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Chapter Eighty Three
The phone on the mahogany desk vibrated again, a dull, insistent rattle that seemed to mock the heavy silence of the office.Kaelen stared at the glowing screen for several seconds longer than necessary, his jaw tightening until the muscle leaped in his cheek. His shoulders were stiff, locked in a posture of rigid defense. He already knew who was calling before he even saw the digital display. He had seen the name flash twice earlier in the hour and had chosen to ignore it—hoping, with a desperate, uncharacteristic foolishness, that silence might buy him a few more hours of peace.But in this world, silence was never bought; it was only borrowed at a high interest rate.Reluctantly, he reached out and swiped the screen, picking up the call with a practiced, steady hand.“**Mr. Vaughn**,” Kaelen said. He forced his tone into something resembling professional politeness, masking the jagged edges of his anxiety. “I was just about to return your call. My schedule has been a bit more clutt
Chapter Eighty Two
Three days had passed since the incident at the Novax headquarters, yet the tension it had stirred refused to settle. It hung in the hallways like a static charge, prickling the skin of every employee who dared to look up from their terminal.By early afternoon, Kaelen had finally completed the last of the grueling official procedures at the police station. Statements had been reviewed again, every word scrutinized for discrepancies that weren't there; signatures were appended to thick stacks of legal bond, and the formalities finally concluded with the rigid, frigid politeness that followed a case too public for the department to mishandle. It should have brought a sense of closure, a momentary reprieve. Instead, it only sharpened the leaden exhaustion weighing on his bones, making the simple act of standing feel like an uphill battle.His car came to a grinding stop in the underground parking lot of Novax, the concrete echoing with the low hum of the engine. The moment the ignition
Chapter Eighty One
The realization struck Darren without warning, sharp and suffocating.It wasn’t speculation anymore.It wasn’t coincidence.The reporter hadn’t just died.He had been silenced.Darren sat still, his posture rigid as Riley busied herself beside him, her fingers tapping idly against her phone.The chatter from the event still echoed faintly in his ears, but it felt distant now, as though he had been pulled out of the room and dropped somewhere far colder.The memory of the alley replayed again, clearer this time.The calm voice.The certainty in the young man’s words.Use it properly.His throat tightened.“They warned me,” Darren thought grimly.Not directly.Not openly.But the implication had been there all along, woven into the subtext of every polite conversation and every veiled threat.The advice hadn’t been advice at all—it had been confirmation that things were already in motion, a cold assurance that the machinery of their power was already grinding forward.A wave of raw fear
Chapter 80
Darren returned to the event hall with his jaw tight and his steps sharp, irritation clinging to him like a second skin.The encounter outside still replayed in his mind—the gang’s arrogance, their thinly veiled threats, and the way they had spoken to him as if he were already beneath them.He clenched his fist as he walked, reminding himself that it would all end soon.Once everything fell into place, none of them would dare look down on him again.The music in the hall was lively, laughter spilling across the space as guests moved from one conversation to another, glasses clinking, smiles carefully curated.Darren barely noticed any of it.His attention was fixed on one thing as he scanned the room.Riley.His gaze locked onto the table where they had been seated earlier.For a split second, relief flickered through him when he spotted her familiar silhouette.But the feeling vanished just as quickly.A tall man stood beside her.Darren slowed, his eyes narrowing.The man’s back was
Chapter Seventy Nine
The bricks in this part of town were slick with a greasy kind of moisture that seemed to sweat out of the cracks, and the air smelled like a mix of wet cardboard and exhaust. Darren stood in the deepest part of the shadows, his tailored suit jacket feeling far too tight across his shoulders. He adjusted his cuffs for the tenth time, then checked his watch again. The glowing hands told him it had been exactly seven minutes since he arrived, but it felt like three hours.He shifted his weight, his expensive leather shoes clicking softly against the uneven pavement. He checked his watch again. Then he adjusted his tie. Then he ran a hand through his hair, glancing nervously toward the mouth of the alley. Every distant siren or clatter of a trash can lid made his heart do a frantic little dance against his ribs. He looked like a man who was terrified of being seen, but even more terrified of being stood after."Nice suit, Darren. Really. That’s some high-quality shit right there."The v
Chapter Seventy Eight
The drive away from Miranda’s apartment was quiet, but Kaelen’s mind wasn’t.The city moved around him in a blur—traffic lights, pedestrians, storefronts—but he barely registered any of it.Miranda’s words replayed over and over in his head, each repetition making them feel heavier, more precise.Chaos as a shield.Noise as a distraction.Follow the money, not the headlines.The theory made sense.Too much sense.By the time he reached the next intersection, another image surfaced in his mind, uninvited but insistent.The chief editor.Her sharp tone.The way she had bristled the moment he challenged her.The agitation that had gone beyond grief, beyond professional outrage.At the time, he had dismissed it.A colleague had died.Anyone would be emotional.Anyone would lash out.But now, with Miranda’s reasoning fresh in his mind, the memory shifted shape.Kaelen tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white against the leather.She hadn’t just been angry.She h
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