Chapter 183
Chapter 183
Jacob had shown up for Elizabeth as well.
He marveled at Elizabeth's mercy, almost amused by how mild her version of revenge was. For someone who had hurt her that deeply, this was all he'd gotten.
Jacob turned and headed toward the door.
After a few steps, he paused and said without looking back, "Leon, bring him out. Different place. Make sure he's taken care of."
Leon nodded.
When it came to making someone wish they were dead, not even ten Elizabeths could compare to Jacob.
Jacob walked out of the basement, squinting against the sudden sunlight.
He stood on the steps, drawing in a long breath. The air carried the sweetness of blooming flowers, the bite of fresh-cut grass, and the clean scent of soil.
He closed his eyes and spoke to her silently in his mind. Elizabeth, the people who hurt you—I'll make sure they pay. One by one. Slowly. Thoroughly.
He picked up his phone and called Leon. "Did you find Vivian?"
Leon's voice came through. "Found her. She's shacking up as some guy's mistress."
"Send me the address." Jacob ended the call, stood up, and grabbed his coat.
Vivian lived in a so‑called "villa" on the outskirts of town. Really, it was just a slightly bigger suburban house—laughable compared to the former Brown estate, the kind of place that didn't even belong in the same universe.
She wore a flashy scarlet dress, heavy makeup, and big salon curls that made her look ten years older than she really was.
When she saw Jacob standing at her door, her expression collapsed into pure terror.
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. Nothing came out.
Her body shook hard, like a brittle leaf hanging on in a winter storm.
Vivian knew Jacob wasn't here to confess his love or sweep her out of this life.
And with how publicly affectionate he'd been with Elizabeth lately, she would've been an idiot to think otherwise.
Jacob stepped inside and sat down across from her.
He looked at this woman—the one who used to strut around as if the world owed her favors, who had stolen the fatherly affection Elizabeth should have had—and now she'd been reduced to being some aging rich man's side piece.
There was no pity in his eyes. Only a cold, bone-deep disgust that made her skin crawl.
"Vivian," he said, his voice calm, as if commenting on the weather.
Her tears finally spilled.
With a loud thud, she dropped to her knees, clasped her hands, and bowed so quickly her forehead smacked the floor.
"Mr. Smith, please—please let me go! I swear I didn't know anything! I didn't do anything! Please—"
"Enough." Jacob cut her off. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the kind of command people obeyed without thinking.
Vivian froze. She didn't dare speak again. She stayed kneeling, trembling, her tears falling without a sound.
"Henry," Jacob said quietly, "do you know where he is now?"
Vivian shook her head violently.
"In a basement," Jacob replied. "Inside something that looks like a wooden doll. No arms. No legs. No tongue. Just eyes. He can see, hear, and think."
Vivian's face drained of all color. Her shaking grew wild, and her mind filled with the sickening realization that Jacob was telling her this for one reason only—to terrify her. To break her.
"He was your lover once," Jacob said calmly. "You should keep him company."
Vivian went still.
She lifted her head slowly, staring at him in disbelief. "W‑what did you say?"
"Go keep him company," Jacob repeated. "Give him a child. One kid, and you're free."
Vivian's tears streamed even harder.
She bowed again and again, her forehead hitting the floor with dull, painful thumps. "Mr. Smith! Please! I'm begging you! Don't make me! I can't go to him—I can't be with that monster—I can't—"
This was worse than anything she had imagined. She could sleep with men if she had to—rich old men, scruffy street punks, whoever. Her body had never been something she treasured. But Henry was different.
Henry no longer had arms or legs. What was she supposed to do—climb on top of that mutilated creature?
The humiliation alone was unbearable.
"No?" Jacob tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. The smile was cold, glacial even, the kind that froze the room. "Vivian, when did you get the idea you had a choice?"
Vivian's sobs stopped instantly.
She stared at Jacob, seeing at last the icy, emotionless certainty in his eyes. And she realized—this man wasn't someone she could plead with.
All she could do was accept it.
She lowered her head. Her tears fell onto the floorboards, one drop after another.
"I'll go," she whispered, barely audible.
Jacob stood and walked toward the door. At the threshold, he paused and said, without turning, "Vivian, this is what you owe her."
He opened the door and stepped out.
Vivian stayed kneeling, staring at the closed door as silent tears streamed down her face.
She thought of Elizabeth—the sister she had bullied for years, the girl she thought would never rise, never fight back.
Vivian had believed she'd won. That she had stolen everything Elizabeth deserved. That she would stand at the top forever.
Now she finally understood: she'd never won anything. She had always been the loser.
Jacob returned to the estate when the sky was already deepening into dusk. When he stepped into the hall, he found Elizabeth sitting on the sofa, a file in her hands, her brows pulled together in concentration.
She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and a warm smile spread across her face.
"You're back?" She set the file aside and walked toward him.
Jacob watched her approach. She wore an off‑white suit, her hair pinned into a low twist, looking both elegant and impossibly gentle.
She reached him, lifted onto her toes, and pressed a soft kiss against his lips.
"You smell like perfume," she said suddenly.
Jacob's heart stuttered. He looked into her eyes, finding no suspicion there—only open curiosity.
"Handled some things today," he said evenly.
Elizabeth didn't pry.
She simply smiled, lacing her fingers with his as she tugged him toward the dining room. "You must be starving. I had the kitchen make your favorites tonight."
Jacob followed her, watching the sway of her steps, and felt a strange pressure swell in his chest. She trusted him so deeply, leaned on him so easily, loved him with such unreserved certainty.
She had no idea what he had done today. Who he had seen. Whose fate he had rewritten on her behalf.
She had no idea that he had avenged her.
All she knew was that he had come home. That he might be hungry. That she'd ordered his favorite dishes.
Suddenly, he felt unworthy of her.
Not because of what he'd done—but because it still wasn't enough.
No amount of vengeance could erase what she had endured.
No amount of devotion could give her back the years she had lost.
"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked, glancing back when she noticed him lagging behind.
Jacob shook his head and caught up, wrapping his fingers around hers. "Nothing. Let's eat."
That night, Elizabeth worked in the study late into the night.
She had taken over Sawyer's empire as well as most of Nightfall's operations. Every day brought mountains of new problems. She didn't just enjoy this life, she also knew she didn't get to walk away.
This legacy had been paid for in blood—her blood, Sawyer's, Jack's. She couldn't abandon it.
Jacob sat across from her, watching the way she frowned at each line of text, and finally said, "Elizabeth, have you ever thought about hiring a professional trustee?"