Chapter 15

☠️Adrian☠️

Some revenge takes days, some takes months. Mine? It took years. Years of planning, years of waiting, years of craving the right moment to strike.

Patience is a weapon. The kind that makes your enemy crumble slowly without realizing it, and when he finally does, it will be too late.

Most men mistake it for weakness. They don't realize it’s far more satisfying to watch an enemy destroy himself than to pull the trigger too early.

I watch Sophie disappear from the hotel.

The marriage certificate slips into the lawyer’s briefcase without a word. No congratulations. No questions. Exactly how I want it.

“Everything will be filed by tomorrow morning, Mr. Blackhood.”

I nod once and walk away. The executive lounge falls silent behind me as bodyguards close in around me.

Outside, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom waits at the entrance. One guard opens the door. I slide inside.

“To the vault.”

“Yes, sir.”

The convoy pulls away from the Blackstone Hotel, but instead of heading to my penthouse, we go in the opposite direction.

Beyond the shimmering skyline, past the expensive neighborhoods.

Forty minutes later, we arrive at an abandoned warehouse near the docks. To anyone passing by, it looks forgotten. Rusted containers, broken windows, a collapsing roof.

The warehouse doors roll open, and the convoy disappears inside.

Once the doors shut behind us, the illusion fades. Armed men stand on different levels. Facial scanners. Bulletproof steel. Military-grade surveillance.

An elevator descends nearly six stories underground, and the door opens into a completely different world.

Music blares in my ears, and the scent of whiskey drifts through the air. Poker tables line every corner. Private auction rooms. Weapons changing hands.

Politicians shaking hands with men who don't exist.

The vault.

The place where the city’s dirtiest secrets are bought and sold.

The place I built from scratch, where politicians, assassins, businessmen, and monsters all pay tribute to the same king.

Conversations cease as I enter. Every man in the room lowers his head.

“Boss.”

One of my men appears beside me.

“We are ready for tomorrow’s action, boss. The goods are finally here.”

Without even glancing at him, I nod and keep walking. At the end of the hall, three men wait.

They stand and bow when they see me, and they smile as they gauge my expression.

Ronan, Lucian, and Nikolai.

Only these three, aside from my family, can speak to me without fearing it might be their last word.

Lucian leans back with a glass of whiskey.

“You are late.”

“I know.”

His blue eyes fall on the black folder in my hand.

“What is that?”

I toss it onto the table. He catches it in one hand. His amused expression vanishes as he opens it, reading the first page, then the second.

His eyebrows shoot up.

“What the fuck?”

Ronan frowns.

“What is it?”

Lucian slowly lifts his head.

“He got married.”

Silence falls. Even Nikolai looks up from his phone.

Ronan blinks.

“I'm sorry.” He snatches the contract. “You got married.”

Lucian stares at me as if I just announced the end of the world.

“I’ve known you for fifteen years.”

“So?”

“I genuinely think you’d die before marriage. This has to be fake.”

“It is.”

“No.” He points at the signatures.

“Marriage.”

“It’s fake.”

He rubs his face.

“I think you’ve finally driven me insane.”

He flips to the last page.

“Sophie Harrison.”

He looks up slowly, eyes meeting mine.

“Harrison?”

Neither Ronan nor Nikolai speaks. They watch with interest. After years beside me, they don't need explanations.

Lucian closes his folder.

“So that’s it.”

I pour myself a glass of whiskey.

“Richard Harrison.”

Nikolai leans against the table.

“The same Richard Harrison?”

“Yes.”

“The one who ruined your—” His voice stops as he meets my eyes.

The room becomes deadly silent. No one finishes the sentence.

Lucian breaks the silence.

“So, this isn’t marriage.”

“No.”

“This is revenge.”

A slow smile spreads across Ronan’s face.

“I know you hadn't suddenly developed a heart.”

I take a sip of whiskey; the burn barely registers. I watch the amber liquid swirl inside the glass.

“For eighteen years, Richard Harrison has lived peacefully.”

My expression hardens.

“Tomorrow, he will invite his destruction to breakfast.”