Chapter 152 A Trap... Or Hope?

Chapter 152 A Trap... Or Hope?
Adrian's POV

I stared at the stack of files on my desk for what felt like the hundredth time. Every report Dylan and Reynolds had gathered lay scattered before me, but none of them gave me the answer I wanted.

My fingers tightened around the photograph lying beside the laptop, my grip almost crushing the edges.

Hazel smiled at the camera, completely unaware that the world around her would one day become this cruel.

My chest tightened.

I blinked rapidly and looked away as I suck in air back into my lungs.

A vibration interrupted my thoughts.

My secure phone. Only a handful of people knew that number.

Reynolds?

Dylan?

I picked it up, thumb hovering for half a second before I answered.

Unknown caller.

My heartbeat slowed instead of quickening, a cold. Unknown numbers no longer surprised me.

"Speak."

Silence.

Then a low whisper.

"...Mr. Ashford?"

The voice was distorted but familiar. But not Camille.

"I'm... not calling to threaten you."

I frowned, leaning back slightly in my chair, eyes narrowing as my fingers tapped once against the desk.

The voice continued.

"I work for Camille."

Every muscle in my body became rigid.

My hand instinctively reached for the pistol inside my drawer, fingers curling around the handle before I even fully registered the movement.

"What did you say?"

"I work for her."

I stood from my chair so fast it scraped against the floor, the sound sharp in the suffocating quiet. My breathing became uneven, controlled but strained, like I was holding something back by force alone.

Another trap?

Very likely.

Camille loved playing with people.

She enjoyed watching them hope before crushing them.

"So?" I asked coldly, voice low and cutting. "Why are you calling me?"

The person hesitated.

"I don't want to die."

I narrowed my eyes, leaning forward slightly, knuckles pressing into the edge of the desk.

Interesting.

"What makes you think I care?"

"Because if I die..."

The voice trembled, breaking in and out like static.

"...my family dies too."

Silence filled the office.

Not because I believed them. Because fear, real fear sounded different.

People could fake confidence. They could fake anger. But genuine terror...

That was much harder.

"Camille has started cleaning up," the caller whispered.

"Anyone who knows too much... disappears."

A chill ran down my spine.

"You're lying."

"I wish I was."

I didn't answer. Instead, I listened.

"She already killed two people."

Another pause.

"I'm next."

I leaned against the desk, fingers dragging through my hair once before dropping to my side. My subconscious immediately argued with me.

It's a trap.

Probably.

But what if it isn't?

I hated that question.

Ever since learning Camille was alive, every decision had become a gamble.

Trust nobody.

Suspect everybody.

"I don't believe you."

"I know."

"So convince me."

The caller inhaled sharply, the sound uneven, like they were shaking.

"Hazel had a fever two nights ago."

My heartbeat skipped.

My grip tightened on the desk.

"She cried for hours."

No.

"Camille refused to let anyone call a doctor."

Stop.

"She kept calling..."

The voice broke completely.

"...for Daddy."

Everything inside me froze.

I couldn't breathe.

Hazel...

My baby.

I squeezed the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white, the wood creaks.

The caller continued softly. "She still sleeps with the rabbit toy you bought."

I closed my eyes. Only someone near Hazel would know that. Only someone inside Camille's circle.

It could be another trick.

"What do you want?" I demand coldly.

"I don't want money." The person says almost immediately.

"I didn't offer any."

"I want my family alive."

My brows knitted together, my head tilting slightly as I studied the empty space in front of me like it might give answers.

"My husband and daughters. They have nothing to do with this."

I remained silent, breathing slow and controlled.

"If Camille realizes I contacted you..." The voice cracks again, raw and panicked. "...she'll kill them first."

For several seconds neither of us spoke. Then I finally asked, "What do you expect me to do?"

"Protect them."

"Move them."

"Hide them."

"I'll tell you where they are."

"And after that?"

"I'll tell you everything I know."

Everything.

Such a tempting word.

Yet...

It could cost me everything too.

I rubbed the back of my neck, exhaling slowly through my nose.

"What stops you from disappearing with them yourself?"

A bitter laugh escaped the speaker, sharp and humorless. "You think she'd let me?"

That answer...

Somehow made sense.

"She's watching all of us."

"If I move, my family dies."

I looked toward the rain covered window, fingers tapping once against my arm as my thoughts refused to settle.

Should I believe the person?

No.

Could I ignore this?

Also no.

"Give me the address."

Within seconds the caller recited it.

A modest neighborhood. One that matches the one Killian sent.

"I'll verify it." I growl.

"I expected you would."

"If you're lying..."

"I'm already dead."

The call ended.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen as if it might start speaking again.

My office suddenly felt colder.

I immediately dialed Reynolds.

He answered before the second ring.

"Sir."

"I need a covert extraction."

His tone sharpened instantly.

"Location?"

I gave him the address, pacing once behind the desk, my hand tightening around the phone.

"No Ashford vehicles."

"No uniforms."

"No attention."

"I want that family gone before anyone notices."

He didn't ask questions.

"I'll handle it."

The line disconnected.

I exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping just slightly.

Now...

I waited.

Waiting.

It had become the story of my life.

Waiting for Camille.

Waiting for Hazel.

Waiting for answers.

Three hours later my phone rang again.

"Sir."

Reynolds.

"The man and kids have been secured."

I shut my eyes, exhaling through my nose as my hand pressed briefly against the desk for support.

I immediately dialed the unknown number.

It connected after one ring.

"They're safe."

Nothing.

Then...

Soft crying.

The caller couldn't speak.

Only sobbed quietly, uneven and broken, like the sound had been held back for too long.

I looked away.

People cried for many reasons.

Relief.

Fear.

Regret.

I couldn't tell which one this was.

"Thank you..." The words barely came out.

"I did it for my daughter. Make sure no harm comes to her or else, you and your family won't live to tell the tales." I threaten.

"Yes, sir."

Then the caller finally said, "I'll meet you."

"When?"

"Tonight."

"Where?"

An abandoned warehouse near the old harbor.

"I don't want to dictate but you'll come alone. If anyone follows you, I'll disappear."

I clenched my jaw, fingers tightening around the phone until it almost hurt. The threat wasn't arrogant. It sounded desperate.

"I don't trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"But I have something you need."

I hated admitting it.

They were right.

"I'll be there."

The line disconnected.

Every instinct screamed against it.

Yet every second Hazel remained with Camille...

I lost.

I opened my safe.

The pistol felt heavier than usual as I pulled it free, checking it with slow, deliberate movements.

I checked the magazine.

Loaded.

Safety on.

I slipped it beneath my jacket. Then I sat at my desk one last time. An empty envelope.

A sheet of paper. I began writing. Simple instructions. If I didn't return, Reynolds would know exactly what to do.

I sealed it and laced it neatly in the center of my desk, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.

I grabbed my keys. The office lights went dark behind me. Outside, rain had already begun falling.

Cold drops landed against my face as I walked toward the Mercedes Benz. My shoulders tense beneath the weight of everything I wasn’t saying.

Thunder rolled across the sky.

I'd been chasing shadows.

Tonight...

I wasn't chasing a ghost anymore.

Whether I was walking into hope...

Or walking into Camille's next trap...

I would find out soon enough.