Chapter 21 21

Chapter 21 21
Adrien's POV
“I had to go,” She stammered.

“Why?”

“I needed to be at work early.”

“You didn’t think to wake me?” I snapped. “You piss me off.”

“Don’t start your righteous shit with me. I’ll leave when I fucking want to.” The phone went dead.

I inhaled sharply; nobody hung up on me. Nobody.

I clenched my jaw and threw my phone onto the couch. This woman was infuriating.

I walked into my office, opened my laptop, and logged in to the security footage. I took a seat, waiting for it to load. An image of my front door came up, and I hit rewind, fast-forwarding through the tape. I caught sight of her leaving and paused. What time was it?

3:58 a.m. She had to go to work early? Bullshit. She had waited until I fell asleep, then immediately left.

I leaned back in my chair as my anger escalated.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, Karin Ellis, but I won’t have it. If you’re with me, you’re with me. And you’ll do as I fucking say.”

I slammed my computer shut and stormed upstairs. She was looking for a fight. She just found one.

An hour later, I walked through the foyer of my building and out to my car.

“Good morning, Mr. Vale,” Oliver said with a smile as he opened the limo door.

“Morning,” I muttered, climbing in.

The usual pile of newspapers lay on the seat alongside my coffee, and I began my morning ritual. It took forty minutes to drive the thirteen miles to my building, so I used the time to review our competitors. I flicked through the stack and picked up the Morning Ledger, our closest rival, scanning the front page.

“Their formatting is appalling,” I muttered under my breath. I read page one and two, then got to page three.

Breaking News

The LAPD had closed in on a top-secret investigation. The murder was originally attributed to a man police had nicknamed Stoneface, linked to over 85 burglaries in Brooklyn, Los Angeles.

But with DNA evidence, investigators now believed the crimes were committed by the same suspect called the Angel of Death in other parts of the state.

“With this filing, we have officially linked Stoneface to an individual known as the Angel of Death,” said Matthew Price, Brooklyn County district attorney.

Stoneface, an auto mechanic, was wanted after police matched his DNA through a genealogy website. He had been accused of killing five and raping forty-five people in what police described as a premeditated crime spree.

He had been nicknamed the Angel of Death because victims were found with a red ribbon tied around their necks. Police had tracked his whereabouts, and an arrest was expected today.

“Fuck.” It was Karin’s story, just worded differently. I grabbed my phone and called Matt, my blood pressure skyrocketing.

“Hey,” he answered.

“Page three of the Morning Ledger,” I snapped.

“You’re joking?”

“Nope.”

“Fucking hell.” He sighed. “See you soon.”

I hung up. My phone buzzed again—Josephine. I hit decline. I sipped my coffee, staring out the window, contempt dripping from every pore.

Being deceived was one thing. Being sold out by your own staff was another level entirely. Whoever was responsible was going to pay.