Chapter 135 The Reporters Are Waiting
DAVID
The shrill wail of police sirens cut through the dawn, jolting me from my restless sleep. Groaning, I pushed the heavy duvet aside and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. A knock sounded at the door just as I raked a hand through my disheveled hair.
“Come in,” I said, voice hoarse from sleep.
The door creaked open, revealing one of the maids. She stood in the doorway, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.
“Sir, the police are here. And, um… there are reporters outside too,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Reporters? My brows furrowed as I processed her words. I remembered calling the police last night to pick up Western and Peter, but reporters weren’t part of the plan. Unless…
“Alright, I’ll be down in a minute,” I told her. She bowed and slipped out quietly.
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I dialed the chief of police. He picked up on the first ring.
“We’re at the gate,” he said briskly, his voice almost drowned out by the background chatter.
“How did the reporters find out?” I demanded, irritation creeping into my tone.
“That was me,” he admitted unapologetically. “You sent over solid evidence last night. This is going to be a headline story Western, the untouchable tycoon, exposed for murder. The public deserves to know.”
I exhaled slowly, reigning in my frustration. “Fine. I’ll be down soon.”
Just as I hung up, another knock echoed from the door. My patience, already thin, began to fray.
“Come in,” I barked.
John, the head of my security, stepped inside, his usually stoic face set in a grim expression.
“Sir, we’ve found Peter’s daughter. She’s waiting in the sitting room,” he said.
A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. Peter’s daughter. The one thing that man held dear.
“Perfect,” I said, my voice cold with satisfaction. “Let’s see how Peter reacts when his precious daughter watches him being dragged out in chains.”
John nodded and left without a word. I took my time getting dressed, choosing a crisp white shirt and dark slacks. By the time I descended the grand staircase, Peter’s daughter was already on her feet. She looked frail, her oversized sweater hanging off her thin frame. Her wide eyes darted toward me but quickly dropped to the floor.
“Good morning,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible.
“Good morning,” I replied, studying her. Her shoulders hunched, and she fiddled with the hem of her sweater a girl broken by circumstances.
“You’re here to see your father,” I said bluntly. Her head shot up, confusion flashing across her face.
“I saved you because I promised him I would,” I continued, my tone icy. “But there’s something you should know. Your father is a murderer. The police vans outside? They’re here to arrest him. And I made sure you’d witness it.”
Her eyes widened, and she took a shaky step back.
“John,” I called over my shoulder, “bring the police in. It’s time.”
The officers marched in, their boots echoing against the marble floors as they followed me to the basement. The air was damp and heavy down there, the faint scent of mildew clinging to the walls.
Peter sat slumped in a chair, his wrists bound, his once-arrogant demeanor replaced by weariness. Western was beside him, staring at the floor, his expression unreadable.
The moment Peter saw his daughter, his face twisted in fury.
“You bastard!” he spat at me, straining against his restraints. “I told you to save her, not bring her here!”
I crossed my arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “And I told you she’d watch this moment. Did you think I’d let you off that easily?”
Peter lunged forward, but the chains held him back. His daughter whimpered, stepping closer, only to freeze when he turned to her.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled, his voice breaking. “I did everything for you.”
The officers stepped forward, unhooking the chains from the chair and hauling Peter and Western to their feet.
“Dad!” Peter’s daughter cried, reaching for him, but the officers pulled her back.
Outside, chaos awaited. Reporters swarmed the police vans, cameras flashing as they shouted questions.
“Mr. Western, is it true you killed Desmond Williams?”
“Did you kidnap Mrs. Williams?”
“Why did you target the Williams family?”
Western’s face turned crimson as he barked at them, his voice lost in the cacophony. Peter remained silent, his gaze locked on his daughter.
I stood on the mansion’s steps, watching as they were shoved into the van. Western turned, his eyes burning with hatred as he glared at me. I waved at him, a smug smile on my face.
The doors slammed shut, and the van roared to life, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.
Finally, it was over.
I headed back inside, my steps lighter than they’d been in days. Bella’s room was quiet, the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains. She stood by the window, her hands resting on her swollen belly.
Sliding my arms around her waist, I kissed her neck.
“Good morning, love,” I murmured.
She turned, her lips curving into a soft smile before capturing mine in a kiss. It started slow, tender, but quickly deepened. I trailed kisses along her jaw, savoring her warmth, until a sudden kick against my stomach made me pull back.
“Guess he doesn’t like it when I touch his mom,” I teased, placing a hand on her belly.
Bella laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Well, he’s protective already.”
I leaned closer, whispering to her stomach, “I knew her before you did, kiddo. And I’m still your dad.”
She giggled, pulling me into another kiss. I lifted her off her feet, carrying her to the bed, ready to steal a moment of peace with my woman.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.
I froze, my jaw tightening. No one dared disturb me unless it was urgent. Bella's brow furrowed, her eyes flicking to the door.
“Who could that be?” I muttered, lowering her gently back onto the bed. My gut twisted with unease as I strode to the door, preparing for whatever or whoever was waiting on the other side.