Chapter 155 APEX PREDATORS

Chapter 155 APEX PREDATORS
~DAVID'S POV~

I found her nursing a dirty martini in the darkest corner of The Carlyle's bar.

She looked entirely unbothered. You wouldn't guess this was a woman whose father was currently lying in a hospital bed with a cracked skull. You definitely wouldn't guess she had helped cover up the attack.

I slid into the leather booth across from her. She didn't flinch. She just took a slow sip of her drink and met my eyes.

"There's a black Escalade parked illegally on the street outside," I said, gesturing toward the front doors. "Two men inside wearing cheap earpieces and expensive suits. Alexander's goons."

Annette set her glass down. "Alexander has trust issues."

"Can you blame him?" I smirked, leaning back against the leather. "You are playing a very dangerous game, Annette. Sitting down for drinks with me while your babysitters wait on the curb."

"They aren't babysitters. They are a security detail," she said smoothly. "And I told them I was meeting an old college friend for a drink. They have no idea who you are. To them, you're just a guy in a nice suit."

I chuckled. "Clever."

"I try."

I flagged down a waiter, ordered a scotch neat, and waited until he disappeared before I dropped the pleasantries.

"You saved my ass back at your father's house," I said, keeping my voice low. "You saved Richard's, too. You helped us stage your own father's tragic 'slip and fall.' You lied to the paramedics. You lied to the police."

Annette examined her manicured nails. "I did."

"Why?" I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. "You could have sent Richard to prison for life. You could have dragged me down as an accessory. You had all the cards. Why did you help us?"

"I didn't do it for you," she said coldly. "And I certainly didn't do it for Richard."

"Then why?"

She looked up, her dark eyes locking onto mine. There was zero emotion in them. No fear. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered ambition.

"I want Sterling Corps," she said simply.

I blinked. "The company."

"My company," she corrected. "My father is clinging to life on a ventilator. When he dies—or when he is permanently declared medically unfit—the board of directors is going to panic. They are going to look for a successor. And they are going to look right past the illegitimate daughter."

The waiter arrived with my scotch. I didn't touch it. I couldn't take my eyes off the woman sitting across from me.

"They won't want me," Annette continued. "They will try to sell the company off in pieces. Unless I have backing."

"Ah," I said, the pieces suddenly snapping together in my mind. "You need a heavy hitter."

"I need Blackwood influence," she said, her voice deadly serious. "I need Blackwood money. If I walk into that boardroom with the backing of a major conglomerate, they will legitimize my takeover. They won't have a choice."

"You want me to back you."

"I want the Blackwood voting bloc to back me," she said. "I saved you and Richard from a murder charge. In exchange, when I make my move for the CEO chair, you stand behind me and force the board to accept it."

I stared at her.

I had spent the last month dealing with Monica's sloppy, emotional tantrums. I had watched Richard cry over spilled milk and a broken marriage. I had watched Alexander play the angry, protective hero.

But this? This was art.

Annette had walked in on her father bleeding out on the floor and immediately calculated how to turn his attempted murder into a hostile corporate takeover.

A slow, deeply impressed smile spread across my face.

"I have to admit," I murmured, picking up my glass of scotch. "I severely underestimated you."

Annette raised an eyebrow. "Most people do. It's my greatest advantage."

"I thought Monica was the devil in this family," I said, shaking my head in pure admiration. "But where the hell have you been hiding?"

"In the shadows," she said, lifting her martini glass. "Watching everyone else make mistakes."

I laughed. It was a genuine, dark sound. I finally found someone who spoke my language. Someone who understood that blood and family were just leverage to be used when the time was right.

"You're a monster, Annette," I said.

"I'm a survivor, David," she countered smoothly. "Do we have a deal or not?"

I picked up my glass and leaned across the table.

"We have a deal," I said.

I tapped my scotch against her martini glass. The crystal clinked softly, a quiet, deadly sound that sealed the fate of two empires.

"To the devil," I said.

"To the throne," she replied.



~ALEXANDER'S POV~

I know how to read people. It's how I built my empire.

I know the difference between a person who is building a future with you, and a person who is packing their bags.

For the last four days, Claire had been packing her bags. She was just dressing it up as paradise.

It started the evening after I picked her up from the East River. Suddenly, the war with the Blackwoods didn't matter to her. The company didn't matter. 

She insisted on staying at the Villa. She cooked dinner every night. We watched movies on the couch. She laughed at my jokes.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

Last night was the breaking point.

We had barely made it to the bedroom before she pushed me backward onto the mattress. She didn't wait for me to take the lead. 

She straddled my hips, tearing my shirt open with a desperate, breathless desperation that set my blood on fire.

"Claire," I groaned, trying to slow her down. "My stitches..."

"Shut up," she whispered fiercely. "Just let me love you tonight. Please."

She stripped off her clothes, her skin glowing in the moonlight, and sank down onto my hard dick. I hissed through my teeth, gripping her hips as she took every inch of me.

She rode me with a wild, punishing rhythm. Her nails dug into my chest, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. She wasn't just having sex. 

She was trying to crawl inside my skin. She was trying to absorb me. "Alexander," she gasped, tears spilling down her cheeks as she rode me faster, harder.

"I'm right here," I promised, thrusting up to meet her. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Make me forget," she begged, leaning down to crash her lips against mine. "Make me forget everything."

I flipped us over, pinning her to the sheets, and gave her exactly what she asked for. I fucked her until she screamed my name, until her body shattered around me, until we were both a sweaty, exhausted mess.

But as she lay curled against my chest afterward, listening to my heartbeat, I felt her silent tears wetting my skin.

She claimed it was just overwhelming pleasure.

I knew it was grief.

Now, sitting at the kitchen island, I watched her pour coffee. She smiled at me, a bright, shiny smile that didn't reach her brown eyes.

"Pancakes?" she asked cheerfully.

"I'm good with just coffee," I said carefully.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Claire flinched. Physically flinched. She dropped the butter knife, the metal clattering loudly against the granite counter. She stared at my phone like it was a live grenade.

"It's just David from accounting," I said gently, silencing the device.

"Right," she breathed, forcing another smile. "Of course. I'm going to jump in the shower."

She hurried out of the kitchen.

I watched her go, my chest tight. She was terrified. She jumped at shadows. She flinched at ringtones. She was clinging to me like a woman standing on the edge of a cliff, savoring her last moments before the fall.

This wasn't a honeymoon phase. This was a farewell tour.

I waited until I heard the water running in the master bathroom.

Then, I picked up my phone. I bypassed David's message and pulled up my contacts. I hit call on a number I had sworn I would never dial again.

It rang twice.

"Well, well, well," Richard's voice slurred slightly on the other end. "If it isn't the bastard himself."

"What did you say to her?" I demanded, skipping the games.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Richard chuckled.

"Don't play stupid with me, Richard. I know you talked to her at the river four days ago. Ever since then, she has been looking at me like she's going to a funeral. What did you threaten her with?"

"Threaten?" Richard feigned shock. "I didn't threaten anyone, Alexander."

"I will find you," I growled, pacing the kitchen. "I will find you and I will snap your neck with my bare hands. Tell me what you said to my fiancée!"

Richard laughed. It was a manic, arrogant sound. The sound of a man holding all the winning cards.

"Nothing at all, brother," Richard purred. "Just catching up."

"Richard—"

"Tell Claire I said hello," he interrupted. "And tell her... the clock is ticking."

Click.

The line went dead.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen. My blood ran cold.

The clock is ticking.

I looked down the hallway toward the bathroom, listening to the sound of the shower. I was losing her. She was slipping right through my fingers, and I couldn't stop it because I didn't even know what the weapon was.

What did Richard have on me? What could possibly make Claire give up the life we were building?

I gripped the edge of the marble counter until my knuckles turned white.

"You aren't taking her from me," I whispered to the empty room. "I don't care what you told her. I will burn the whole fucking truth to the ground before I let you take her."