Chapter 13
Henry laid it on thick, his voice dripping with sincerity. Even his eyes cooperated, rimming red on cue.
The old Elizabeth—the one who'd loved him with blind devotion—would've been sobbing into his shirt by now.
Too bad for him. Now, she just felt sick.
She finally lifted her gaze, meeting Henry's eyes dead-on. A smile curved her lips—cold and razor-thin. "You love me most? So what's the plan here, Henry? You gonna sneak around behind Jacob's back after we're married? Make him look like a fool?"
The words detonated in Henry's brain like a fucking grenade.
Cheat on Jacob Smith?
Was she out of her goddamn mind?
Terror drained every drop of color from his face. White to green to deathly pale.
His eyes darted around the room like Jacob's cold gaze might be lurking in the shadows, watching.
His legs turned to water. He nearly dropped to his knees right there.
"No! No, no, Elizabeth! Jesus Christ, what are you even—I'd never—" He waved his hands frantically, tripping over his own words. "I have nothing but respect for Mr. Smith! Total respect!" Cold sweat poured down his temples. He'd forgotten all about his missing finger.
After the initial shock came something colder. Ice crawled up his spine.
His mind flashed to the finger—how it'd been taken. Brutal. Professional. Definitely not some random enemy.
Was it because he'd been Elizabeth's ex-fiancé? Had he gotten in Jacob's way?
That had to be it. Who else but Jacob Smith—with all that power and ruthlessness—would send a message like that? Stayed away from Elizabeth.
Henry looked at Elizabeth like she'd turned radioactive. Untouchable.
Watching Henry fall apart from one sentence, Vivian's heart twisted.
She rushed forward, catching Henry before he collapsed. Her glare could've cut glass. "Elizabeth! How could you say that to him? He's hurt—seriously hurt—and he came all this way to see you! You don't even care! Instead, you're just cruel! How can you be so heartless?"
Elizabeth didn't even bother looking up. She pulled Jack closer—the kid had flinched at Vivian's shrill voice—and her tone dropped to arctic levels. "Heartless? Compared to people who betray their own family? Embezzle their inheritance? Try to commit murder?" Her lips barely moved. "A few harsh words are nothing."
The implication landed. Both their faces changed.
Vivian's jaw tightened. "Stop making things up. You want me to tell Dad what you just said?"
Henry had zero interest in playing games anymore. His only thought, "Get out. Get far away from Elizabeth."
He forced himself upright, managed a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Ms. Windsor, you... you rest up. I'm—I'm gonna go."
Then he practically stumbled toward the door, not looking back even when Vivian called after him.
Vivian watched him flee, stomped her foot in frustration, shot Elizabeth one last venomous look, and chased after him.
The living room fell quiet again.
Jack seemed to sense the chill around Elizabeth thawing. He peeked up, his small hand tugging gently at her sleeve.
She looked down. His eyes—pure, innocent—cooled the rage simmering inside her.
She ruffled his hair, though her gaze had gone distant. Calculating.
Henry's paranoid theory had given her an idea.
Letting Jacob take the blame for this? Not a bad play.
It'd keep Henry and his kind in line. And it'd keep Nightfall hidden a little longer.
As for Henry and Vivian? Their suffering had barely started.
That missing finger was just a warning shot.
She stared out the window, her gaze piercing through distance and walls to land on the people she hated most.
The game was just beginning.
And she had all the patience in the world to see it through.
Smith Manor. The study.
The air was thick enough to choke on.
Jacob sat behind the massive ebony desk, a lit cigar pinched between his fingers.
He exhaled a slow stream of smoke. The gray haze curled around his face, softening his hard features—but somehow making him more terrifying.
One of his trusted men stood before the desk, head bowed, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was delivering the report like a man walking to the gallows.
"Mr. Smith, based on our investigation, the crew that grabbed young Mr. Jack Smith was a drifter operation working out of the Docks. Leader goes by Colt. He's confirmed dead." The man chose each word carefully. "We found one of their safe houses. Recovered this."
He set an evidence bag on the desk. Inside was a small sapphire cufflink—one Jack had been wearing the day he was taken.
Jacob's gaze flicked to the cufflink. Then his hand swept it off the desk.
The man's heart jumped at the sharp clatter.
"Colt?" Jacob leaned back, his voice a low rasp edged with that slight Italian accent. "Some nobody crew had the balls to touch my son? And then cleaned up so perfect there's not a single bastard left breathing?"
The man's head dipped lower. He didn't dare respond.
Everyone knew Colt was just the scapegoat. The real puppet master was buried deeper.
But having a scapegoat was better than admitting they had nothing.
If he said they'd come up empty, Jacob might snap his neck right there.
"According to what we got, they waited until you were at the docks the other day—handling that shipment. Timed it during the guard rotation. Bribed a temp worker on the inside." His voice dropped quieter. "The worker fell in the water accidentally."
Every witness, dead.
The trail had been cut clean. Professional silencing.
Jacob said nothing. The cigar's red ember glowed and dimmed in the low light.
The air in the study felt like a concrete setting.
A soft knock. Before Jacob could respond, the door swung open.
A man in his early forties stepped in, wrapped in an expensive velvet robe, wineglass in hand. His expression was perfectly calibrated concern.
He shared some features with Jacob—softer edges, though. None of Jacob's brutality is in the lines of his face.
Richard Smith. Jacob's older brother.
"Jacob, I heard Jack's back safe? Thank God. I've been worried sick." Richard's tone dripped with concern as he approached the desk. His gaze swept over the cufflink on the floor, the man standing rigid as a statue. Deep in his eyes, something flickered. Satisfaction. Barely visible.