Chapter 68
Emily Windsor's POV
Several tall men climbed out of the SUV, all dressed in identical black suits. Their faces showed no expression, but the kind of ruthlessness that emanated from their bones was clearly visible even in the weak moonlight.
These weren't street thugs like Hank's usual crew—they moved like trained professional killers.
My heart leapt into my throat. I held my breath and quietly raised my phone, pointing the camera lens at them.
Hank respectfully handed a manila envelope to the man in front.
The man didn't accept it. He just tilted his head slightly. Fragments of their conversation drifted on the wind, voices low, mixed with Spanish I couldn't understand.
"...Victor family situation—how's it coming along?" A slightly hoarse male voice asked in broken English.
"Everything's arranged," Hank's voice carried a note of servility. "Once we handle that woman, Luke's wings will be clipped. The handover will go smoothly then."
That woman? Were they talking about me?
My fingertips went cold. I almost dropped my phone.
"The next shipment to the island can't have any more problems," the man said a few more things, each keyword piercing me like an ice pick.
Island. Shipment.
These words connected seamlessly with Professor Douglas's warnings.
I forced myself to stay calm, steadying the camera to record this scene of criminal conspiracy in full.
They didn't talk much longer. Hank made an inviting gesture, and the group headed toward the interior of the factory.
Heavy iron doors were pulled open, then slammed shut behind them with a thunderous bang, swallowing all their secrets into that bottomless darkness.
I stared at those closed doors, torn with indecision.
Go in, or stay put?
Going in might let me hear more crucial secrets, obtain more damning evidence—but it also meant I'd be walking alone straight into the lion's den.
Just as I gritted my teeth, preparing to move toward those iron doors, a large hand suddenly shot out from behind me, clamping tightly over my mouth while an iron arm wrapped around my waist, dragging me backward.
Shock sent every hair on my body standing on end. I struggled violently.
A familiar scent—cedarwood and cold—invaded my nostrils with brutal force.
Luke.
I instantly stopped struggling, my body going weak from a combination of relief and residual fear.
He didn't give me time to react, half-dragging, half-carrying me to his black SUV parked further away.
The door locked. Without a word, he started the engine, whipped the car around, and sped off.
Inside the cabin, the air pressure was unbearably low.
I turned my head to see only his taut profile and his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles had gone white.
He still wore his impeccably tailored suit, clearly having rushed here directly from some formal engagement without even changing his jacket.
Those bottomless black eyes now churned with a storm of fury and fear I'd never witnessed before.
The car tore through the night until we reached the brightly lit city. Only then did he jerk the wheel sharply, pulling over in a quiet spot by the river.
The engine died. The extreme silence made the atmosphere inside the car even more oppressive.
"Emily."
He finally spoke, his voice hoarse as if scraped by sandpaper, each word trembling with lingering terror.
"Have you lost your goddamn mind?" He whirled around, grabbing my shoulders with such force it felt like my bones might shatter. "Going to a place like that alone? Do you have any idea who those people are? If they'd spotted you—have you thought about what would have happened?"
His eyes were red-rimmed. Beneath that out-of-control fury lay a fear that threatened to drown him.
I looked at him, at how I'd made him come completely unraveled, and all the frustration, hurt, and cold isolation that had been building inside me these past few days erupted in that moment.
I didn't answer his question. I wasn't intimidated by his rage.
I simply met those eyes burning with flames and asked the question that had tormented me for countless days and nights.
"Why have you been avoiding me?"
My challenge was like a needle, precisely puncturing the surface of his fury.
Luke's hands on my shoulders froze. The roiling red storm in his eyes instantly stilled.
He stared at me, as if trying to read something in my face. Finally, that towering rage was replaced by something deeper, heavier—almost helpless exhaustion.
He released me, leaning back into the driver's seat, pressing his hand hard against the bridge of his nose.
The car fell silent once more.
After a long moment, he pulled his phone from his inside jacket pocket, opened a photo, and held it in front of me.
"Because of this."
The light from the screen cast an icy glow in my pupils.
There I was, standing outside the New York Public Library entrance, talking with Professor Douglas. The angle was calculated, clearly a long-distance surveillance shot, yet it captured the serious atmosphere between us with perfect clarity.
My heart dropped.
"Lily gave me the photo," Luke's voice was hoarse, but his gaze remained glued to my face, not missing a single flicker of expression. "She was furious. She thought you'd betrayed me."
So that was it.
That old fox Hank—when one scheme failed, he immediately hatched another.
He didn't dare hand the evidence directly to Luke, so he wanted to use Lily as the sharpest blade to cut through our already fragile trust.
"I told her I was the one who arranged for you to meet him," Luke slowly put away his phone, his tone flat as if discussing something completely unrelated to himself. "I need a perfect executor to establish certain understandings with official channels. You're the most suitable candidate."
I stared at him, momentarily at a loss for how to respond.
He'd casually constructed an impenetrable shield around me, blocking out all possible suspicion and malice.
"As for avoiding you," he paused, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips, "I was investigating the man in that photo. I needed to know who he is, what his purpose is in approaching you. You know Lily's temperament—I was afraid she'd notice something and confront you, disrupting your plans. So I avoided everyone. Cleaner that way."
His explanation was perfectly reasonable, attributing everything to strategy and protection from his sister's temper.
Yet I still caught something in those unfathomable eyes—a flash of raw male possessiveness and displeasure.