Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Eight
Lachlan
"You assured me you conducted a thorough background check on her!" I bark into the phone at Boyd as I charge through the lobby toward the garage. I ignore the shocked, curious glances of the staff; my focus is a laser, locked on a single mission: intercepting Aiden before he can ruin me.
With his phone shattered, it will take him time to recover the file—unless he’s synced it.
The laptop.
I curse my own oversight. I should have reduced every electronic device in that office to scrap metal.
I storm through the heavy glass doors into the underground parking garage, my footsteps echoing like gunshots against the concrete.
"That was all there was," Boyd answers, his voice tight with defense. "I dug deep. If she’s as good as you say, then she’s a ghost—an expert at fabricating a digital life."
A tech geek. A freak. I should have known. I should have listened to the primal instinct that screamed danger every time she smiled. She masked her venom with that innocent, childishly annoying demeanor, and I—arrogant and blind—walked straight into her snare.
I hiss a curse as I start my car, the engine growling to life in the distance.
"We’re all dead men," I tell Boyd.
I had been listening to that audio file through a single earbud even as I charged Aiden’s office. I lost the bud in the brawl, but the words are burned into my brain. In that simulation-induced haze, I didn't just confess to the murder; I named every accomplice. I gave him the whole map to our graves.
"Fuck!" Boyd’s breath hitches over the speaker.
"I’ve bought us some time, but you find Ellie Banks. Now."
"I will," Boyd growls, the shared desperation evident in his tone.
The realization hits me like a physical blow: they were in cahoots from the start. Ellie—if that’s even her name—Aiden, and the detective. That stunt at the police station to "exonerate" me was nothing but bait. They fed my ego to lower my guard. Ellie may have vanished into the shadows, but Aiden is right here.
I grip the remote control in my lap, guiding the drone to its final destination. As predicted, Aiden appears in my peripheral vision, heading for his vehicle. He’s either going for a backup or racing to the precinct.
As he pulls out of his space, I floor it, swerving my car until I’m inches from his rear bumper. I roll down the window, meeting his furious, bloodied gaze. I let a slow, jagged smirk spread across my face—the look of a man who has already won. I roll the glass back up, sealing myself in silence.
I screech out of the garage, tires screaming against the floor. I put distance between us, weaving through traffic with one hand on the wheel. My fingers drum a rhythmic, macabre beat on the leather. My other hand steadies the remote, my thumb hovering over the crimson detonator.
I check the rearview mirror, narrow my eyes until they are mere slits of cold malice, and bury my thumb into the button.
"Game over, brother."
Aiden
"Lachlan did... did what?" Neil stutters, his face turning a sickly, ashen pale.
"He and his mother murdered my mom," I tell him flatly. This is no family secret I intend to protect. Lachlan thinks smashing my phone settled the matter, but he is dead wrong. I still have my voice, and there is more than one way to reach the file Ghost forwarded to me.
He mentioned Ellie. Is she the shadow behind "Ghost"?
I knew there was something fractured about that woman from the second we were introduced.
Neil gasps, slamming a trembling hand over his mouth.
"I have to move. I need to recover the data he tried to bury."
I wish to God I had a cloud-sync active on that device. I can only pray the internal drive survived Lachlan’s boots. Otherwise, I’ll have to crawl back to Ghost and beg for a resend.
I snatch my keys from the desk. Since Kash is busy shuttling Rheanon to and from the shaman’s house, I’ve been behind the wheel myself. I usually relish the control of driving, but today, the inability to multitask feels like a tether.
"Let me tend to those wounds before you go," Neil pleads, his voice thin and rapid. "You're bleeding—"
"There’s no time," I snap, urgency surging through my veins like an electric current. I have to move before Lachlan vanishes. Now that he knows I have the recording, he won't just hide; he’ll bolt.
Mercifully, Ghost was surgical. The audio didn't just capture a confession; it provided a roadmap of everyone who helped him end my mother’s life. I’ve already fed those names to Jordan. He promised to move the moment the file hits his inbox. I handed Neil’s phone back and headed for the door.
"Aiden, you can't go out looking like—" Neil’s voice dies out as he sees the look in my eyes. He finally understands. This isn't a corporate dispute anymore. This is war.
I hit the garage, my footsteps echoing against the low concrete ceiling. As I pull out of my space, a car screams toward me, nearly shearing off my rear bumper. I slam the brakes, my heart hammering against my ribs as a string of curses escapes my lips.
I don't even need to look to know who it is.
Through the glass, Lachlan’s gaze pins mine. His eyes are twin pits of vengeful malice. For a murderer, he carries himself with a terrifying, delusional sense of righteousness. For three seconds, the world shrinks down to the space between our eyes—a silent promise of total destruction. Then, he floors it, his tires shrieking in protest as he disappears into the light of the exit.
I twist the ignition, the engine's roar mirroring the fire in my gut. I follow him out, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. But the moment I clear the company gates, a cold, oily dread settles in my stomach. A premonition.
The shaman’s voice—precaution, Aiden, use precaution—echoes in the back of my mind, a ghostly whisper against the hum of the engine.
I don't notice the strange, mechanical hum beneath my seat. I don't see the shadow of the trap I've already triggered.
There is only a split-second of blinding, white-hot light and a roar that tears the sky open. The shockwave hits before the sound, a massive fist of pressure that crushes the air from my lungs.
Then, the world tilts, the flames roar, and everything goes black.
Hermione
"Your parents are getting divorced? After all those years?" a nurse pesters, trailing me as I navigate the hospital corridor toward the cafeteria.
Mom has finally delivered the killing blow. She always find a way to dismantle a moment of peace. It’s a hell of a way to start the new year. At least she spared him the details on the first of January, waitng to leak the news during an interview just as the world resumed work.
I watched the broadcast when it went live an hour ago. I feel no empathy for Dad. He knew this was a long time coming, yet he remained paralyzed, taking no measures to end things on his own terms. Mom likely used the pregnancy as a weapon to spite him, a desperate attempt to coax a human reaction out of a man so passive I’ve begun to doubt he has a pulse.
I fix the nurse with a cold, flinty stare that cuts her off mid-sentence. She recoils, her mouth clamping shut as she falls out of step with me.
I need caffeine. Now.
"Black," I growl at the attendant. He doesn't ask twice. He slides the cup across the counter, charges it to my tab, and I pivot to leave, desperate to escape.
The media is in a frenzy. Speculation is spiraling like a wildfire over Mom’s announcement. She wove some intelligent bullshit for the cameras—claiming the split was "mutual" and that they simply "needed a break"—but I know the truth.
She doesn't hold Dad in high regard; to her, he was an asset that finally reached its expiration date. Whatever agenda she had for their marriage is complete. He is expendable now.
I itch for the outside air, wanting to drown the taste of the news in bitter coffee. But I haven't taken five steps when a chilling voice cuts through the cafeteria chatter, freezing the blood in my veins.
I spin toward the overhead display. The "Breaking News" banner pulses a violent, jagged red.
"Just in! We are receiving reports of a targeted explosion near the MD Entertainment headquarters. The victim has been identified as the newly inaugurated Group Chairman, Aiden Mendes."
The world doesn't just crumble; it vanishes.
At the sight of the charred, skeletal remains of the car on screen, my fingers go numb. The cup slips, the scalding coffee splashing unnoticed across my shoes.
Panic lances through my chest like a white-hot arrow, stealing the very air from my lungs. The floor tilts violently, the cafeteria lights blurring into a blinding haze as the darkness rushes in to claim me.