The Perfect Love - I'm Not Your Soulmate #2 Le tome 2 de l'autrice qui a déjà conquis 3 millions de lecteurs sur Wattpad !

The sun burns my skin and the salt of my tears stings my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. In the parking lot, Matthew leans against a lamppost, his fists clenched, a drop of blood on his lip. “How could you?” I whisper, the words catching in my throat. He grabs my arms, his voice raw. “Eliotte, let me explain!” But it's Izaak who steps between us, his presence a shield. Matthew's story tumbles out then, a desperate confession about his little sister, Gabriella, her degenerative disease, and the impossible debt his family owes the Governor. He was ordered to spy on me, threatened with his sister's life. His sapphire eyes, shining with unshed tears, plead with me. “I did everything I could not to give him any compromising information, I swear.” But the trust is shattered, a fragile thing now in pieces on the hot asphalt. “Don't come near me again,” I manage to say, turning my back on him.

Izaak's hand finds my shoulder, a warm, steady pressure in a world that has just tilted on its axis. He doesn't push or pry, just asks what I want to do. His quiet strength is an anchor. “Please, Eli, tell me what you want to do and we'll do it.” Later, back in the loft, the shock gives way to a cold, hard resolve. I look at him, the decision solidifying in my chest. “I want to join the Liberâmes. I want to act.” A slow smile spreads across Izaak's face. He tells me what it means: intensive training, learning to fight, to handle a weapon. It means leaving everything behind for Alma, a hidden city across the border, a sanctuary for those who defy the system. He even confesses his original plan for our government-mandated marriage: he was going to disappear to Alma and have me declared a widow. The irony is a bitter pill. Now, the thought of him leaving without me is unbearable.

Before we can look forward, we must look back. Izaak has a plan of his own, one that makes my blood run cold. He intends to confront his father, the Governor, the man who murdered my own father, Eric. He needs to force a confession, to record the truth and burn their dynasty to the ground. While he prepares for this war, a different kind of poison seeps into my own mind. Izaak speaks of an old friend who introduced him to the Liberâmes, a girl named Joleen who is now in Alma. Later, while making his bed, my hand brushes against a thick envelope tucked beneath the mattress. My heart stops. They are letters, dozens of them, written in his sharp, slanted script. All to her. “Joleen,” the last one begins, “it's been five years since you left for Alma, and you're still in my thoughts, as much as the first day.” He lied to me.

While I reel from this quiet betrayal, Izaak walks into the lion's den. He finds his brother, Ashton, first, my old friend, and pleads with him to see the truth, to abandon their corrupt father and join us in Alma. “Come with me,” he begs. “Freedom, Ashton. Pure freedom.” But Ashton is trapped, his loyalty torn. Then comes the confrontation with the Governor. Izaak pushes and prods, using the few pieces of our investigation as a weapon, until the monster finally cracks. The truth is uglier than we imagined. Thomas Meeka wasn't just my father's rival; he was in love with him. He confesses to killing Eric in a fit of rage, a tragic “accident” born of obsession and ambition, all while Izaak's hidden microphone records every damning word.

With the confession secured, our world accelerates. We flee to the Liberâmes headquarters, a hulking, abandoned cargo ship rusting on the riverbank. It's a ghost ship brought to life, smelling of salt and metal, teeming with the quiet intensity of rebellion. Just as I feel a flicker of belonging, Matthew appears, having tracked us down. He's frantic, desperate. He shoves a USB drive into my hands with a note. “You'll find everything in here. Recordings of my calls with him… I'm sorry for everything.” He has handed me the evidence of his own treason, a move so reckless it feels more like a surrender than a strategy. He is trying to prove his loyalty by destroying his own life.

The world cracks again when we see the news broadcast. It's Ashton, standing at a podium, his face a mask of solemn duty. He doesn't defend his brother; he condemns him. “My brother, Izaak, is of great instability,” he declares, pledging his full support to their father. The betrayal is absolute, a blow that lands harder than any physical strike. I find Izaak in a borrowed room, not raging, but methodically stripping a bed. Then he shatters. A raw, desperate scream is muffled into a pillow as he collapses. “Why wouldn't he listen to me?” he cries, his body wracked with sobs. “My little brother, Ash. I can't believe it…” I hold him, my own heart aching for his, as his world, and ours, unravels.

Our departure for Alma is no longer a choice; it's an escape. The night is dark, the ocean churning under a violent storm. Matthew and his mother are now fugitives, and I can't leave them to face the Governor's wrath alone. “They have to come with us,” I insist, and we hatch a dangerous plan to smuggle them aboard, swimming through the black, thrashing waves to the ship's hull. As we pull away from the shore, the other Liberâmes perform a ritual, tossing their wedding rings into the sea and screaming their freedom to the storm. I watch the golden bands disappear into the depths, but I can't bring myself to part with mine. It remains cold on my finger, a secret weight.

Alma, when we finally arrive, is a shock of vibrant life, a city lost in the jungle where the sky seems impossibly blue. For a moment, there is only hope. We are greeted by friends and family we thought were lost forever. Laughter rings through the humid air. Then, I see her. A woman with piercing dark eyes and an effortless confidence approaches our group. “So we meet again,” she says, her gaze fixed on Izaak. Joleen. My breath catches. A small boy with a shy smile and a mop of unruly brown curls peeks out from behind her legs. He looks up, his face tilted in curiosity, and the world stops turning. I would recognize those startling green eyes anywhere.