Chapter 218

Chapter 218


The sky was heavy with rain the next morning, dark clouds rolling in like the storm that churned inside me. Every instinct screamed that we hadn’t seen the last of Rourke.

He’d vanished after the explosion.

No body.

No trace.

Just the scent of ash and vengeance.

And unfinished business.

\---

Gabrielle stood by the glass windows of the penthouse, arms crossed, voice sharp.

“He’s gone underground. All known properties under his name are cleared out. But he’ll resurface. Men like Rourke don’t disappear. They retaliate.”

Liam leaned over the map spread across the dining table. "What about his offshore accounts?"

“Frozen,” Marcus said. “But that won’t stop him. He planned this for years. He’ll have fallback stashes.”

I looked at Ryan, who was coloring quietly on the floor. He seemed calmer, but he flinched whenever thunder cracked outside.

He wasn’t the same.

Neither were we.

“Then we bring him out of hiding,” I said. “We use the one thing he wants.”

“Me.”

Liam’s head snapped toward me. “Absolutely not.”

But Gabrielle nodded slowly. “It’s a risk… but she’s right. He’s obsessed with taking down your legacy. You and Christabel are the last things standing in his way.”

“And Ryan,” I added. “But he won’t come near our son again.”

A long silence fell.

Then Liam spoke. “How do we bait him?”

I turned to Gabrielle. “What if we leak a story?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“A press release. A fake one. Announce that Liam and I are launching a foundation in Ryan’s name. One that ties all of Liam’s legacy—his shares, his real estate, everything—under one legal umbrella.”

Gabrielle’s eyes lit up. “And if something happens to Liam, the foundation passes to Ryan. Controlled by Christabel.”

“He won’t be able to resist,” Liam murmured. “He’ll think taking Christabel out finishes everything.”

“It won’t be real,” I said. “Just noise. A headline. But enough to draw him out.”

Gabrielle smiled. “Then we pick the battleground.”

\---

That night, the press release went live.

Liam Rockwell Announces Legacy Trust for Son—Christabel Lockhart to Serve as Trustee.

The reaction was instant.

Media frenzy. Stock volatility. Emails flooding in.

But that wasn’t what I watched for.

I waited for the one email that came four hours later.

No subject. No name. Just a location.

Abandoned luxury estate. Rourke’s former summer house. 1 AM.

And a message.

> “Come alone. Or Ryan burns.”

\---

I went. Of course I did.

I left a tracker in my boot. A wire under my collar. A gun in my belt.

But the moment I stepped onto the property, all signals jammed.

Smart.

The house loomed like a forgotten memory—once opulent, now cracked and overrun with vines.

The front door was already open.

He wanted me to walk in.

I did.

The moment it shut behind me, the lights flickered on.

And there he was.

Wendell Rourke.

A man shaped by power and pride—and now, desperation.

“Welcome home,” he said, arms spread like a host greeting a guest.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“No games?”

“No time.”

He smiled, a cold, cruel thing.

“He’s safe. For now. With my people. If you try anything stupid, the boy vanishes. Forever.”

“What do you want?” I asked quietly.

“You,” he said. “Not romantically, don’t flatter yourself. I want your name. Your signature. On these.”

He tossed a folder onto the dusty grand piano.

Inside: documents that transferred all of Liam’s remaining legacy into a dummy trust. One he controlled.

“If I don’t sign?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Ryan dies. So does Liam. I have someone watching him now.”

I took a deep breath.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

I glanced down at the pen. Clicked it.

Then said, “Actually... I’ll pass.”

And swung the vase from the piano directly at his face.

He staggered back, cursing.

I bolted for the hallway, tearing through the house.

Footsteps thundered behind me.

I ran down to the basement. It was lined with old wine barrels and dust-covered furniture.

I ducked behind a pillar and yanked out the emergency comms device Gabrielle had taped under my shirt.

“Tracker’s jammed,” I whispered. “Tell Liam: northwest corner. Basement.”

Then I crushed the device beneath my boot.

It had one job—to send the signal once. Which it just did.

Footsteps neared.

I raised the gun.

Rourke appeared around the corner, bleeding from the forehead, grinning like a wolf.

“You just can’t stay down, can you?”

“Neither could you. That’s the problem.”

He lunged at me.

I fired.

The bullet hit his thigh, and he dropped to one knee—but grabbed my wrist.

The gun clattered to the floor.

We struggled, fists and fury, old pain erupting in every blow. I remembered everything Liam had told me about him. About the betrayal. The loss.

I saw it in his eyes now.

He wasn’t trying to win.

He was trying to make us all lose.

He slammed me against the wall, growling. “You think Liam loves you? You’re just a distraction. A liability.”

“No,” I hissed. “I’m his future.”

Then I grabbed the rusted pipe from the floor—and drove it into his ribs.

He screamed, collapsing to the ground.

The doors burst open behind us.

Liam. Gabrielle. Marcus.

Guns drawn.

“Step away from her!” Liam shouted.

But Rourke didn’t move.

He coughed, blood in his mouth, and looked at me one last time.

“Tell your son… I was never going to let him win.”

And then he passed out.

\---

Twenty minutes later, it was over.

Rourke was in custody. His men apprehended. Ryan recovered—unharmed and unaware.

Back at home, I finally let myself breathe.

Liam wrapped his arms around me, holding me like he’d never let go again.

“You saved us,” he whispered.

“No,” I said, resting my forehead against his. “We saved each other.”

Outs
ide, the storm passed.

Inside, we were whole.

At last.