Chapter 5. The Price of Treachery

Courtney’s POV


Almost thirty minutes had passed since I ordered Oliver to assist Adeleine. That woman—she is beyond belief. The fact that she entrusted her life to me… the most unforeseen thing I have ever encountered. And now I am fucking accountable for her safety.


I will admit, the moment I first laid eyes on her, something stirred—something unfathomable. She is beautiful. But not in the shallow way most women are called beautiful. Hers is a different breed. A rare kind. And judging from what I witnessed earlier, her life in the hands of her husband was nothing short of ruin. That much was clear.


But no matter how much she unsettles me, I know this cannot last. My life is not a game, and fate has always dealt me a cruel hand. A woman like her has no place in it. I must send her away—soon, and to somewhere safe. Out of danger. Out of my world.
Right now, I have another matter to settle.


I stood face to face with the man who murdered the former president of Viasco Corporation—Macario Alejo. The man who had been more of a father to me than anyone else. When I had nothing, he gave me purpose. When I was drowning in the filth of despair, he taught me how to survive. He was the reason I still drew breath in this cursed city. And now he is gone, taken from us all because of betrayal.


And here sat the traitor—Fredrin Harrington. Once an ally, now a rat, devoured by greed.


He sat slumped in a chair, a scar slashing his face from ear to chin. His shirt was stained red, his cheekbone split wide, and thick rope bound his hands and feet. His hair hung wild, his eyes glassy from exhaustion.


I let my gaze burn into him as I moved to the long table in the corner. Weapons lay scattered across it, two bottles of champagne like trophies among the steel. My hand found a knife—I wiped the blade slow with the white towel dangling from the edge. The metal gleamed, eager. But I set it down again, poured myself a glass of bourbon, and raised it to my lips.


“Thought you gave up drinking,” Fredrin rasped, his voice carrying that old venom.


My eyes flicked to him, cold, steady. “Figured it would not kill me.”


A smirk pulled at his torn mouth. “Still the same pompous bastard. All these years, and you never changed.”


“Pompous?” I let the word hang, then chuckled low. “No, Fredrin. Pragmatist. That is what I am. Pragmatists live longer. Unlike fools who mistake greed for brilliance.” I sipped my drink slow, the burn pleasant. “And you, old friend… you have outdone yourself. A ridiculous plan, slow, predictable. You have shown just how foolish a man can be.”


He laughed, sharp and ugly. It echoed for a moment, then died.


“Oh, foolish, am I? Then answer me—why did you not save him? Why was I able to slit his throat while you stood blind?” His grin widened, cutting across his scar. “Maybe it is because I am smarter than you. Maybe you never saw me coming.”


I smirked, swirling the bourbon. “Smarter?” I reached for the gun on the table, weighed it in my palm. “No. Just lucky enough to run a con that was not worth my time.”


I stepped closer. His glare burned, the veins in his temple twitching. I drove my fist into his face with all the weight of my rage. My knuckles split against bone, but I welcomed the pain. He choked, blood spilling from his mouth and nose, his chair rattling as he fought against the ropes.


I leveled the gun at him, calm as a priest delivering last rites. “You should be ashamed, Fredrin. Killing the man who raised you. Betraying him for scraps they dangled in front of your face. And you call that clever?”


I did not wait for his answer. My finger pulled twice. One bullet to his right arm. Another to his left.


His scream split the silence, bouncing against the concrete walls. I let the sound curl around me, a cruel grin tugging at my lips.


“Shit! You bastard!” he roared, thrashing in his seat as blood poured from his arms.


“Bastard?” I stepped closer, voice low, deliberate. “Your life is ruined because you chased glory. And look where it brought you. Nothing. Empty. Hollow." Another squeeze of the trigger, another bullet tearing into his shoulder. A second shot drilled through his knee. His cries filled the room like a choir of the damned.


“You slaughtered innocents. You betrayed your own. And what did it buy you? Nothing but blood and bones.”


I holstered the gun. Killing him now would be mercy. And mercy was not for him. No. He would bleed. He would rot tied to that chair. And when his body withered to nothing, it still would not repay the life he had stolen.


I turned away, left him wallowing in his agony, and stepped into the restroom. Cold water hit my face. Still, the memories clawed back. Macario, sprawled on the floor of his office. Blood soaking the rug. His eyes vacant. A nightmare etched into my skull. And Fredrin’s betrayal burned through it all.


He would die. But not today. Not yet.


As I stared into the cracked mirror, I caught Oliver’s reflection appear behind me—panting, frantic.


“Sir!” he blurted, chest heaving. “Ms. Adeleine—she is missing.”


My eyes snapped to him, sharp as a blade. And without another word, my feet carried me out—hunting for her.