Chapter 84
A flicker of distaste, quick as a startled bird, crossed Lucy's eyes before she masked it with an exaggerated, fawning tone. "Mr. Smith," she purred, the sound clinging to the humid night air, "you're just incredible."
Hall, preening under the praise, crouched lower, his gaze fixed on the evidence of his conquest glistening on her skin.
Just then, the moment when Lucy's leg hooked over his shoulder, a casual yet calculated gesture. Her voice, a cocktail of jealousy and playful accusation, dripped into the silence between them. "But, Mr. Smith, have you found a new favorite already? Forgetting about your old one so soon? Because I happened to see your fiancée today."
Fiancée was like a bucket of ice water doused over a roaring flame, extinguishing every last ember of Hall's desire.
His body went rigid, an involuntary spasm that sent a tremor through his frame. He tried to stand, a sudden, jerky movement that threw Lucy completely off balance.
Lucy let out a cry of pain and got up from the ground, looking wronged.
Hall, however, was frozen in a state of pure, unadulterated panic.
How could he have a fiancée?
What was she talking about?
The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow: she wasn't talking about his fiancée. She was talking about Jacob's. The thought was so terrifying that it threatened to stop his heart.
Jacob was rumored to have a fiancée, their wedding imminent.
Elizabeth? She saw Elizabeth?
When? Where? What did she see? And the most terrifying question of all: Did she know I was a fake?
A cascade of horrifying possibilities flooded his brain, each one worse than the last, and he felt the blood in his veins turn to slush. Impersonating the head of the family to toy with women, if Jacob ever found out…
His subtle yet intense reaction, in Lucy's eyes, took on an entirely different meaning.
A knot of unease tightened in Lucy's stomach, quickly followed by a sour wave of confirmation and a secret, triumphant thrill. See? I knew it. He's guilty.
Summoning a performance worthy of a seasoned actress, she wisely refrained from pressing the issue or throwing a tantrum. Instead, she molded herself against him, pressing her cheek to the hard wall of his chest and softening her voice to a pathetic, wounded whisper. "Mr. Smith, don't be nervous. I'm not that kind of girl."
She tilted her head back, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, a portrait of manufactured understanding. "I know a man like you… it's normal to have a fiancée who's your equal. I don't mind. Just seeing you, even just for a little while, is enough for me. I'll never bother her. I promise I won't make things difficult for you."
But what she was thinking, 'first, stabilize "Mr. Smith", let him see that I am sensible, so that he will feel guilty towards me, then slowly find ways to consolidate my position, and even look for opportunities to cause some trouble for that Elizabeth.'
Wasn't this what Flynn had wanted? For her to whisper poison about Elizabeth? The opportunity had just fallen into her lap.
Hall listened to this saccharine declaration, his gaze sweeping over her face—a face struggling to project sincerity but failing to hide the blatant calculation in her eyes. The initial shock had morphed into a cold, biting contempt, chased by the chilling sweat of a near miss.
This absolute, clueless fool. She actually thought he was feeling guilty about a fiancée? And she was putting on this pathetic show?
It was almost laughable, if it weren't so terrifyingly dangerous. But her blunder, he realized, was also his escape.
He forced the panic down, dredging up a smile that felt stiff and alien on his lips.
Gently, he pushed her away, his touch now devoid of its earlier heat. His voice was laced with a sudden, convincing weariness. "Lucy, you should go home for tonight. I'm tired, and there are things I need to deal with. We can talk about my fiancée later."
This was not the reaction Lucy had anticipated. After such a display of magnanimity, shouldn't he be pulling her into the house, holding her, comforting her for being so wonderfully understanding? "Mr. Smith…" She began, her voice a plaintive whine.
"Be good," Hall cut her off, his tone hardening with an edge of command she hadn't heard before. "Go home. I'll call you when I'm done."
"Mr. Smith…" Lucy tried again, a desperate gambit, attempting to press her body against his once more. He sidestepped her with an almost imperceptible shift, creating a chasm of cool air between them.
Panic clawed at her throat. Remembering Flynn's desperate plea, she quickly changed tactics, her expression shifting to one of deep concern.
"Don't worry so much, Mr. Smith. I know you're upset about Flynn. He told me everything. He was a blind idiot to offend Ms. Windsor like that. But he knows he was wrong, truly. He and Mr. Hernandez even went to apologize to her. Can't you… for Mr. Hernandez's sake, and because I'm so worried about you… just let him off the hook this one time? He swears he'll never do it again!"
As she spoke, she watched his face, trying to read his reaction.
With every word she uttered, Hall's heart hammered against his ribs with increasing violence.
He didn't understand all the details, but the core message was terrifyingly clear: her friend had offended Elizabeth, and Jacob had intervened. It was even possible Lucy herself was entangled in this mess. He couldn't afford to lose his temper with her now; he just needed her gone before she could do any more damage.
He managed a thin, perfunctory smile. "Alright, I heard you. I'll think about Flynn's situation. Now go home, and stop overthinking things."
"Really? Oh, Mr. Smith, you're the best!" Lucy beamed, convinced her plea had worked. She surged forward to kiss him.
Hall turned his head, the kiss landing on empty air. He patted her shoulder, a gesture of finality. "Go on. It's late."
Though disappointed by the lack of affection, Lucy felt a wave of relief. She had his promise. After a few more cloying endearments, she finally retreated, casting long, lingering looks over her shoulder as the car carried her away.
Only when the red taillights vanished around a curve in the winding mountain road did the last vestige of Hall's forced smile dissolve, replaced by a glacial mask of fury.
He strode back to his room in the small manor house, locked the door behind him, and only then realized his shirt was plastered to his back, soaked through with cold sweat.
That stupid, reckless idiot.
Though not a core member of the Smith family, Hall knew Jacob's methods well enough. The true patriarch was ruthless, his word was law, and he despised anyone who dared to cross his lines. Once Jacob made a decision, it was immutable.
The most critical problem now was that Lucy knew about Elizabeth. She might have already run her mouth. If Flynn wasn't spared—and Hall was certain he wouldn't be—Lucy, in her desperation, would inevitably scream that she was Mr. Smith's lover to save her own skin.
The moment she uttered those words, everything would spiral out of control.
Jacob would launch a full investigation.
And he would discover everything: the impersonation, the women, the potential damage to his relationship with his real fiancée. Any one of those offenses was a death sentence.
A fresh wave of cold sweat prickled his skin. Hall's eyes narrowed, hardening into chips of obsidian.
No. He could not allow this liability to continue to exist.
Lucy knew too much and was far too stupid to be trusted. She was a ticking time bomb, and he was standing right next to her.
He had to dispose of her. Immediately. Before she could bring his entire world crashing down.
He crossed to his desk and opened a hidden drawer, revealing a collection of burner phones. He selected one, his hand steady despite the tremor in his soul, and dialed a number he had never called himself before.
The phone rang for a long time. Finally, a flat, emotionless voice answered. "Speak."
Hall took a deep, steadying breath, forcing his own voice into a cold, detached calm. "I need you to kill someone. Make it clean. Make it look like an accident."