“Beneath the weight of shadows, truth decayed,

in silence lies the cost, a debt unpaid.

Fate twists the knife, and justice fades away,

but time will claim the price we all must pay.

__________

“Mr.

James, we’ve located her!” The room seemed to remain still, the weight of those

words sinking into the air like a stone in water. “She’s six months pregnant.”

The subordinate’s voice was tight, almost trembling, as if he feared what would

come next. “And... she is pregnant with a boy.” At

the heart of Britain, atop the towering Skyscraping Building in London, Mr.

James sat on a crocodile-leather sofa, exuding power and authority. His dark

eyes, cold and piercing, flicked open. There was no warmth in them, only a

razor-sharp intensity that could cut through anyone’s soul. His gaze snapped to

the subordinate, freezing him in place. “What did you just say?” The silence in

the room grew suffocating as the subordinate swallowed hard. He dared not

repeat himself, yet the weight of his commander’s gaze left him no choice. “The

information is accurate, Mr. James,” he stammered, forcing the words out. “The

young lady... has been found. She’s six months pregnant.” In the quiet

aftermath, it felt as though the air itself had thickened. Every head turned

toward Mr. James, waiting for his reaction. In the back, someone whispered,

“Congratulations, Mr. James.” But that congratulations hung in the air,

unclaimed. The room, which had been brimming with anticipation, now simmered

with an unseen storm. James’s expression darkened, as though something long

dormant within him had stirred awake, ready to wreak havoc. His eyes, which had

been hollow and devoid of emotion for years, suddenly gleamed with an

unfamiliar intensity. The low pressure in the room broke, the atmosphere

crackling with something dangerous. His presence, always commanding, now

swelled to something more, something unstoppable. He rose, his movements swift

and deliberate, his voice low but laced with power. “Prepare the jet,” he said,

the storm of emotions barely contained in those few words. “I will handle this

personally.” “Y-yes, sir!” The subordinate rushed from the room, knowing that

when Mr. James decided to take action, nothing and no one could stand in his

way. Yorkshire: The Harper Family Mansion Isabelle Harper descended the stairs,

her swollen baby belly leading the way, each step feeling heavier than the

last. The sun hadn’t fully risen, yet unease gripped her, a gnawing sensation that

refused to let her sleep. By six o’clock, she had given up on rest altogether.

Voices drifted from the grand hall below—familiar, yet today, they carried a

chill that sank deep into her bones. “Victor, can you make a decision or not?!”

Her step faltered as she recognized the cold, sharp voice of Olivia, the woman

who had raised her. The tension in the words made her stomach twist. “Do you

know what they’re saying about us? About the Harper family?” Olivia spat with

venom. “The Eldest Young Lady—can’t even speak—chasing after man like some

shameless tramp! If it weren’t for that bastard in her belly who could save my

life, I’d have thrown that disgrace out long ago!” Isabelle’s heart slammed

against her chest as she clutched the railing for support. “Bastard?”

“Disgrace?” "Do you really want to ruin Chloe Chase’s life for this mute?

She’s in the operating room right now! You need to act, Victor!" From

where she stood, Isabelle could see her father’s expression darken. He sat on

the forest green velvet sofa, his face hard as stone, deep lines etched into

his skin. His words were as cold as his stare. “As I’ve told you before, it’s

not that I don’t want to get rid of her,” Victor said, his voice low and

dangerous. “But if she dies, her shares go to charity. According to her

mother’s will, we get nothing. I have the family to think about.” “Get rid of

her?” Isabelle’s breath caught in her throat. She stepped back, her foot

brushing against a decorative porcelain vase at the corner of the hall. It

teetered for a moment before crashing to the floor, the shattering sound

ripping through the house like a death knell. The voices stopped abruptly.

Silence gripped the air, thick and suffocating. Isabelle’s pulse raced as the

two people she had called family for more than a decade slowly turned toward

her. Their faces—once familiar, once safe—now looked monstrous, like the faces

of demons hungry for blood. Olivia was the first to recover, her twisted

features relaxing into a forced smile, though the malice in her eyes still

burned. The kind of smile that could curdle blood. “My dear Isabelle...” Olivia’s

voice oozed with false sweetness, sending a shiver down Isabelle’s spine. “You

didn’t hear anything just now, did you?” The woman stood and glided toward the

stairs, her smile growing wider and more distorted with each step. “But even if

you did, it doesn’t matter. We’ve raised you all these years, haven’t we? It’s

time for you to repay that debt. Besides…” Her voice dropped, the smile turning

cruel. “You can’t speak, can you? Even if you ran to the police, who would

listen to you?” Isabelle shook her head, retreating, and her eyes wide with

terror. She wanted to scream, to say something—anything—but no sound came.

Panic clawed at her throat, choking her. Her hand instinctively cradled her

belly, her mind racing with one desperate thought: “Run. Run now.” She turned

on her sleepers, bolting toward the door. “Stop her!” Olivia’s voice tore

through the air, her fake sweetness now replaced by raw fury. “Don’t just stand

there! Catch her!” The servants sprang into action, the house erupting into

chaos as they chased after her. Her legs pumped faster, but terror weighed her

down. Suddenly—crack—a sharp blow slap struck her face. Isabelle’s vision

blurred as her head snapped to the side. She hit the ground hard, her body

collapsing like a broken doll. Pain radiated through her, sharp and

unrelenting, but worse was the sudden warmth spreading beneath her. Blood. Her

blood. Her hand flew to her belly as agony shot through her, the taste of

copper filling her mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring her sight as

she struggled to stay conscious. Victor loomed over her, his leather shoe

pressing down on her trembling hand, his expression unreadable, cold as winter.

“My dear Isabelle,” she said slowly, her voice devoid of any affection, “you’re

not going to die. Not yet. But that child...” Her gaze dropped to her belly,

eyes like ice. “That child has to go. Otherwise, who will ever marry you?” Her

strength fading, Isabelle reached for her, her fingers weakly grasping her

trousers leg, pleading silently, and tears streaming down her face. “No…” Her

voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the pain, by the terror. “Take her

to the hospital,” Victor ordered. As the darkness closed in, Isabelle’s last

thought was of the life inside her—fragile, innocent, and slipping away.

Meanwhile, across the city, Yorkshire International Airport was abuzz with a

different kind of chaos. “Did you hear?” A man whispered urgently to his

companion, eyes wide with shock. “The airport has been blocked!” “Blocked?

That’s impossible! Who could block an entire airport?” The whispers spread like

wildfire through the elite circles, panic bubbling just beneath the surface.

Only a few moments earlier, the airport had been bustling with the usual rhythm

of planes and passengers, but now the entire area was under lockdown. An eerie

tension hung in the air as a special team surrounded the perimeter, their

presence sending shockwaves through the ranks of the city’s top businessmen and

officials. “This has to be a mistake!” someone exclaimed, disbelief coloring

their voice. “No one blocks an international airport—especially not here!” But

the truth was undeniable. The private jet that had just landed now sat under

tight security, its arrival shrouded in mystery. The city’s wealthiest and most

powerful men exchanged uneasy glances, each of them sensing the gravity of the

situation. “Something’s happening…” Another voice murmured, his tone laced with

dread. “Something big.” In the midst of the growing unease, one thing became

increasingly clear: Yorkshire was about to change forever.