2025-10-16 03:54:52As the dawning light faded, dark night descended. The wind was cool, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The Walterson family said their prayers before dinner, the clinking of cutlery echoing loudly in the wind.
"I think it's going to rain," Martin said, his eyes fixed on the window. "Yeah, I think so too," Sarah replied, getting up to get some water. "I'll go get us some water to drink." As she strode past her husband, he smacked her butt, making her giggle. "Seriously?" she said, laughing. When she got to the kitchen, the wild wind hit her face unexpectedly. She turned her face to grip the counter, her pregnant belly swaying precariously. She locked the window and went to get water from the refrigerator, but as she reached for the cups, her water broke without warning. The wine she had bought to celebrate Martin's promotion slipped from her hands, shattering on the floor. Martin rushed into the kitchen, his face etched with concern. "Sarah, oh no! Are you okay?" Sarah was already in labor, her face contorted in pain. Martin supported her into the car, the rain pounding against the roof. "You're strong, baby," he whispered, his voice trembling. "We're going to get through this together. Hang on, okay?" The car halted in the middle of the road, the engine sputtering. Martin got out to check, his clothes drenched in seconds. The car had a flat tire, and it would take him precious time to fix it. He rushed back to Sarah, holding her hands tight. "My love, I'll be back. I'll go get you help. Just hold on tight for me, please", with that he fled out of the car to find help. Martin ran to the sidewalk, bus stop and to every small kiosk shop but he found no one. Standing in the rain, confusion filled him, he panicked at the thoughts of losing his wife. His gaze shifted to a dark alley that flickered light across the road, but what was strange, was that he has never seen the alley before in the years he has lived in the neighborhood. He ran into the alley where the light flickered and found an old woman with wrinkled with a mix of gray and black short hair seated under a pavilion tent as shelter, he told her his situation and she offered to help. A few minutes later, Martin returned with an old woman, her face kind and gentle. "This is... Syrian," Martin said, introducing her. "She's an ex-nurse. She'll help you give birth in the car, and then we'll get to the hospital." Sarah nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering closed. The old woman, Syrian, quickly took charge, guiding Martin to sit beside Sarah. "You need to stay with her, keep her awake," Syrian said firmly. As the contractions intensified, Sarah's screams filled the car. Syrian's calm voice was a steady presence, guiding her through the pain. Finally, the cry of a baby filled the air, and Martin's face lit up with joy. The rest of the night was a blur of happiness and relief. Martin held Sarah close, tears streaming down his face as he gazed at their newborn child. Syrian smiled, her eyes shining with warmth, as she wrapped the baby in a blanket. "You did it, Sarah," she said softly. "You're a mother."
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CHAPTER 52
Max pushed through the bar doors into the cool night air, the noise fading behind him. Marie followed close, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if holding in everything she refused to let spill. "You’re sure about this?" Max asked, glancing back at her. Marie nodded, though her eyes betrayed the storm within. "You promised." He didn’t argue again. The police station was quieter than expected—low voices, the hum of fluorescent lights, the occasional shuffle of paperwork. Max spoke briefly with the officer at the front desk, and after a moment, they were granted access. Marie’s steps slowed as they approached the visitation room. Inside, a thick pane of glass divided the space in two. She stopped just short of the chair. Then the door on the opposite side opened.Jones stepped in. He froze. For a second, neither of them moved. It was as if the world had narrowed to the space between them. "Jones…" Marie’s voice broke on his name. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks a
CHAPTER 51
Chapter 51 The door shut with a muted thud. Old Walterson adjusted his coat as he lowered himself into the backseat of the sleek black SUV. The scent of leather and polished wood filled the space, familiar, controlled—just the way he liked it. Up front, Hunter glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “Where to, sir?” Old Walterson leaned back, eyes half-lidded. “Let’s go pay an old friend a visit,” he said calmly. “To the prosecutor’s office.” The ride was smooth. Silent. Calculated. Minutes later, he stepped into the office and took his seat without waiting to be announced. His sharp eyes scanned the room. Minimalist. Clean. Disciplined. Then his gaze settled on the name carved into a polished plate on the desk: Edward Whitmore. A ghost from the past. A door creaked open. A man in his late fifties walked in, a chuckle already forming on his lips. “Walterson…” Edward. Older, yes—but the same eyes. Observant. Curious. Old Walterson studied him quietly, catch
CHAPTER 50
Too many paintings. Too many explanations. Too many smiles I didn’t feel. My hands still ache from holding brushes all morning, my voice dry from talking buyers through every piece like I wasn’t exhausted. I sink into the couch in my uncle’s office, my back pressing into it as I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Silence. Finally. It’s been almost an hour. He said he had “something important” to take care of and left me here waiting. I let out a slow breath, my fingers resting loosely on my lap. Then— ding. My phone lights up beside me. I reach for it lazily, already expecting nothing. But it’s him. A message. Sorry, I won’t be coming back to the office. Head home. We’ll talk tomorrow. I stare at it for a second. Then— “Huh…” The sound leaves me weak, frustrated. I drop my hand, phone still in it, and exhale heavily. Of course. My eyes sting. I blink once… twice— Too late. Tears spill, sliding down my already warm cheeks. I press my lips together, trying to
CHAPTER 49
Too much baggage. Too much weight for one soul to carry for long. Sometimes I wonder… what would happen if I let go? If I finally free myself… release this imprisoned soul. Would I become the traitor? The bad egg? The one who tears the family apart?Maybe there’s no freedom for me. Maybe this is the punishment. For Martin. For Susan. The past clings like a shadow I can’t outrun. No matter how fast I move, it follows—whispering, reminding, suffocating. I exhale sharply in the backseat of the car, my fingers tightening against my thigh. The city lights blur past the window, but my mind is far from here… trapped somewhere I wish I could forget. I asked Mario to meet. A simple meeting. Neutral ground—at a restaurant. But no—he insisted. Dinner. His house. Of course. A faint, bitter smile tugs at my lips. Control. It has always been his game. The car slows to a stop. “We’ve arrived, sir,” the chauffeur says. I don’t respond immediately. Just one more breath… before stepping
CHAPTER 48
Her heels echoed sharply against the polished floor as she stepped out of the elevator into the quiet reception area. The building was almost empty at this hour — too late for anything normal. Her phone buzzed inside her bag. Melissa pulled it out, already irritated. Allen: Meet me at the spa. An address followed. Melissa stared at the screen for a second before typing back: Be there soon. She slipped the phone away with a quiet sigh. Who goes for a spa session this late? The answer came just as quickly. Her mother. Of course. Melissa stepped out into the night, her jaw tightening as an old memory clawed its way back — one she never truly buried. Her father, sick. Weak. And Allen… laughing. Not alone. With Mario. In the same bedroom. That night never left her. It lived somewhere deep in her chest — a wound that refused to close. Every time it surfaced, it brought the same thing with it. Pain. And something darker. Hatred. Since her father’s death, Allen had neve
CHAPTER 47
Johnny didn’t waste time. By morning, he was already standing inside the Walter mansion. The air in the room felt heavier than usual. Not tense—just… settled. Like everyone already knew whatever he was about to say wouldn’t be good. Logan stood near the window, hands in his pockets, gaze distant but alert. Lucien leaned against the table, arms folded, watching Johnny closely. Old Walterson sat quietly, his presence alone commanding the room. Johnny stepped forward. “The technician is dead.”Silence followed. Not shock. Not surprise. Just confirmation. “They ruled it an accident,” Johnny continued. “But before he died, he realized something. His report never made it into the case log.” Lucien’s expression hardened slightly. “So it was pulled,” he said. Johnny nodded. “Before it even got there.” Logan’s jaw tightened. That meant only one thing. Someone wasn’t just reacting to the situation—they were controlling it. “External pressure,” Lucien muttered. “They’re cleaning
