Chapter 142

Chapter 142
ARTHUR'S POV

I could feel the heaviness in my chest long before I even reached for the keys. The thought of Jordan—my best friend, my right hand—lying helpless in that hospital bed wouldn’t let me rest. Normally, this wasn’t a battle I’d face alone. Jordan was always the one at my side, the calm anchor whenever the tide turned rough, the voice that kept me from throwing myself headfirst into danger without thinking. But now it was just me, and I had to carry both our weights on my shoulders.

I hated knowing he wasn’t here, hated the idea of walking into something this dangerous without his steady presence beside me. Still, as much as it unsettled me, there was no backing down. I couldn’t sit around waiting for Victor Cain to make his next move. I had decided—it ended tonight.

I gathered a few of my men into the study and gave my orders as clearly as I could, though my voice carried the edge of the storm raging inside me. “Track Stella’s residence. Take her siblings somewhere safe, away from all this.” My tone was sharp, leaving no room for questions.

Victor’s niece or not, those children were innocent. I might not have ties of blood to them, but I couldn’t pretend their lives weren’t dangling on the edge of this war. Stella had chosen her side—blinded by desperation or greed, I didn’t know—but her siblings didn’t deserve to pay the price for her choices or for Victor’s corruption.

When the men bowed slightly and prepared to leave, I added more instructions—heavier ones. “Send the documents and every shred of evidence we have on Victor Cain straight to the police. Make sure they can’t ignore it. And tip them off about the meeting place. They’ll know where to find him.” My words were clipped, purposeful, each one weighted like stone.

They nodded again, disciplined and loyal, and filed out, leaving me in the thick silence of the room.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the darkened window. My reflection looked back at me, worn and tired but resolute. I thought about the cell I’d had specially designed years ago—the place where men like Victor could be broken slowly, methodically, forced to feel the pain they had inflicted on others. Back then, I might have dragged Victor into that hell and watched him crumble piece by piece, but I wasn’t that man anymore. Or at least I wanted to believe I wasn’t.

I drew in a long breath, steadying myself. I didn’t need revenge in its cruelest form to prove I was stronger. What I needed was to cut him off completely—to strip him of his power, his reach, his illusion of control. I wanted him cornered, exposed, ruined in a way that not even his threats could fix.

This wasn’t about anger anymore. It was about ending a cycle before it swallowed more lives.

The weight of Jordan’s absence lingered in my chest like a stone, but I pressed it down and turned it into resolve. If he could see me now, I knew he’d be frowning, telling me not to take unnecessary risks. He’d remind me that this wasn’t a game of pride but survival. And maybe that’s what pushed me forward even more—the thought of proving that I’d listened, that I could still be the man he believed in.

So I tightened my grip on the estate documents in my hand, slid my phone into my pocket, and walked out of the room without looking back.

This was my fight now. And I was ready to finish it.

The drive down to the meeting point was quiet except for the low hum of engines and the occasional crackle of the radios. I had half a dozen of my men with me, each one alert, their hands never too far from their weapons. I could feel the unease in the air, thick and restless, but I didn’t let it touch me. My mind was fixed—this wasn’t about fear anymore, it was about closure.

When we pulled up to the half-completed building, a strange wave of familiarity washed over me. The jagged concrete pillars, the echo of hollow wind through broken windows, the rusted beams that stuck out like bones—it was the same place. The same damned skeleton of a building where I’d met Victor Cain years ago, back when the feud was tied to matters of the Vault and my father’s shadow.

I froze at the base of the stairs, memory colliding with the present. I could still see myself younger, angrier, reckless, walking into this very place not knowing how much of my life would be tangled up with Cain afterward. Now here I was again, older, heavier with losses, and perhaps wiser—though that part remained to be seen.

Victor was waiting for me, cigarette balanced between his lips, the ember glowing faintly in the dark like some mocking signal fire. He stood with his men arranged behind him, all smug posture and arrogance, as if the entire world bent itself to his timing.

When he caught sight of me, a laugh slipped from his mouth. Not a joyful laugh, but the kind that carried spite. “We meet here again,” he said, voice smooth and poisonous, drifting through the empty space.

I let my eyes sweep over the place, over him, over the men watching me with their fingers itching at their sides. Then I smirked, because if Cain thought he had the stage under his control, he was wrong.

“Too bad Jordan isn’t here,” he added, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, his grin stretching. “But it might interest you to know that just like back then, I seem to have everything at the tip of my fingers, ready to crush you.”

The mention of Jordan dug into me like a knife. For a second I saw my friend’s face, pale and bandaged in the hospital, stripped of the fire that usually burned in his eyes. But I swallowed the ache, tucked it deep where Cain couldn’t see it.

I scoffed, letting the sound roll lazily from my chest. “Oh, is that so?” My hands slid into my pockets, casual, deliberate. The truth was, I was waiting—for the buzz of my phone, the signal that my men had completed their assignments. Without it, I wasn’t going to make the first move.

So I paced. Slow, steady, the soles of my shoes tapping faintly against the dusty concrete. The act wasn’t just stalling—it was control. I wanted him to see me calm, unhurried, as though his entire speech was background noise.

He kept his eyes on me, that same triumphant glint lighting up his face. “It seems you don’t realize I’ve already won this feud between us,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction.

I stopped mid-step and tilted my head. “Oh, you have?”

His brows drew together briefly, just a flicker of confusion before he masked it with another smirk. “You trust everyone you care about, Arthur. And that—that is your greatest weakness.” He paused, savoring his own words. “My stupid niece stole from you just to appease me. And yet, here you are, blind to the truth that I’m always one step ahead of you. Always.” He broke into hysterical laughter, the sound bouncing off the raw walls of the building like broken glass.

The words hit me like a hammer, though not for the reason Cain thought. Stella. His niece. He thought her betrayal had gutted me, weakened me. What he didn’t know was that Stella had already been neutralized, that her siblings—the only leverage he might have had—were no longer pawns in his twisted game.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and for a fraction of a second, I let my eyes flicker downward. A coded message. Short, precise. My men had secured Stella’s siblings and moved them to safety. The second part of the message lit something sharper in me—the police were already on their way here.

I almost smiled.

Almost.

But instead, I lifted my gaze back to Cain, steady and calm, and let the silence stretch just a second too long. My heart thudded hard against my ribs, not out of fear, but out of the weight of what was coming. He thought this was still a game he could win. He didn’t realize the ground beneath his feet was already shifting , crumbling under his boots.

And I was ready to let him fall.