hand in hand. Steve’s eyes stung once, briefly. Ahead, the chapel appeared modest, weathered, almost hidden among the trees.Maria had told him its story the night before. Built in 1587 by Alessandro de’ Rossi, a lesser Medici cousin stripped of title and fortune after choosing the wrong side in Florence, the place began as a private refuge. Over the centuries it became known, among those who needed it, as La Cappella d

After their private ceremony, everything felt perfectly still for a moment: no alerts, and no looming threats, just the quiet rhythm of his husband’s breathing. They were officially married in a ceremony held without distraction in the hidden chapel, a place whose centuries of secret vows had witnessed their union. Now it was time to fully disappear into the life they would live happily together. They did not do too much on their first night; Steve wanted it to be remarkable after the marriage, so the after-marriage intimacy was still ahead.It was morning, yet they were still trading soft kisses and murmured plans for the day. Breakfast on the terrace featured fresh pastries, fruit from the villa’s orchard, and strong coffee. Maria had prepared it so early that the newlyweds ate slowly, savoring the peace that New York had never allowed.Afterward, they made the final arrangements for their vanishing act. Steve handled the last secure communications while Ken reviewed digital securit

Ken’s hand closed around the phone so hard the plastic creaked. The child’s face stared back at him from the screen solemn, dark-haired, eyes that were unmistakably his own. Three words sat beneath the image like a blade already buried between his ribs.He has your eyes.Steve’s voice carried from inside the villa, sharp with the first edge of worry. “Ken?”Ken locked the screen. He slipped the burner into his pocket and forced his breathing into something that could pass for calm. When Steve stepped onto the terrace Ken was already turning, face arranged into the same careful blank he had worn through every public fight in New York.“I’m here.”Steve studied him for a long second. “You went quiet.”“I’m adjusting.” The lie sat heavy on his tongue. “That’s what we came here to do, isn’t it?”Steve’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t push. Not yet. He only nodded once and turned back inside, trusting the silence more than he should have.They spent the next hours moving through the motions

Steve woke to the solid heat of Ken’s body curved against his back, one arm locked around his waist as if the night itself might try to take him. He brushed his hair back and kissed him.Candlelight still burned. Steve turned carefully. Ken’s face in sleep looked younger than it had in years no boardroom armor, no careful distance of early mornings. Just the man who had said yes in a chapel with no witnesses and then followed him across an ocean.Ken’s eyes opened. For a moment neither of them spoke.“You’re staring,” Ken murmured, still half-asleep.“I like the view.” Steve’s hand slid up the warm plane of Ken’s chest, fingers tracing the line of collarbone. “Stay like this.”“We can’t stay like this forever.”The words landed between them, quiet but sharp. Steve felt the old tension rise again the same one that had followed them from New York, from the leaked photos, from Eleanor’s cold voice stripping him of everything that once defined him. He didn’t pull away. Instead he leaned i

Sophia. Sophia.Ken woke with her name still on his tongue and the taste of New York rain in his mouth.The dream had been too clear: her apartment on the third floor, the same blue lamp by the window, her fingers sliding under his shirt the way they used to when everything still felt simple. In the dream she had looked at him and said, You left a piece of yourself here. Then the room tilted and Steve’s face replaced hers colder, accusing. Ken jerked awake before the two images could finish colliding.Beside him the bed was empty. Soft light from the hallway spilled across the sheets. He found Steve in the kitchen, already dressed in a dark sweater, staring at the stack of letters they had left on the counter the night before. The encrypted phone sat face-down next to the pile.“You’re up early,” Ken said.Steve didn’t turn. “You were talking in your sleep.”The words landed like a quiet accusation. Ken leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “What did I say?”“Her name. Twice.” S