Semua Bab I Was Hired To Seduce My Boss : Bab 131 - Bab 140

ZoeThe letter was folded in my pocket, pressed against my thigh like a second heartbeat. I had read it so many times that the words had carved themselves into my memory, but I still reached for it every few minutes, just to feel the paper beneath my fingers.Liam was driving. The road stretched ahead of us, narrow and winding, cutting through the countryside I had never seen. Eleanor had given us the directions, her voice trembling as she spoke. She had not asked to come. She had simply pressed a piece of paper into my hand and told me to go.He is buried at the old chapel. On the hill. No one visits. No one knows.I watched the trees blur past the window, my mind turning over the same thought again and again. Arthur. My father. A man I had never met, who had died protecting me, who had left me a letter I would carry for the rest of my life.The chapel appeared at the top of the hill, small and weathered, its stone walls covered in ivy, its roof sagging. A graveyard stretched behind

Zoe The storage unit was on the edge of town, tucked behind a row of abandoned warehouses, its metal door rusted, its lock stiff with age. Eleanor had given me the key two days ago, pressed it into my palm with trembling fingers, and told me it belonged to Arthur. She had been paying the rent for twenty-six years. She had never opened it. I stood in front of the door, the key in my hand, the cold metal biting into my skin. Liam was beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine, his dark eyes fixed on the unit. "Are you ready?" he asked. I had been asked that question so many times in the past months. And every time, I had given the same answer. "No. But I am here." The lock clicked open. The door groaned as I pulled it up, the sound echoing through the empty lot. Dust swirled in the air, catching the pale light of the afternoon. I stepped inside. The unit was small, cramped, filled with boxes stacked floor to ceiling. A workbench sat against the far wall, covered in tools and p

The house was too still, I noticed it the moment I woke, the silence pressing against my ears like a held breath. The children were not yet awake. Liam was not beside me. The fire had burned down to ash. Even the birds outside seemed to have paused mid-song. I rose from the bed and walked through the house, my bare feet silent on the cold floorboards. I found Liam in the study, seated at the desk, Arthur's journal open in front of him. He was not reading. He was staring at the pages, his dark eyes unfocused, his hands resting flat on either side of the book. I did not speak. I simply crossed to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and I saw the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. "It is almost time," he said. "I know." The trial was in two days. Two days until Eleanor would take the stand. Two days until the world would hear the truth about the network, about Viktor, about Edward Vance, about everything we had uncovered. Two days until everything coul

ZoeThe photograph lay on the bed between us, its edges curled, its image faded, its implication impossible to ignore. I stared at it for a long time, my grey eyes tracing the line of Arthur's jaw, the set of his shoulders, the hand resting on the car door.He looked alive. He looked real. He looked like a man who could walk through the door at any moment.But that was impossible. I had seen his grave. I had knelt beside it. I pressed my palm against the cold stone and said goodbye."I do not understand," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.Liam was standing by the window, his back to me, his shoulders tense. He had not spoken since he showed me the photograph. He had simply stood there, staring at the brick wall outside, his hands clenched at his sides."Neither do I," he said.I picked up the photograph and held it beneath the lamp. There was no date on the back. No location. There is no context. Just the single line, written in handwriting, I did not recognize.He is still ali

Liam The courtroom was full, every seat was taken. Reporters lined the back wall, and their cameras pointed at the judge's bench. The jury sat in their box, twelve faces I had memorized over the past week, twelve people who held our future in their hands. Zoe was beside me, her grey eyes fixed on the judge. Eleanor sat in the witness box, her hands folded in her lap, her face calm. She had testified for three days. She had answered every question. She had told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Now we waited. The judge entered. The bailiff called the court to order. The room fell silent. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" The foreman rose. A middle-aged man with grey hair and steady hands. He looked at the judge, then at the paper in his hand. "We have, Your Honour." The silence stretched, thick and heavy. I felt Zoe's hand find mine beneath the bench. Her fingers were cold but steady. "On the charge of first-degree murder," the foreman read. "We find the d