Chapter 90
He forced himself to calm down and immediately replied through an intermediary, with a firm tone that left no room for negotiation: [A misunderstanding! This is unequivocally a misunderstanding! The target, Lucy, is merely a vain, ordinary woman who believes she has landed a wealthy benefactor. She can't have any genuine connection to the real Mr. Smith! I guarantee on my reputation that her claims of being his mistress are complete fabrications, either a desperate lie to save her own skin or a delusion born of her vanity! Please, I implore you to proceed with the clean-up. The payment can be adjusted to the new standard!]
Hall just wanted Lucy to disappear quickly now, to completely get rid of this trouble, and he could not afford to have her alive and speaking any longer.
When Elizabeth received the client's reply, forwarded by Nightfall, a slow smile curved her lips. The situation was beginning to acquire a certain intrigue.
Samantha's stylist was already waiting outside her door. A glance at her watch told Elizabeth she still had several hours before their planned excursion to the Aurora Bar.
She made a decision and contacted Lynx again, her instructions concise: [Decline the commission. And prepare an inconspicuous vehicle for me. I'm going to see Lucy myself.]
She needed to see with her own eyes what this woman knew—this woman who had thrown the clandestine client into such a panic that he would lie to Nightfall itself, just to expedite her death.
This felt far more valuable than indulging Samantha and Lilith in their juvenile games of romantic sabotage.
Following the address Lynx provided, Elizabeth drove a discreet black sedan, pulling it to a stop across the street from the upscale apartment building where Lucy resided.
She didn't go in. Instead, she parked in the deep shadows of a corner, and settled in to wait.
Barely twenty minutes passed before the building's main doors swung open. A woman in a tight, short skirt emerged, her silhouette unmistakable. It was Lucy.
She glanced left, then right, her movements jerky as she started towards the corner, likely to hail a cab.
Elizabeth pushed open the car door and walked towards her.
"Lucy."
Her voice was not loud, yet it cut through the evening stillness with unnerving clarity.
The woman flinched as if struck, whirling around. The moment her eyes landed on Elizabeth, the color drained from her face, replaced by a pallid mask of shock and terror, quickly followed by the distinct, guilty apprehension of a mistress confronted by the rightful partner.
She clearly recognized Elizabeth.
"Ms. Windsor?" Lucy's voice trembled. She took an unconscious half-step back, forcing a smile that was so stiff it looked painful. "What are you doing here? Are you looking for me?"
Elizabeth closed the distance between them, her gaze calm and appraising as she came to a stop.
Up close, the dark circles under Lucy's eyes and the frantic tension in her posture were starkly visible. The glamorous allure she might have once possessed had evaporated, leaving behind only the skittish panic of a cornered animal.
"There are some things I need to ask you," Elizabeth stated, her tone flat and direct.
At these words, Lucy's composure shattered completely. A look of desperate pleading washed over her features, and she began to speak in a rushed, hushed torrent. "Ms. Windsor, I know I was wrong! What happened at the Stellar Training Center, I shouldn't have said those things to Flynn! I swear, nothing is going on between Mr. Smith and me!"
"It was a moment of weakness! I was just after the money and the gifts he gave me! I promise I will never appear before you again! Please, I'm begging you, don't tell Mr. Smith about Flynn, or about the other men! I'm only in this for the money, I would never threaten your position! Please, just be merciful and let me go!"
She clearly thought that Elizabeth was there to deal with the issue of her affair, eager to distance herself from Mr. Smith, fearful that Elizabeth would inform Jacob about her involvement with multiple partners, cutting off her financial support and even inviting more terrifying retribution.
As she spoke, she looked at Elizabeth's exquisite yet cold face, and surprisingly, a hint of genuine pity appeared in her eyes. She murmured softly, "And to be honest, Ms. Windsor, you're so beautiful; being with Mr. Smith really does you a disservice. He's just not that impressive."
The last sentence was barely a whisper, imbued with the knowing commiseration of one who had firsthand experience.
She seemed to genuinely believe that Mr. Smith was a lackluster lover, and that the stunning woman before her was likely condemned to a life devoid of true physical pleasure.
A slight frown creased Elizabeth's brow.
There was a surprising amount of information packed into Lucy's dismissive comment.
She seemed to hold Mr. Smith in low regard, almost contempt, yet she was simultaneously petrified of losing the protection and benefits the association provided.
"What does Mr. Smith usually give you?" Elizabeth asked, her voice neutral as she followed Lucy's line of thought.
Sensing that she wasn't facing immediate annihilation, Lucy let out a small, shaky breath, though her body remained coiled with tension. "Just spending money. Designer bags, jewelry, things like that. But the most important thing is his protection. With him looking out for me, no one dares to mess with me. All those girls who used to look down on me, now they have to kiss up to me!"
A flash of pride crossed her face before being stamped out again by fear.
"Where do you usually meet?" Elizabeth pressed on.
"Hillside Manor!" Lucy answered as if it were obvious, a hint of boastful pride coloring her tone. "It's the place Mr. Smith keeps just for us. It's beautiful, and very private."
Hillside Manor. Another property in the Smith family's portfolio.
The knot of questions in Elizabeth's mind tightened.
Jacob spent nearly all of his time at the main Smith estate. His business meetings and dealings with subordinates were conducted at the corporate headquarters or a few other secure, established locations. He rarely, if ever, stayed at Hillside Manor for any length of time, let alone used it as a gilded cage for a mistress.
And would a man with his obsessive need for control and discretion really choose a woman as vain, foolish, and loose-lipped as Lucy? And install her in a family property?
A very plausible theory began to crystallize in Elizabeth's mind. Lucy had been deceived. The man she knew as Mr. Smith wasn't Jacob at all. He was an impostor—someone audacious enough to leverage the Smith family name and the keys to Hillside Manor to perpetrate a fraud.
Who could it be? The manor's steward? Someone else with privileged access?
If that were true, then the person who wanted Lucy dead was likely this very impostor.
Perhaps Lucy had started to grow suspicious, or perhaps Flynn's public outburst had drawn the attention of the real Jacob and Elizabeth, forcing the pretender's hand. He had to eliminate the one piece of evidence that could expose his entire charade.
Elizabeth looked at the pathetic, pitiable woman before her, a plan already forming. She was about to speak, to rip away the cruel deception and perhaps pry more information about this fake Mr. Smith from Lucy's lips, when a dull, heavy crack tore through the evening air.
Elizabeth's reaction was instantaneous, her mind processing the trajectory in the microsecond the sound registered.
She lunged forward—not to dodge, but to slam into the terrified, frozen form of Lucy. She tackled the woman to the ground, shielding her with her own body as she used their combined momentum to roll hard to the side.
The bullet hissed past where Lucy's head had been a moment before, striking the brick wall of the apartment building behind them. It exploded in a shower of sparks and pulverized concrete.
Lucy let out a choked, strangled scream, her body rigid with a terror so profound it paralyzed her.
Two more shots rang out in quick succession. Bullets chewed into the pavement where they had just been standing, and where they now lay, kicking up more angry sparks from the unforgiving ground. Someone was shooting at them.
Someone was shooting!