I'm In Love With My Bestfriend's Billionaire Fiance!
Chapter 99: Lakeview Estate!

Chapter 99: Lakeview Estate!

(Kira’s POV)

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With the chaotic blur of the plaza finally shrinking in my rearview mirror, a strange kind of silence settled over me. Not peace. Never peace. Just a quieter kind of unease—like the eye of a storm pretending to be calm. My hands tightened around the steering wheel as I followed the map’s glowing directions with mechanical precision. The robotic voice guided me step by step, but it did nothing to ease the tension twisting in my gut.

I floored the gas pedal, the hum of the engine roaring beneath me as I wound through the serpentine backroads. Parallel City was no Silicon Valley. Gone were the wide, meticulously planned roads with their seamless traffic flow and gleaming medians. Here, the roads were tighter, narrower—like they’d been built as an afterthought and patched over a dozen times since. The buildings stood close together, casting jagged shadows that made the afternoon light feel colder than it should have.

Every time I tried to switch lanes, I had to fight the stubborn resistance of the cramped space. It felt like the city itself was squeezing me in. Every intersection, every red light, was another opportunity for someone to close in.

I kept flicking glances at the rearview mirror, hoping for a sign. Hoping—or dreading—to catch a glimpse of the phantom Maven had assigned to shadow me. Whoever they were, they were good. Too good. No face appeared, no car lingered for too long. Just the usual clutter of traffic.

Except Kraven.

He was there, of course, a few cars behind me—just far enough not to raise suspicion, but close enough to intervene if things went sideways. His presence was a strange kind of comfort, even if we both knew there was only so much he could do once the game really began.

I grunted under my breath and pushed harder on the gas. The voice in the GPS continued its steady instructions, leading me away from the main highway and onto a quieter off-road that curved like a serpent through patches of manicured greenery.

That’s when the estate came into view.

Lakeview Estate.

The iron gate loomed ahead like the jaws of some ancient beast, its black bars tall and menacing despite the delicate curls of wrought iron that tried to soften its presence. The estate was infamous—not for scandal or tragedy—but for its beauty. For its exclusivity. It was where the rich came to die peacefully. Retirement homes that looked more like designer villas, each one nestled in perfect symmetry around the lake that gave the estate its name.

Lakeview wasn’t just an address. It was a statement. It said: I’ve made it. I’ve lived long enough to rest in luxury.

Most of the residents were retirees—people who had spent their lives building companies, defending courtrooms, or manipulating stocks. Some had bought the homes themselves; others had them gifted by grateful, guilt-ridden children. But either way, every single person who lived here had one thing in common: wealth.

While retirees made up the heart of Lakeview Estate, they weren’t the only ones who called it home. Nestled among the silver-haired millionaires were young professionals—families who worked deep in the spine of the city but craved a bubble of quiet to retreat to at the end of the day. Here, they found it: luxury dipped in tranquility, with just enough prestige to boast about without sounding arrogant. Lakeview promised safety. Stability. An illusion of control. And that was something so many people wanted.

But as I guided the car deeper into the estate’s maze of streets, that promise began to feel like a lie told by someone who smiled too much.

The neighborhood was too quiet.

The kind of silence that didn’t come from peace, but from absence. As if the whole place had been evacuated five minutes before I arrived. No joggers. No dog walkers. No sprinklers hissing to life. None of the things that I had gotten used to while living in Paragon Park. There were just long, sterile sidewalks stretching in every direction and houses that stood too still, like they were holding their breath.

At this hour of the day, it made sense. Kids would be in school. Adults at work. Only the elderly would remain, tucked away behind their double-glazed windows, sipping tea or dozing off in recliners with daytime television playing to no one.

Still, something about it all scratched at the back of my mind.

I slowed the car to a crawl.

The navigation screen blinked with a soft glow, showing I was close to my destination, which was less than half a mile away. But I barely noticed. My focus had shifted to my surroundings.

That’s when it hit me.

The houses. Every single one.

They were identical!

Duplexes, each one a mirror of the last. Two stories high, tastefully minimalist, painted in warm beige with the same dark-tiled roofs. The driveways were arranged at perfect angles, the hedges trimmed with mechanical precision. Not a blade of grass out of place. Not a single personal touch—no lawn ornaments, no quirky mailboxes, no children’s bikes forgotten on the sidewalk.

It felt less like a neighborhood... and more like a replica of what a neighborhood should be like.

It was basically a designer’s mockup.

A life-size model of a life people were supposed to want.

I turned the wheel slightly, letting the car glide forward while my eyes scanned the sameness. My brain tried to file through memories, tracing the lines of familiarity that had begun to itch at me. I’d seen this layout before. This architecture. Somewhere. But the connection remained just out of reach, like a shadow that slipped behind a tree when you tried to catch it.

"About time," I muttered, dragging my eyes back to the road and giving the gas pedal a light tap.

The tires rolled silently over the immaculate asphalt, and the houses continued to pass by like a background in a looping video game. For the first time since entering the estate, I felt it creeping in again—that tension. The sensation that I wasn’t just being watched, but studied. Measured.

Was someone following my movements in one of these creepy houses? Was Maven in one of them?

The deeper I drove, the more the uniformity began to mess with my sense of direction. Each street looked the same. Each turn bled into the next. If not for the digital map pulsing beside me, I’d have sworn I was going in circles.

The sky above had dimmed slightly too—clouds slowly folding over the sun like a veil, dimming the light, washing the estate in a muted, ghostly glow. Even the birds were quiet.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the familiarity of it all. I had seen all these before, I just couldn’t remember where.

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