Chapter 137: Harold

Cecilia

"You could wear a mask," he continued, gesturing at me. "Pretend to be this German princess. Walk right into the Grey estate like you own the place, because as far as anyone there knows, you're exactly who you're pretending to be."

"We can both go?" Sophia's voice came out small and uncertain, like she was afraid to hope. "Together?"

The boss's expression shifted into something that might have been genuine hurt, his eyebrows rising in mock offense. "What, my little sweetheart doesn't want to stay here with me?"

Sophia shook her head frantically, her free hand coming up to wave in denial. "No, I didn't mean—I just—"

The boss let out a bark of laughter that echoed through the room, genuine amusement replacing the hurt so quickly it was clear the whole thing had been an act. "Relax, sweetheart. I'm fucking with you."

He turned his attention back to me, his expression settling into something more serious. "I like you. You've got guts, coming in here and demanding information, willing to pay whatever it costs to save your friend. That's rare. Most people who end up in my office are either begging for their lives or trying to negotiate their way out of debt."

He paused, seeming to consider something. "So I'm gonna give you two freebies."

I waited, my heart pounding, Sophia's hand still gripped tightly in mine.

"The original tip I got," he said slowly, his eyes never leaving my face, "said the Grey family had grabbed two people. A man and a woman. But when my contacts followed up, when they actually confirmed what was happening, it turned out to be just one person. Just the man."

Understanding crashed over me like a wave of ice water. "You think the woman was supposed to be me."

"I don't think, sweetheart. I know." His voice was flat, certain. "Snatching someone from the Greys is no different from snatching them from the hands of death. I suspect someone within the Grey family is secretly aiding you, though it is merely a guess. Either way, you got lucky."

He straightened up, already pulling out his phone. "By the way, I'll give you two invitation letters. The sisters gave them to me before they went traveling. I also have some information about them. Just play your part well."

"Thank you," I said quietly, meaning it despite everything about this situation, despite the horror of this place and what it represented.

The boss waved a hand dismissively. "Don't thank me yet. You might not survive the night. But if you do—" He paused, his eyes finding Sophia again. "Take care of my little sweetheart, yeah? Make sure she gets somewhere safe."

Sophia's hand tightened in mine, and I nodded. "I will."

I transferred the money using his special device, including Sophia’s share. The boss stared at Sophia as if gazing at someone else, telling her to come back and visit him more often.

I cursed inwardly. Sophia would never come back again!

We made our way back through the club and out onto the street, the neon lights and leering men somehow less threatening now that I had a plan, now that I knew there was a way to save Daniel.

The moment we were back in Sophia's room, she closed the door and leaned against it, her whole body sagging with what looked like relief mixed with exhaustion.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For holding my hand back there. For—" She stopped, seeming to struggle with the words.

"No," I said firmly, crossing to the dresser where she'd left the tea earlier. "It's me who should thank you. You saved my life."

Sophia was about to say something when the window crashed open with a bang that made us both scream.

Two figures in black tactical gear came through in rapid succession, moving with military precision, and before I could even process what was happening, one of them had Sophia pinned against the wall with a hand clamped over her mouth and a gun pressed to her temple.

"Don't scream," the man holding Sophia hissed, his voice muffled behind a black mask. "Don't make a sound, or I'll—"

I opened my mouth to shout for help, to do something—

"Miss Locke." The second figure stepped forward, pulling off his mask to reveal a face I didn't recognize—mid-forties, sharp features, eyes that were assessing me with professional efficiency. "Please, don't call out. We're here to help you."

I froze, my mind racing. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Harold Moore. I'm Winston Corporation's head of UK operations." His voice was calm, controlled, like breaking into buildings and holding people at gunpoint was just another Tuesday for him. "Mr. Winston sent me to extract you."

The words took a moment to penetrate, to actually make sense. "Arthur sent you?"

"Of course he did." Harold gestured to his companion, who immediately released Sophia and stepped back, though he kept his gun trained on her just in case. "Mr. Winston mobilized all his forces in Britain."

Relief flooded through me.

"Let her go," I said, gesturing to Sophia, who was still pressed against the wall looking terrified. "She's been helping me. She's not a threat."

Harold's companion looked to him for confirmation, and Harold nodded. The man lowered his gun, and Sophia immediately stumbled away from the wall, her hand coming up to her throat where I could see red marks from where the man had been gripping her.

"Are you okay?" I asked her, and she nodded shakily.

"Arthur's here? In England?" I asked expectantly.

"No, they must still be on the plane." Harold pulled out his phone, checking something.

My chest tightened with emotion—Arthur had dropped everything, had flown across an ocean, had sent his people to find me. Of course he had. Because that's what Arthur did when someone he loved was in danger.

"We need to move,"Harold said, already heading for the window. "Now. The longer we stay here, the more likely someone's going to notice—"

"Wait." I held up a hand, my mind racing. "I need to make a phone call. To Arthur. Right now."

Harold pulled out a satellite phone from his tactical vest and handed it over without argument. "Signal jammers don't affect these. You've got maybe two minutes before someone traces the call."

I took the phone with shaking hands and dialed Arthur's number, the one I knew by heart, praying he'd answer, praying he was close enough to help—

He picked up on the first ring.