Chapter 159 The Red Dot
Chapter 159 The Red Dot
Lorelei‘s POV
The video call came at 2:47 AM.
I was still awake, staring at code that refused to cooperate, when Cynthia's face filled my screen—eyes bright, smile so wide it looked almost painful.
"Lorelei! I'm getting married!" She thrust her hand at the camera. Diamond. Big one. "Felix proposed last night and you have to come be my bridesmaid. This Saturday. Manhattan."
Manhattan.
The word hit like cold water.
"Cynthia, you know I can't. New York—"
"Three days. Friday to Sunday." She leaned closer, and I saw the plea in her eyes. "Please. You're my best friend."
Felix appeared over her shoulder. "I'll arrange everything. Good hotel, security, whatever you need to feel safe."
I looked at Cynthia's face and felt something crack in my chest. This was the woman who'd opened her door at 3 AM when I'd shown up with one suitcase and nowhere else to go.
"Okay. I'll come."
After Felix left the frame, I asked, "What happened? You spent six months saying he was too cold, too logical—"
"Three months ago, that client disaster nearly tanked my agency. Felix didn't try to fix it or give advice. He just showed up every night. Sat with me at 3 AM while I cried." Her smile softened. "One night I realized—he'd been seeing me the whole time. Not my success. Just me."
Something twisted in my stomach.
"When he proposed, he said: 'I don't need you to be better. You're already enough. I just want to grow old with you.'" She wiped her eyes. "Lorelei, he made me feel like I'd found the right person. Not perfect. Right. The kind where I can be my truest self."
Right person. The words echoed after we hung up.
Have I ever felt that?
---
I found Julian in his study at 3:15 AM.
I knocked softly. "Julian?"
"Come in."
He looked up from his laptop. "Can't sleep?"
"Cynthia got engaged. I need to fly to New York this weekend."
The silence stretched long enough I shifted my weight.
"New York," he said finally. Flat. "I have a board meeting later this morning. You're going alone?"
"Just three days."
"Okay. But promise me—text when you land, morning and night. Stay at Felix's hotel."
An hour later, a Tiffany box appeared on my nightstand. White gold necklace, simple pendant. But when I turned it over, I felt the slight raised bump.
GPS tracker.
This is what our relationship is. A transaction. His "protection" comes with surveillance.
He saved me once. Got me out of New York when I had nowhere to go.
But after he tried sabotaging my company to make me dependent—I know better than to trust his motives.
I put it on.
---
Geneva airport at 6 AM. I stood in the security line watching couples holding hands, sharing coffee.
Julian hadn't come to see me off. Board meeting.
I texted: "Boarding soon."
His reply: "Safe flight. I love you."
My thumbs hovered. Three words. So difficult to type.
I sent back: "Thanks."
---
Eight hours of overthinking.
I tried to sleep. Failed. Just sat with my forehead against the window, watching clouds slide past.
Right person.
Julian was perfect on paper. He'd given me resources to build my company—though I'd learned the hard way those resources came with invisible chains.
He saved you from Dante. From New York. From a life that was destroying you.
But he also tried to destroy your company when you started becoming too independent.
You owe him. But you can't trust him.
---
JFK at 8 AM was freezing.
At baggage claim, I felt it—that prickle on my neck that meant someone was watching.
I turned. A man in a black jacket, pretending to look at his phone. But his eyes kept flicking toward me.
Paranoid. Jet lag.
I grabbed my suitcase and walked faster.
Outside, I texted: "Landed. Something feels off. Someone might be following me. If I don't text back in 3 hours, call police."
Julian's reply came in seconds: "WHAT? Where are you? Are you Okay?"
"Probably nothing. Going to hotel now."
---
The Greenwich Hotel was exactly Felix's style—understated luxury that didn't need to advertise.
I texted Julian: "At hotel. All good."
His reply: "Lock the door. Don't go out."
I showered, tried to sleep, failed. Stood at the window watching New York's streets, feeling nothing but exhaustion.
Cynthia picked me up at 3 PM.
"God, you look exhausted."
"Work stress. I'm fine."
The dress shop was in SoHo. Champagne silk, elegant and simple.
"You're the bravest person I know," Cynthia said. "Leaving a place that hurt you, rebuilding your life—that's not running. That's surviving."
"Felix really makes you happy?"
"Yeah. Best part? I don't have to pretend. I can be a workaholic, bitchy before coffee, call him at 3 AM. He just accepts it all." She paused. "What about you and Julian?"
"He's very supportive."
"But?"
"No buts. We're good."
We both knew I was lying.
---
Back at the hotel by 6 PM, I collapsed on the bed.
Julian's text: "Good night. I love you."
I stared at those three words.
Finally typed: "Night."
By 9:30, I couldn't take it anymore. The room felt too small.
But Julian had said not to go out. And Felix had security downstairs.
I ordered room service instead. Tea. Something to help me sleep.
---
The knock came at 9:47 PM.
"Room service."
I checked the peephole. Hotel uniform. Silver cart. Everything looked right.
But something felt wrong.
I opened the door with the chain still on. "Just leave it outside, please."
"I need a signature, ma'am."
His accent was off.
I started to close the door.
He slammed his shoulder against it. The chain snapped.
I stumbled back, tried to scream.
A second man was already inside. Hand over my mouth. Chemical smell—sharp, wrong.
I kicked. Bit down hard. Tasted blood.
But there were two of them and the room was spinning and my phone was on the nightstand—too far—
Where's security? Where's Felix's people?
The chemical smell got stronger.
Julian. GPS. Find me.
Then darkness.
---
Third Person POV
Julian Cross was in the middle of his presentation when the notification buzzed.
9:47 PM New York time. He'd been running on coffee and adrenaline for nearly twenty hours—from the European board meeting that morning straight through to this Asia-Pacific quarterly review. Slide thirty-two of forty, presenting Zenith Capital's Q4 projections to the board across three time zones. His phone was on silent, face-down.
He couldn't check it.
The Tokyo directors were asking pointed questions. His reputation—and a fifty-billion-dollar deal—hung on this meeting.
He kept talking. Watched the clock tick past 10:00 PM.
At 10:15, the meeting finally ended.
He grabbed his phone.
Fourteen missed alerts from the GPS tracking app.
His blood turned to ice.
He pulled up the tracker. The red dot hadn't moved in twenty-eight minutes.
Greenwich Hotel. Room 412.
He called her phone. Voicemail.
Again. Voicemail.
He called the hotel. "Connect me to room 412. Now."
Ringing. No answer.
"This is Julian Cross. I need security to check on Ms. Bennett in 412 immediately."
Two minutes of hold music.
"Sir, security found the room empty. Signs of struggle. The door chain was broken. Ms. Bennett is not on premises."
Julian pulled up the GPS history. The dot had stopped moving at 9:47 PM. Exactly when his presentation had started.
They knew. They timed it.
He called his security team. "Get to the Greenwich Hotel. She's been taken."
Five minutes later: "Sir, hotel security was drugged. Two men in room service uniforms. They had staff access cards. This was professional."
Then—the red dot moved.
Julian watched it trace a path through Manhattan, then across the bridge into Brooklyn. Heading toward the industrial district.
"The GPS tracker is still active," his security chief said. "The custom Tiffany design fooled them—they haven't stripped her jewelry yet. We can track her."
He had one option left. One person who could reach her in time.
He pulled up his contacts. Found the name he'd hoped never to use.
Dante Ashford.
If I do this, I'm handing her to him.
But the alternative was Lorelei dead.
He pressed call.
---
Dante answered on the third ring. "Cross. It's almost eleven."
"Lorelei's been kidnapped. I need your help."
Three seconds of silence.
"I'm tracking her GPS in real-time. Sending you the live location now." Julian's fingers flew across the keyboard. "She's moving. Black van. Heading toward Red Hook industrial area."
Dante's voice changed—sharp, focused, fully awake. "I'm in New York."
"I'm not. So I need your help."
Julian sent the tracking link. "This updates every thirty seconds. She's still moving."
"Received. I'm mobilizing my team now."
"Ashford—" Julian's voice caught. "If you save her, I owe you."