Semua Bab One Night With My Brother’s Worst Enemy : Bab 41 - Bab 50

The drive home was quiet. Vienna stared out the window and watched the landscape scroll past. Fields. Trees. Small towns. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It was beautiful. She had not noticed beauty in a long time. She had been too busy surviving. Ezra reached over and took her hand. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I am getting there." "That is not an answer." "It is the only answer I have right now." Ezra squeezed her hand. "That is enough." They drove in silence for a while longer. Vienna watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. The sky turned from orange to purple to black. The stars came out, one by one, scattered across the darkness like diamonds. "I have been thinking," she said finally. "About what?" "About everything. About the auction. About the trial. About Elena. About the foundation. About the book. About us." Ezra glanced at her. "That is a lot of things." "I know. But I have been thinking about one thing in particular." "

The weeks after Silas's surgery were a blur of hospital visits and sleepless nights and quiet prayers. Vienna moved through them like a ghost, present but not really there. She went through the motions. She made coffee. She answered emails. She sat by Silas's bed and held his hand. But her mind was elsewhere. Trapped in that moment. The moment she had walked into his room and seen him on the floor. The moment she had thought he was dead. She could not shake the image. It played on a loop in her head. The blood. The pale face. The stillness. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it. Every time she tried to sleep, she saw it. Every time she looked at Silas, she saw it. Ezra noticed. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything about her. "You are not sleeping," he said one night, finding her on the balcony at 3 a.m. "I cannot sleep." "You are not eating." "I am not hungry." "You are not talking." "I do not have anything to say." Ezra crossed the balcony and stood beside her. H

The weeks after Elena's confession were quiet. Too quiet. Vienna woke each morning, made coffee, and waited for the other shoe to drop. She did not know why. Elena was gone. The threats had stopped. The notes had stopped. The fear should have stopped too. But it had not. She could not shake the feeling that something was still wrong. Something she was missing. Something lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered. Ezra noticed her restlessness. He tried to reassure her. "Elena is gone. She is not coming back." "I know." "Then why do you still look over your shoulder?" Vienna did not have an answer. --- The answer came on a Friday afternoon. Vienna was in the foundation office, reviewing grant applications, when her phone buzzed. The caller ID showed an unknown number. She almost ignored it. But something made her answer. "Ms. Cross?" A woman's voice. Professional. Calm. "This is Detective Miller from the police department. I am calling regarding the case of

The pregnancy was a joy. Vienna glowed. Everyone said so. Her skin was radiant. Her hair was thick. Her smile was constant. She walked through the world like she was floating on a cloud. Ezra was overjoyed. He attended every doctor's appointment. He read every parenting book. He built the nursery himself, painting the walls a soft shade of yellow and assembling the crib with his own hands. Silas was thrilled. He talked to her belly every day, telling the baby stories about their family. He was going to be the best uncle. He was going to spoil the child rotten. Vienna's mother was ecstatic. She knitted blankets and sewed onesies and baked cookies. She was making up for lost time, and Vienna let her. Life was perfect. And then Silas got sick again. --- It started with a cough. A small cough. Nothing serious. Silas shrugged it off. "It is just a cold," he said. "I will be fine." But the cough did not go away. It got worse. Deeper. More persistent. Then came the fever. Then ca

The years passed like water. Vienna watched her daughter grow from a tiny, squalling infant into a curious, rambunctious toddler. Baby Silas took her first steps at eleven months. She spoke her first word at thirteen months. She was stubborn and bright and full of life. She was everything Vienna had ever hoped for. Ezra was a devoted father. He taught Silas how to swim. He read her bedtime stories. He took her to the park on weekends and pushed her on the swings. He was patient and kind and loving. He was everything Vienna had ever needed. Her mother was a doting grandmother. She spoiled Silas rotten. She baked cookies and knitted sweaters and told stories about Vienna's childhood. She was making up for lost time, and Vienna let her. The foundation thrived. The scholarship program expanded. Vienna's books continued to sell. She was successful and fulfilled and happy. But something was missing. She could not name it. It was not fear. Not anxiety. Not grief. It was something else.