Chapter 47 Chapter 47
Hailey’s POV
I forced myself to take a deep breath, pushing down the fear his presence created and focusing instead on the curiosity his words had sparked.
“Elena must be so popular to be in everyone’s thoughts,” I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.
Vincent’s expression shifted slightly, something almost nostalgic crossing his features. “Elena was everything,” he said, his voice taking on a reverent quality. “The only soul who could keep Sophia calm and good. That girl was wild even as a child, but Elena had a way with her, could settle her with just a look.”
He paused, staring at nothing for a moment, lost in memory.
“Such a shame she had to leave us,” he finally said.
But there was something in his tone, a slight shift that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It wasn’t quite satisfaction, but it was close, like he enjoyed saying those words.
“Damien went to take care of some business,” Vincent continued, snapping back to the present. “Dealing with the people who came after you today. He’ll be gone for several hours, so I’ll be here making sure everything stays secure.”
The thought of Vincent being in the house for hours while Damien was gone made my skin crawl.
“I’d like to be alone now,” I said firmly, moving toward the door in a clear dismissal. “Please leave.”
Vincent hesitated, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than was comfortable. Then he nodded slowly. “Of course. Just remember, if you need anything, I’ll be around.”
The way he said “around” made it sound more like a threat than reassurance.
He finally left, and I immediately locked the door behind him, my heart still racing from the uncomfortable encounter.
I leaned against the door for a moment, trying to calm my breathing, then pulled out my phone and opened the browser.
Elena Alejandro.
I needed to know who this woman was, the ghost that seemed to haunt every conversation.
The search results loaded quickly, and I started scrolling through them.
The first few hits were about her jewelry business. Apparently, Elena had owned a large, successful jewelry shop that catered to wealthy clients. The photos showed a beautiful woman with dark hair and elegant features, always impeccably dressed, always smiling in that practiced way wealthy people had.
But it was the articles further down that made my blood run cold.
The first one I clicked on was from three years ago. “Prominent Businesswoman Elena Alejandro Dies from Stray Bullet.”
I read through it quickly, my hands shaking. According to this article, Elena had been caught in the crossfire of a gang shooting, hit by a stray bullet while leaving a restaurant. She’d died at the scene.
But then I found another article, this one from a different news outlet, published just days after the first. “Elena Alejandro, Wife of Alleged Crime Boss, Dies in Car Accident.”
This version claimed she’d been killed in a single-car accident, her vehicle losing control and hitting a barrier on a rain-slicked road.
Two completely different stories. Two completely different causes of death.
I kept searching, finding more articles, each one telling a slightly different version of events. Some mentioned the shooting. Others the car accident. A few were vague, simply stating she’d “died tragically” without specifics.
What was the truth? And why were there so many conflicting reports?
I spent hours in that room, falling down a rabbit hole of information and speculation, reading everything I could find about Elena Alejandro. The more I read, the more questions I had and the fewer answers I found.
My eyes were starting to hurt from staring at the screen, and I realized I’d been sitting in the same position for so long my back was stiff and aching.
I needed to move. Needed to clear my head.
A cup of coffee sounded perfect, something warm and comforting to settle my nerves.
I unlocked my door carefully, listening for any sounds in the hallway before stepping out. The penthouse was quiet, almost eerily so, with most of the lights dimmed for the late hour.
I made my way down the hallway toward the kitchen, my footsteps soft against the carpet.
But as I passed one of the other rooms, I heard a voice, low and urgent.
I froze, pressing myself against the wall.
The door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, I could see Vincent. He had his phone pressed to his ear with one hand, while his other hand rifled through the drawers of a desk, clearly searching for something.
“I told you, I’m handling it,” he said quietly into the phone. “Just give me more time.”
There was a pause as whoever was on the other end responded.
“No, he doesn’t suspect anything yet,” Vincent continued.
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he’d hear it. Who was he talking to?
I knew I should move, should get away before he noticed me, but I was frozen in place, straining to hear more.
“The girl is the key,” Vincent said, and my blood turned to ice. “Once we have her, everything else falls into place.”
Before I could process what that meant, a hand landed on my shoulder from behind.
I barely managed to suppress a scream, whirling around to find Isabella standing there, her expression unreadable in the dim light.
“What are you doing lurking in hallways?” she asked, her voice quiet but sharp.
“I was just getting coffee,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
Isabella’s eyes flicked to the partially open door where Vincent’s voice was still murmuring, then back to me. Something passed across her face, too quick for me to identify.
“Come with me,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “To my room. Now.”
“I don’t think….”
“I wasn’t asking,” Isabella interrupted, her grip on my shoulder tightening. “We need to talk. Privately.“