2026-04-19 20:05:51
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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
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