TRILLIONAIRE'S COLD REVENGE

Meeting The Unknown Sender

The soup steamed gently in the chipped bowl before John, its savory aroma filling the small apartment, but he barely noticed. His spoon hovered untouched, his mind filled with several thoughts.

Suddenly, his old phone buzzed on the table, jolting him from his thoughts. He picked it up, the screen lighting up with another message from an unknown number: ’Come to Westwood Bridge by 9PM tonight. Come alone.” His breath caught. Westwood Bridge—the old stone archway over the river, isolated and foggy at night. Who was this? A Prestwick spy? Someone from the Ferguson side, sniffing around after his divorce? Or worse, a Ravenshore rival already circling? The message was curt, commanding, with no room for questions. He stared at it, his heart pounding, wondering who this could be.

Hannah's voice cut through the haze, soft but concerned. "John? Are you okay? You've barely touched your soup."

He looked up, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes, quickly pocketing the phone. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... chatting with my mother's doctor. Updating me on her recovery."

Hannah tilted her head, her dark hair falling slightly over one shoulder as she studied him. "Oh, that's good. She must be doing better." She paused, stirring her own soup absently, then met his gaze again. "About that... how did you manage to secure the money for the surgery? I don't mean to be rude or offensive, but I heard—from family whispers, you know—that the reason you married Eleanor was because she promised to cover your mother's medical bills. And she never did, after all that time. Half a million dollars... that's a lot. How did you pull it off?"

John froze, his spoon clattering softly against the bowl. He hadn't expected her to be so direct, so observant. Hannah had always seemed distant at family gatherings, but now he saw the sharpness in her eyes, the way she pieced things together. It caught him off guard, but he kept his face neutral, his mind racing to craft a believable lie.

He couldn't reveal the Ravenshore funds—not yet, not until he trusted her fully. "It was... an uncle of mine," he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair as if it were casual. "My mother's brother, actually. He lives abroad... in Australia. Been out of touch for years, working in mining. He heard about Mom's condition through a mutual friend and flew back last week. Settled the bills straight away. Said it was family duty, you know? I didn't even have to ask."

Hannah nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful but accepting. "That's fortunate. Family stepping up like that... it's rare, but heartwarming. I'm glad it worked out."

John took a sip of soup to buy time, then set the spoon down. "Why do you ask?" he said, his voice light but probing.

She looked away shyly, her fingers tracing the edge of the table, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve. "I... I had been planning to pay for the medical bills myself," she admitted, her cheeks flushing. "I've been saving, thinking about how to help without making it awkward. But now... well, it's good that it's taken care of."

John gazed at her, a genuine warmth creeping into his chest despite his caution. Her shyness, the way she looked down at her fingers; it felt real, vulnerable. "That's... incredibly kind of you, Hannah," he said softly. "Most people wouldn't even think about it. You're something special."

She smiled genuinely, lifting her eyes to meet his, a soft glow in them. "Thank you, John. Coming from you, that means a lot."

They gazed at each other in silence, the air between them thick with unspoken emotions. The dim light from the single bulb overhead cast gentle shadows on her face, highlighting the sincerity in her expression. John's heart tugged; part of him wanted to believe her, to let down his guard, but the messages, the secrets, held him back. The moment stretched, intimate and charged, until the sharp ringtone of Hannah's phone shattered the quiet.

She picked it up from the table, her eyes narrowing as she saw the caller ID. "It's the matriarch," she said, glancing at John with a mix of surprise and hesitation.

John felt a jolt of stun. The matriarch had disowned Hannah, cast her out like yesterday's news, stripping her of everything. Why call now? Was it regret, or something more manipulative? "Answer it," he said, leaning forward. "Might be important."

Hannah nodded and pressed accept, putting the phone to her ear. "Hello, Matriarch?" Her voice was polite, guarded. John watched her closely, the conversation unfolding in hushed tones. She listened mostly, nodding occasionally, her expression shifting from wary to surprised, then to a tentative smile. "Yes... I understand. Thank you. I'll be there." The call lasted about two minutes before she hung up, a broader smile forming on her lips.

"What was that about?" John asked, his curiosity piqued.

Hannah set the phone down, her eyes bright. "She... she's decided to forgive me. Said she was hasty last night, that family bonds shouldn't be broken so easily. She's giving me a role back in the company's operations."

John wasn't really surprised. He knew Hannah was the matriarch's favorite—her business acumen had brought millions to the Prestwick empire, turning failing ventures into successes. Hailey Prestwick; the matriarch, had always doted on Hannah more than her own children, valuing her sharp mind and loyalty. Disowning her must have been a bluff, a test of resolve. "That's... good," he said carefully. "What role were you given?"

"Manager," Hannah replied, her tone optimistic but realistic. "In the operations department. It's a step down from COO, but it's better than nothing. At least it's a foot back in the door."

John nodded, though his thoughts were mixed. Manager was a pity position, far below her capabilities—it wouldn't restore her full status or wealth, and it certainly wouldn't "help them" in any meaningful way beyond a modest salary. But he kept that to himself. "So, are you resuming tomorrow morning?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, her smile fading slightly as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "She wants me there at eight sharp. To discuss the terms and get me up to speed. I think she's trying to pull me back in, but... I'll be careful."

John murmured agreement, but his mind had already drifted back to the message about Westwood Bridge. Who was behind it? A Ravenshore ally with information? Or an enemy luring him into a trap? The curiosity gnawed at him; it could be someone who'd discovered his hidden identity, or just a random contact wanting a conversation. Either way, the pull to find out was too strong. He'd go, but he'd be cautious.

The afternoon blurred into evening as they settled into a quiet routine. Hannah busied herself with more cleaning, chatting lightly about her plans for the manager role, while John pretended to rest on the couch, his thoughts on the bridge. By 8:45 PM, he grabbed a worn jacket from the closet, slipping it on over his torn shirt.

"Where are you going?" Hannah asked, looking up from the table where she was reading on her phone.

"To see my mother at the hospital," he said, forcing a casual smile. "Just a quick check-in. She's probably awake by now."

Hannah stood up, concern etching her features. "It's late, John. Let me give you a ride. The streets aren't safe at this hour."

He shook his head, stepping closer with a gentle smile. "No, I don't want to stress you out after everything you've done today. You've been amazing—cleaning, cooking, all of it. I'll take the bus; it's fine."

She insisted, reaching for her keys. "Come on, it's no trouble. I don't mind."

But he declined again, pulling her into a hug. She fit against him softly, her warmth seeping through his jacket. He kissed her forehead lightly, the gesture surprising even him. "I'll be back soon," he whispered. "Promise."

Hannah pulled back, her eyes searching his, but she nodded. "Okay. Be careful."

John walked out into the night, the door clicking shut behind him. The Greywall District was alive with the distant laughter from a bar, the hum of traffic, and the occasional siren wailing in the distance. He zipped up his jacket against the chill, his breath fogging in the air, and began heading toward Westwood Bridge.

The walk was about twenty minutes, giving him time to think. The bridge was isolated, a perfect spot for a private meeting... or an ambush. He patted his pocket, feeling the Ravenshore phone. If things went south, he'd call Evelyn. But curiosity drove him forward, step by step, into the unknown. Who waited there? And what did they know about the trillionaire heir hiding in plain sight?