All Chapters of My Enemy Is My Lover : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Vivian’s povSitting in my freezing, dark cell that reality started to settle down over me like a hammer on anvil. The walls—harsh, solid boulder plastered in clammy, damp stains—grew closer and closer by the second which spilt every inhalation of air until each breath became a hard task. Now this was my life, caged, shorn of strength, hunted. How had everything gone so wrong? How could it have come to pass that my entire existence, once built upon ambition, cleverness and determination, was reduced to the constraints of this wretched little cell? My hand grazed across the floor and clenched into a fist at the sensation of hard, uninviting cement under my fingertips — the only anchor keeping me tethered as bitterness washed over me like an endless tide.I thought of Haylee. And there was the ghost of her—the last shattered vision etched on my brain; those round accusing eyes fixed in a gentle beseech before the darkness descended. And James. How he had hated me, how that hate hung hea

Vivian’s pov An unforgiving sterile light from a sickening fluorescent bulb flickered above us. I was cold. The sort of cold that slipped in under skin and bone and crept beneath the marrow. I felt the cold seeping in through my clothes, but the metal seat under me was just as frigid—no escape, no comfort. Hugging myself as if to suppress an instinct that wanted to clutch down on something clear, corporeal. But nothing—nothing save the silence of the little, inhuman interrogation room.I could feel the shaking in my hands; weariness from the restraints around my wrists inside the hospital. Then, directly across from me, two detectives sat still as slugs, their eyes trained on my face. Detective Martin was stone-faced, his inscrutable visage unreadable except for the dark eyes that bore down on me as if they could cut through steel. Beside him was Detective Jameson, his jaw set as tight as a drum with ill-concealed disdain. Then there was every little twitch of his expression that scr

Dera’s povDetective Jameson’s voice cut through the cold air, “Where is Emma?” I sighed inwardly and gave up on any further pretense. “The old warehouse on 5 th and main, you will find her in the east wing, second floor.” Detective Martin tightened his eyes at me, “Is she alive?” I nodded, “Yes, she is. I didn’t hurt her.” Jameson said, “We will see about that.” In the next few minutes, the police’s radios came alive with orders to the dispatched units. I waited an eternity until the door burst open and Jameson’s face cleared. “She is safe, we found her right where you said.” I swallowed down guilt. Martin said, “Tell us about Emma’s kidnapping. How did you do it?” Briefly, I told them, from Vivian’s appearance to our elaborate plan. I admitted, “I helped Vivian take Emma at the gala party. We dismissed her maid and just took her.” After they asked me about my motives and Vivian’s role in Haylee’s death, I shook my head, “I didn’t know about this, it was all Vivian’s doing.” However,

Third person PovThere was a buzz of excitement in the courtroom, an audible expression of tension, anticipated anxiety. Dera, once an imposing presence, composed and confident in her way to prison with security escorting her, was now diminished and begging, staring at the judge. In a voice quaking with emotion, she said each time in distress.Your Honor, the sparkle of her tears in waiting. "A final opportunity to see Emma, a final chance to apologize and redeem myself." Her voice trembled, faltering slightly. “Is… you know I can never change what I did but, just allow me to hold her for one moment please.On the other side of the room, Detective Jameson had his arms crossed, jaw tight, expression stony. Oh no, he said, as if my question had been the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. Your honor, she has shown no remorse. Dera has exploited and victimized common folk. These are nothing but just new efforts to pull the wool over one's eyes.The judge glanced toward Rosa, face serious, eye

Bethel’s povThe following weeks were a revolution in silence. He also wound up in a rhythm of healing and rediscovery with me and Emma — us three bonded by trauma and petty tenacity to begin again. There were times when it was not easy, but I felt flashes of clarity and joy—reminders of the real reason I had returned.Mornings usually began with Emma at the dining table, tiny fingers wrapped around a paintbrush. Her work was mostly silent, and the intensity in her gaze was hypnotizing. Art was her voice — she spoke the things words could not. Through brightly color-splattered windows, her drawings depicted emotions she was yet to learn how to process in any other way.“Look at this one!” One morning Emma held up her latest creation — a rainbow-blue on the canvas.I knelt beside her, It gorgeous Emma. “You’re so talented.”She smiled, a little timid as always but bolder with each passing day. I mussed her hair affectionately, pride swelling in my chest at how far she had come.Rosa, a