2026-02-09 05:33:59
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Chapter 239: When monsters are free to roam
Chloe stood frozen for a second in the doorway, the dam of her own pride and anger finally shattered by the night's violence. She had thought she was strong enough to handle issues as an adult. But how wrong she was. If Ethan hadn't shown up, she wouldn't have known what her fate would be by now.A sob, harsh and involuntary, ripped from her throat. She didn't step forward; instead she fell forward, collapsing into her mother’s space.Margaret’s book thudded softly to the carpet. Her arms, which hadn't held her daughter in two decades, came up instinctively, catching her, wrapping around the trembling form.And then, it all poured out. The tears were not gentle; they were a storm, hot and desperate against Margaret’s silk robe. The words were muffled, broken by gasps. "I'm sorry, Mother," Chloe sobbed, her fingers clutching at the fabric. "I was so angry with you. For leaving me behind. For twenty years. I hated you for it."She shook her head violently, burrowing closer as if she c
Chapter 238: The Glided Cage
Later that night, in a part of the city untouched by Robbins family drama, Chloe was a whirlwind of desperate motion in the center of the dance floor in one of the popular night clubs in the city—'the glided cage' as it was called.She wasn’t dancing for joy; she was trying to outrun the ghosts in her head—the mother who’d returned a stranger, the suffocating mansion, the weight of a name that felt like a cage. Jazz and rock fought for dominance in the smoky air, a chaotic soundtrack to her internal storm. She moved like a wounded animal, all frantic energy and no grace, the sharp, sweet smell of expensive gin clinging to her like a second skin.She was barely conscious of the man who sidled up to her, his smile all practiced charm. He matched her movements, said something lost to the music. In her blurred, self-destructive state, he was just another blur, a warm body offering an escape from the thoughts. Numbly, she let him lead her off the floor, up a dimly lit staircase that prom
Chapter 237: A word of gratitude
The drive home was a blur of manicured suburbs and churning thoughts. Jennifer’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her mind replaying the day’s horrors and oddities on a loop: Emma’s fragile pallor, the wrongness in "Ethan's" eyes, Rose's hissed conversation about "Frank" and "plans." By the time she pulled into the driveway of her mother’s cozy, sensible bungalow—the home she’d moved back into to save money—the anxiety had condensed into a hard, urgent knot in her chest.She found her mother, Helen, in the kitchen, the familiar, comforting scent of rosemary chicken in the oven doing little to soothe her.“Mom,” Jennifer said, her voice sounding strained even to her own ears.Helen turned, her warm, careworn face shifting from welcome to immediate concern. “Jenny? What’s wrong? How is Emma?”That was all it took. The dam broke. Jennifer slumped into a kitchen chair, the words tumbling out in a rushed, hushed torrent. She described seeing Emma—the relief, the worry. Then she
Chapter 236: Something's off
Jennifer stayed a while longer, making quiet, comforting small talk until she saw Emma’s eyelids grow heavy. She tucked the blanket around her, promised to check in tomorrow, and slipped out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.The relief of seeing Emma alive warred with a churning sense of dread in her stomach. The mansion’s usual comforting silence now felt oppressive, every shadow holding a secret. Distracted by her thoughts, she took a wrong turn at the end of the corridor, veering away from the grand staircase and into the less familiar west wing.She realized her mistake when the carpet pattern changed and the portraits on the walls became sterner, older Robbins ancestors. She was about to turn back when a sharp, tense voice sliced through the quiet from a half-open door down the hall.“…don’t care what you think, Frank. The timing is too convenient.”Jennifer froze. It was Rose Robbins’ voice, stripped of its usual theatrical warmth, sharp with frustration and somet
Chapter 235: The imposter
Jennifer stood on the gravel drive for a moment longer, the seed of doubt now a cold, sprouting vine in her chest. The press continued to clamor, but their noise faded into a dull roar as she focused on the closed mansion door. That blank look in his eyes, the seamless, theatrical recovery… no one she knew that well could forget her face entirely, even under extreme stress. A skilled actor could.Steeling herself, she approached the main entrance. The butler, recognizing her, opened the door with a solemn nod, ushering her into the cool, hushed grandeur of the foyer.The air inside was thick with a strange, tense stillness, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. In the main living room, she saw Elizabeth Robbins standing by the fireplace, her posture rigid with a relief that looked almost painful. Beside her was an elegant, unfamiliar woman with sharp, assessing eyes—Margaret, though Jennifer didn’t know that yet.“Jennifer,” Elizabeth said, her voice soft and drained. She offered a
Chapter 234: The cracked mask
The news of Emma Robbins' return broke like a sonic boom across the city. By morning, it was the singular topic on every news outlet, a frantic churn of speculation with depressingly little fact. The lack of official details—no police statement, no family press conference—created a vacuum that gossip and sensationalism rushed to fill.By mid-afternoon, a small but determined pack of journalists and camera crews had gathered at the wrought-iron gates of the Robbins estate, their voices a buzzing, insistent hum. Microphones were thrust toward the intercom. Demands were shouted."What can you tell us about Emma's condition?""Was a ransom paid?""Who was responsible?""Mrs. Robbins! Can you give us a statement?"Inside, the family watched the growing spectacle on security monitors with a mix of exhaustion and dread. The private nightmare was now public property."It has to be addressed," Margaret said, her tone clinical. "Controlled disclosure is better than rampant speculation."Nathan
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