Chapter 434: Deep Ties
Fiona exhaled in relief, her voice low. "Ms. Natasha, Grace has left. Should I have someone tail them? Make sure they don't pull anything behind our backs?"
Emily shook her head slightly. "No need. Miguel's in the middle of a critical campaign push. He won't make a move against us just yet. Sending Grace was purely a probe."
Meanwhile, within the walls of the Seraphim royal palace, Miguel sat in his study, toying with a ring between his fingers. His expression was dark.
The dim lighting cast shadows across his face, deepening the cold menace radiating from him.
Grace entered the room, bowing deeply. "Prince Miguel, I apologize. I couldn't persuade Ms. Natasha. She rejected our offer outright. Worse—she openly challenged your authority. She said the Campbell assets belong to her and she'll never hand them over to anyone. She also claimed Hell's Angels isn't afraid of your threats."
Miguel raised his gaze, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes. "Oh? A woman who hides behind a mask and won't even show her face dares to challenge me?"
He'd assumed Emily was nothing more than a pretty figurehead propped up by Sebastian—someone who'd fold the moment he dangled the right incentives. He hadn't expected this level of defiance.
Grace quickly added, "Prince Miguel, she also said she has deep ties to the Campbell family. That their assets rightfully belong to her. I could tell she wasn't lying. Her obsession with the Campbell holdings runs deep. And she's incredibly confident—clearly relying on Hell's Angels' backing. She doesn't consider us a threat at all."
Miguel's gaze sharpened, a glint of intrigue flickering in his eyes. "Deep ties to the Campbell family? Just who is this Natasha? Sebastian's daughter? I've never heard Sebastian had a daughter like this. And why does she hide her face behind that mask? What is she so afraid of people seeing?"
The questions multiplied rapidly in his mind.
He'd always assumed Natasha was merely a pawn Sebastian had sent to Seraphim to stake his claim. But now it seemed she had a personal connection to the Campbell family—and the audacity to openly defy him.
"Look into it immediately," Miguel ordered coldly. "Spare no expense. I want to know exactly who this Natasha really is. What her relationship with the Campbell family is. Her entire background. I want everything."
He had a gut feeling—this Natasha wasn't just Sebastian's daughter. Her presence could become the single greatest obstacle to both his presidential campaign and his takeover of the Campbell empire. Only by uncovering her weaknesses could he regain control of the situation.
"Yes, Prince Miguel." Grace bowed and quickly exited the study, already arranging for operatives to begin the investigation.
Alone in the study, Miguel turned his gaze toward the window, his lips curling into a cold smile. "Natasha... I don't care who you are. I don't care what ties you have to the Campbell family. If you stand in my way, I'll make you regret it. The Campbell assets—and the presidency of Seraphim—will be mine. All mine."
The night deepened. Inside the rest quarters at Hell's Angels headquarters, Emily stood by the window, gazing out at the cityscape below.
Rejecting Miguel would inevitably provoke retaliation and investigation. But she had no choice. The Campbell assets were her red line—the foundation of her vengeance for her grandfather and the family's legacy. She would never yield.
"Fiona, monitor Miguel's movements closely. Especially anyone he sends to investigate me. If you find them, handle it immediately. He can't be allowed to discover anything about my real identity or my connection to the Campbell family."
Fiona nodded sharply. "Understood, Ms. Natasha."
Emily gave a small nod. A silent war of surveillance and counter-surveillance was about to begin—a battle over the Campbell legacy.
The road ahead would be treacherous. But she wasn't afraid. With Hell's Angels behind her, her own strength, and Charles as her unlikely "partner," she was confident she could protect what was hers and find her grandfather.
Below Hell's Angels headquarters, Charles stood gazing up at the towering building. Nathan stood beside him, quietly reporting the latest intel. "Mr. Windsor, I've confirmed it. Miguel's aide, Grace, went to Hell's Angels headquarters and met with Ms. Natasha. It was clearly about the Campbell assets. But the meeting didn't go well—Grace already left. And Miguel has issued an order. He wants Natasha's real identity uncovered, along with her connection to the Campbell family."
Charles's body went rigid. A flicker of worry passed through his eyes. "Emily..."
If Emily's true identity were exposed, it would trigger a cascade of disasters. Miguel wouldn't let her go. The Rivera family would pounce without mercy.
"Nathan, deploy personnel immediately. Protect Emily covertly. Block Miguel's people from discovering her real identity. No matter the cost—ensure her safety."
"Yes, Mr. Windsor. I'll arrange it right away. Ms. Johnson won't come to any harm." Nathan turned to leave—but stopped abruptly when Charles's body swayed.
Charles's gaze remained locked on Hell's Angels headquarters, his eyes brimming with longing, protectiveness, and a guilt so deep it seemed to consume him from within. He thought of his coldness toward Emily three years ago. The brutal divorce he'd forced on her. The child they'd lost—a child he hadn't even known existed until tonight. Her icy stare. The suffering she'd endured alone.
The emotions surged through him like molten lava, breaking through the dam he'd built around his grief. His body, already ravaged by illness, could no longer contain the storm.
A violent cough tore through the quiet alley. Charles reflexively raised his hand to cover his mouth—but crimson blood immediately seeped between his fingers. The warm liquid dripped from his hand, staining his pale skin and the front of his shirt in vivid scarlet.
Nathan lunged forward, catching Charles as he staggered. He quickly pulled a bottle of medication from his pocket and forced the pills into Charles's mouth.
The drugs couldn't cure the disease, but they could slow the bleeding—at least enough to prevent Charles from hemorrhaging completely.
Charles's body went limp, his strength draining away like water through a sieve. The light in his eyes dimmed rapidly. A ringing filled his ears. Images of Emily flickered through his mind—her radiant smile when she was happy, her wounded expression when she was hurt, the cold, distant profile she now wore like armor.
He opened his mouth, trying to form the words Protect Emily—but he didn't even have the strength to speak.
The overwhelming grief, the crushing guilt, the relentless torture of his failing body, Emily's cold rejection, Miguel's looming threat—it all converged at once, crushing him beneath the weight.
His vision went black. His body gave out completely. In Nathan's panicked shout, Charles collapsed heavily, his hands still clenched into fists, his fingertips stained with blood.