Todos os capítulos de His Best friend's Daughter : Capítulo 111 - Capítulo 120

Tor POVThe low, late-afternoon sun hung heavy over the tree line, casting long, amber rays across the gravel driveway and turning the quiet back porch into a wash of warm gold.I sat on the top wooden step, a sweating bottle of amber glass resting between my boots, my back propped against the rough cedar railing. The cool breeze carried the sharp, sweet tang of pine needles and damp earth, filtering through the quiet yard. For the first time in weeks, my phone was sitting inside on the kitchen counter, its screen dark and silent, no longer demanding my attention with endless calls, cancellations, or public noise.I rested my forearms on my knees, watching the scene unfolding out near the edge of the fence line.Kyra was standing in the middle of the grass, barefoot, her dark hair pulled up into a messy bun that kept losing strands to the autumn wind. She wore an oversized grey sweatshirt, one of mine she’d stolen from the back of my closet, with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows

Kyra POVThe mid-afternoon light filtered through the dusty window of Tor’s small home office, casting soft, golden rectangles across the scuffed hardwood floor.The house was completely still. Tor had left an hour ago with Leo to pick up a load of hay and grain for the shelter's horses, leaving me alone with the hum of the refrigerator and the soft, rhythmic snoring of Barnaby sleeping on his rug in the hallway. I was supposed to be looking for a spare set of truck keys that Tor had asked me to grab from his desk drawer, but my eyes had drifted toward the high wooden closet near the corner of the room.The closet door was pushed slightly open, revealing a stack of heavy, metal-trimmed storage boxes resting on the top shelf.I dragged the small wooden step stool over, stepped up, and reached for the topmost box. It was heavy, made of dark blue metal with a tarnished brass latch on the front. I pulled it down carefully, carrying it over to his dark oak desk and setting it down on the b

Sydni POVThe heavy glass door of the private terminal clicked shut behind me, instantly cutting off the deafening roar of the jet engines out on the tarmac.The air inside the lounge was cold, sterile, and smelled faintly of expensive floor polish and stale airport coffee. I pulled my oversized dark sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, rolling my shoulders to work out the dull, aching tension that had been building in my back throughout the nine-hour flight back from the European leg of the tour. My heavy leather duffel bag cut into my shoulder, loaded down with designer clothes, backstage passes, and the quiet, bitter exhaustion of two months spent pretending I was fine on stage every single night.Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the autumn rain was coming down in long, grey sheets, smearing the view of the city skyline into a blurry haze.I set my bag down on the plush leather couch, unbuttoning my trench coat with trembling, nicotine-stained fingers.The tour was finally o

Kyra POVThe late-afternoon sun hung low over the western horizon, casting long, bruised violet shadows across the damp pavement outside the local coffee shop downtown.I sat at a small, round iron table tucked into the corner of the brick patio, my fingers wrapped tightly around the warm ceramic curve of my mug. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the sharp scent of fallen leaves, wet pavement, and roast espresso. People walked past on the sidewalk, wrapped in heavy coats with their heads turned down against the chill, entirely oblivious to the knot of cold, uneasy tension tightening inside my chest.Directly across from me sat Sydni.She looked as effortless and striking as she always did, her silver-blonde hair styled in a high, polished ponytail that didn't have a single strand out of place, her tailored trench coat draped neatly over her shoulders. She was currently leaning forward with her elbows on the dark wood, stirring a dash of oat milk into her iced latte with a small metal

Tor POVThe oppressive, humid heat of early morning hung heavy in the air, carrying the sharp scent of wet asphalt, exhaust fumes, and river fog.I stood behind the thick glass window of the shop's front office, a cold, half-empty mug of black coffee resting heavy in my hand. The quiet bay behind me was dimly lit by a single overhead lamp, the cool shadow of the hydraulic lifts offering a brief illusion of sanctuary. Outside, beyond the low wooden fence that marked the edge of my driveway, the world had descended into an absolute, suffocating circus.Four news vans were idling along the shoulder of the narrow road, their high-gain satellite dishes thrust skyward like metallic parasites against the grey morning sky.Dozens of reporters, camera operators, and freelance paparazzi were crammed together along the tree line. Some held massive telephoto lenses pointed directly at my windows, their dark cameras glinting in the pale, overcast light. Others leaned against the hoods of their car