Chapter 97 The Primal Heir
The tires of my car shrieked as I drifted into the restricted lot behind Founders’ Hall, the vehicle barely coming to a halt before I was out of the door. The cold night air hit me, but it didn't cool the white-hot friction in my chest. I didn't head for the main entrance. I headed for the Vellum Room—the private lounge where the Alpha Sigma elite held their court. Every stride I took felt like I was shedding the skin of the civilized man I had pretended to be all evening at my mother's table.
Two bouncers stood before the heavy oak doors, their frames blocking the entrance like twin monoliths. They were professionals, hired from a high-end security firm that usually catered to embassies. They saw me coming—a man in a tuxedo, disheveled and wild-eyed—and they stepped into a defensive stance, hands hovering near their belts.
"Sir, this is a restricted event," the one on the left said, his voice level but firm. "I’ll need to see your invitation."
"Get out of my way," I said, my voice coming from a place so deep it didn't even sound like me. It was a low, jagged rasp that vibrated in the small foyer.
"Sir, if you don't have—"
I didn't let him finish. I didn't have time for the dance of the elite or the polite exchange of credentials. I stepped into his space, the "Heir" authority I had spent my life trying to downplay erupting in a sudden, primal burst. I grabbed him by the lapels and shoved, using my momentum to throw him back against the stone wall. The second one reached for me, his hand closing on my shoulder, but I caught his wrist in a grip that I hoped would bruise, twisting it with a precision that sent him stumbling back.
"I am Nathaniel Salvatore," I snarled into his face, my eyes boring into his with a lethal intensity that made him freeze. I could see the reflection of my own rage in his pupils. "If you don't move in the next three seconds, I will make sure you never work in this city again. I will dismantle your firm. I will ruin your lives. Move."
The "Heir" wasn't just a title. In that moment, it was a weapon. It was a legacy of power that could crush men like these without a second thought. The man saw the raw, unchecked fury in my eyes and recognized the absolute certainty in my voice. He stepped aside, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. I kicked the doors open, the wood slamming against the interior walls with a sound like a thunderclap that echoed through the vaulted ceiling of the lounge.
The opulent hum of the Vellum Room died instantly. Heads turned, silks rustled, and the "Old Guard" of Alverstone stared in shock at the Salvatore scion looking like he’d just come from a street fight. The air, once heavy with the smell of expensive scotch and perfume, now felt electric with the threat of violence.
I didn't see them. I didn't care about their judgment or their social standing. I only saw Gavin Hollis at the far end of the hallway, his face pale and sweating as he stood over a very composed, very golden Scarlett Tate. She was holding a champagne flute as if she hadn't just orchestrated a kidnapping.
"Nate!" Gavin shouted, his voice echoing. "She’s not saying a word. She’s acting like I’m speaking Greek."
I was across the room in seconds, my strides long and predatory. The crowd parted for me like a black sea, sensing that anything in my path was liable to be destroyed. Scarlett looked up as I approached, her mask of effortless poise firmly in place, though her fingers trembled slightly against the glass.
"Nate, really. The dramatics are a bit much, don't you think? You're making a scene," she said, her tone light and dismissive. "Mila just couldn't handle the mocktails. She’s probably halfway home by now, nursing a headache in some gutter in Brooklyn."
I didn't let her finish. I reached out, my hand closing around her shoulder as I pinned her against the velvet-covered wall with enough force to make the heavy gold-framed paintings rattle. I didn't care who was watching. I didn't care about the scandal. All I saw was the woman who had stood between me and the person who mattered most.
"Where is she, Scarlett?" I hissed, my face inches from hers. My hand tightened, and for the first time, I saw the cracks in her mask. The golden light of the chandeliers reflected in her eyes, showing a flash of genuine, unadulterated fear.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, her voice thin and trembling.
"Don't lie to me," I growled, the sound a low vibration in my throat. "Her phone went dark the second she was with you. If you don't tell me where she is right now, I will treat you like an enemy of my family. And you know exactly what that means, Scarlett. There won't be a corner of this world where your name carries weight anymore."
"The service corridor!" she gasped, the words tumbling out as her courage finally failed. "The back exit... the old storage room. It’s just down the hall to the left. Please, Nate, you're hurting me—"
I let go of her as if she were made of something poisonous, leaving her to slump against the velvet wallpaper, her golden dress rumpled and her dignity shattered. I didn't spare her another glance. I looked at Gavin, whose eyes were already fixed on the door she’d indicated.
"The back exit," I repeated, the adrenaline spiking to a deafening roar in my ears.
We didn't run; we launched. Gavin and I tore past the shocked legacies and the emerald curtains, sprinting toward the service doors. Every shadow in the hallway felt like a threat, every second we lost felt like a permanent stain on my soul. My blood was screaming, a singular, obsessive thought driving me forward through the maze of the building. I wasn't just an heir anymore. I was a hunter, and the scent of the trap was thick in the air.
We hit the service door together, the metal groaning under the weight of our shoulders as we burst into the cold, gray reality of the corridor. The silence of the hallway was gone, replaced by the frantic thudding of my own heart. I was going to find her. And may God have mercy on whoever was behind that door, because I certainly wouldn't.