บททั้งหมดของ The Mafia's King Last Lie: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 16

I read the message until the words blurred.Isabella was standing beside you when you entered the Cross mansion three years ago.My fingers tightened around the phone.It was impossible.Three years ago, I had entered the Cross mansion only once. It was the night Alexander Cross supposedly died—the night my family’s name became synonymous with betrayal and my sister disappeared.I remembered the rain. The shouting. My father ordering me to stay in the car.And a woman.A woman standing near the staircase, her face half-hidden by the shadows.I had always assumed she was a servant.But I remembered something else now.The woman had been wearing Isabella’s silver bracelet.“Serena?”Damien’s voice pulled me from the memory.He stood a few feet away, his expression tense. A faint line of blood marked his shirt where the attacker’s bullet had grazed him at the mausol

Because Isabella was never supposed to be the daughter who survived.I read the message three times.Each time, the words became more difficult to understand.My father had lied about Isabella's death. Someone had hidden evidence inside the Cross mansion. A recording suggested that my father and Alexander had discussed keeping one of two daughters.And now someone was telling me that Isabella was never meant to survive.“What does it mean?” I whispered.Damien took his phone back. His expression was unreadable, but the muscle in his jaw had begun to twitch.“It means someone wants you to believe your father chose between you and your sister.”“Someone who knows what happened that night.”“Possibly.”“Or someone who was there.”He looked toward the open doorway.I followed his gaze. Two guards remained in the corridor, their expressions carefully neutral. One of them was the man who had reported finding the recorder.“Did you know my father before the night Alexander died?” I asked.Da

And Damien has already seen it.I read the message again.Then I turned toward my husband.“Have you seen the original birth register?”Damien didn't answer quickly enough.My stomach tightened.“Look at me and tell me you haven't.”His eyes met mine.“I've seen a document that may be connected to it.”The hospital corridor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.“When?”“Three years ago.”I stepped back.Three years ago. The same night his father supposedly died. The same night Isabella vanished. The same night my father began burying the truth beneath forged records and carefully arranged lies.“You knew,” I whispered.“I knew there was a register. I didn't know whether it was authentic.”“That's convenient.”“Serena, listen to me.”“No. You listen to me.” My voice shook, but I refused to lower it. “Every time I discover something, you reveal that you've known a little more than you've admitted. First, it was Isabella's photograph. Then the bracelet. Then the second key. Now it's my birth r