Chapter 192 Chapter Ninety-Seven: “We Have To Find Ileana!” (Part 1).

Chapter 192 Chapter Ninety-Seven: “We Have To Find Ileana!” (Part 1).
Chapter Ninety-Seven: “We Have To Find Ileana!” (Part 1).

Moments after Remy arrived home.

Moments after Remy arrived home, he burst through the doors of his penthouse suite, his face flushed with worry. Just minutes earlier, he and Alex had found Ileana’s phone and bag abandoned near the elevator.

“Fuck… FUCK!”

The word tore out of him as he snatched the items up, his hands shaking.

“Surveillance,”

Alex snapped.

“Now.”

They were already moving—back toward the elevator, adrenaline driving every step. The doors slid shut just as Aunt Vy and Carolyn rushed in from the adjoining room.

“What’s happened?”

Vy cried, panic flooding her voice.

“Has something happened to Ileana?”

Tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

“Calm down, Mommy,”

Carolyn said quickly, gripping her shoulders. Her voice was firm, almost desperate.

“She’s resilient. She’s fine. I know she is.”

Before anyone could respond, the penthouse doors burst open again.

LuAnn rushed inside, breathless.

“I just got off the phone with Phoebe. She said Ileana stormed off campus after reading something on her phone.”

Remy spun around.

“What did she read?”

LuAnn handed him her phone.

His brow furrowed as he scanned the article—Medical Chairman Kelsey Forman and Wife Found Dead.

“Heart attacks…”

he muttered.

Then understanding slammed into him.

No.

That’s why she ran.

Doxoten.

Which meant—

“Fuck!”

Remy shoved the phone back into LuAnn’s hand and took off down the hall toward the control room, the others right on his heels.

“What was the article about?”

Alex demanded as he followed.

“Kelsey Forman,”

Remy replied, fingers already flying over the controls.

“Medical chairman. Him and his wife—dead last night.”

Alex froze.

“Cause of death?”

“They’re calling it a heart attack, but—”

“It was Doxoten. Which mean Veis has resurfaced.”

Alex’s words landed like a gunshot.

Remy’s jaw tightened. He didn’t argue. He didn’t hesitate.

The screens flickered to life as he pulled up the day’s surveillance feeds.

There. Ileana.

The footage was clear, timestamp flickering in the corner. She came through the private entrance of the garage fast—too fast. Her movements were frantic; phone clutched to her ear as she paced toward the elevator.

Then—

She grabbed her neck. Stopped. Looked down at her hand. Her steps faltered. Within seconds, her knees buckled.

“Zoom in,”

Remy said, voice razor-sharp.

The frame tightened just as she began to collapse—

—and a man dressed entirely in black lunged into view, catching her mid-fall before she hit the ground. A baseball cap shadowed his face, his movements smooth. Controlled.

The audio crackled.

“Easy,”

the man murmured.

Remy’s eyes went cold.

“Veis.”

Alex stared at the screen.

“Are you sure?”

Remy didn’t look away.

“I’d know him anywhere.”

He reached for his phone.

“Call Walter.”

Another tap.

“I’m calling Edward.”

\------

Edward and Walter were finishing up at the Chairman’s home when their phones rang again—loud, jarring, echoing through the empty halls.

They answered at the same time. Walter listened to Alex. Edward to Remy. Whatever they heard drained the color from their faces.

“Wait,”

Edward barked, already moving.

“You’re saying Ilie was taken? Fuck—when?”

Walter shot him a look as they headed for the door, boots pounding against marble.

“I thought she had a detail,”

Walter snapped.

Edward didn’t answer. He was already pulling his keys free, shoving his way into his car. Walter followed, tires screeching as they peeled onto the street.

On the other end of the line, Remy’s breathing was ragged.

“Her detail follows her to school and picks back up after classes,”

he said.

“She left three hours early. Stormed out.”

Edward’s grip tightened around the steering wheel.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

He exhaled sharply.

“She called me and Walt earlier. We were stuck at the crime scene—couldn’t answer. We signed off on the reports as heart attacks but—”

“I know,”

Remy cut in. His voice dropped.

“It was Doxoten, wasn’t it?”

Edward swallowed.

“Yeah. Which means he’s back.”

They drove like hell.

Remy’s penthouse was a blur of motion when they arrived. The three of them crowded into the control room, eyes locked on the security feeds.

Walter leaned forward, brow furrowed.

“Ileana uses the private entrance.”

Remy nodded.

“Always.”

“Then how the hell did he get in?”

Remy’s jaw tightened.

“That’s what I don’t understand. Alex is combing through footage from the last few days—every angle.”

Walter pointed at the screen.

“Zoom in on the vehicle they left in.”

The room fell silent as the footage played.

Wyatt appeared on-screen, calm, deliberate—gently laying Ileana into the backseat before closing the door and driving off.

“Pause,”

Walter said sharply.

“Right there. Blow it up.”

Remy magnified the image. The license plate was partial—but enough.

Walter was already pulling out his phone.

“Get me the borough. I want every plate matching those characters. Now.”

Minutes later, the group regrouped in the living room.

Vy was hysterical—collapsed into Carolyn’s arms, sobbing so hard her whole body shook.

“They took her,”

she cried.

“They took our baby.”

Carolyn and LuAnn held her, tears in their own eyes, fear written across every face.

Edward’s phone rang again. He answered, listening in silence. His expression darkened.

“Shit. That many?”

A pause.

“Fine. Run all of them. Call me back the second you have something.”

He lowered the phone and looked at Walter.

“Seven hundred eighty-two matches. Same dealership. TORO’s running names now.”

Walter swore under his breath.

“That’s too many. We’ll never—”

He stopped himself. They all knew what that meant.

Remy turned away and made another call.

“Dad, I need you to pull every CCTV feed within fifty miles of my penthouse.”

Reginald’s voice came through the line, sharp with concern.

“Son, what’s going on?”

“Ileana’s been taken,”

Remy said flatly.

“We think by Veis.”

Silence.

“Oh my God,”

Reginald said.

“Alright. I’ll mobilize a team. Do you have anything to trace?”

“Partial plate. I’ll send it.”

By nightfall, they had nothing. Edward’s team had cleared over four hundred names—no Veis, no viable connections. Without probable cause, they were dead in the water.

Reginald’s people hit a wall too. The black vehicle vanished down an alley minutes after leaving the penthouse—off-camera, untraceable.

Whitney, Jonathan, and Joy arrived just before nine that evening. The living room was thick with quiet sobs and fear no one dared say out loud.

Remy stood alone in his study, draining a shot of whiskey he didn’t taste. His eyes were bloodshot as he paced.

Every location Wyatt had frequented in the last month had already been hit. Nothing.

Edward stepped inside, his face grim.

“We’re going to Rhodes County-Jail.”

Remy stopped pacing.

“Why?”

“To talk to Thorne. See if he knows any other places Wyatt might use.”

Remy’s jaw clenched.

“You really think he’ll help us?”

Edward shook his head.

“No. But we’re out of options.”

He hesitated.

“Ilie… she could—”

“Don’t,”

Remy said, holding up a hand. He couldn’t hear it. Wouldn’t.

“I’m coming with you.”

Edward nodded. He’d expected that. Walter joined them as they grabbed their coats.

“Alex and LuAnn will keep coordinating the teams.”

“We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

They were halfway out when Vy broke free from Carolyn’s arms and rushed forward, clutching Remy’s hand.

“Please,”

she sobbed.

“Please find my niece. You have to!”

Remy’s chest tightened painfully. Aunt Vy was fierce—unyielding. And now she was shaking, terrified.

He squeezed her hand, forcing himself steady.

“I’ll bring her back,”

he said quietly.

“I promise.”

Vy nodded through tears as they disappeared into the night.

\------

Rhodes County-Jail rose out of the darkness like a concrete scar.

Floodlights washed the outer walls in harsh white, razor wire gleaming as the gates rolled open with a grinding mechanical groan. The place smelled of oil, rust, and old sins that never quite washed away.

Remy didn’t speak as they passed through security. Neither did Walter.

Edward handled the paperwork, his voice clipped and professional as he confirmed names and credentials.

“Yes. Yes. Attorney General Levings. Chief General Trevosty. Sinclair.”

He slid the clipboard back across the counter.

“Let’s move.”

They were escorted down a long corridor—steel doors lining the walls, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Each step echoed too loudly.

Remy flexed his jaw.

Walter noticed.

“You holding it together?”

“For now,”

Remy said.

Edward didn’t look back.

“We get answers. Then we act.”

Remy didn’t respond.

He was too busy replaying the image burned into his skull.

Ileana collapsing. Wyatt catching her. Her head lolling against his shoulder.

Alive.

That was the only word keeping him upright. The escort stopped. Silas Thorne sat alone at the table.

Orange jumpsuit. Shackled wrists. His hair was grayer, his face rougher—but the arrogance was intact. He leaned back like this was his office and they were inconveniencing him. His eyes flicked up.

Then widened.

“Well, I’ll be damned,”

Silas drawled.

“If it isn’t the cavalry.”