FAZER LOGINBETTYAfter not hearing from Nathaniel for hours, I finally get a text.“Get a cab. Come to Hudson Memorial. Tell no one where you are going.”That’s it. No explanation. No reassurance that Rhys is alive. Nothing. Just seven words that immediately send my stomach twisting into knots.I call him the second I read the message, but it goes straight to voicemail every single time.By the fourth attempt, I stop trying because my hands are shaking too hard to hold the phone properly.A terrible feeling settles inside my chest after that. Heavy. Suffocating. The kind that makes breathing feel like work.And the worst part? I have absolutely no one to tell. No one to scream at. No one to demand answers from.I spent the entire morning dodging Harriette’s calls like a criminal avoiding arrest. At some point, she even started calling from different numbers after realizing I kept ignoring her first one.The texts kept coming too.Betty, where are you? Did you find Rhys? Please answer me, swee
WARNINGThe following chapter contains graphic violence, criminal activity, physical assault, and emotionally intense scenes involving threats against loved ones. Please read with care. ❤️NATHANIEL“What the hell is this?” I mutter, glancing between the papers and him. “You own a beach house? Am I supposed to be impressed?”The sarcasm barely lands before that disgusting grin stretches across his face.“As a matter of fact, yes,” he says proudly, tapping one thick finger against the transfer papers. “My latest purchase. Figured it was finally time I owned a little vacation home.”I stare at him blankly. Still not understanding what the hell any of this has to do with me. Or Rhys. Or why I am here.“You should see the interior of that place,” he continues, swirling the whiskey around his glass. “Beautiful work.”Still nothing. And he notices because amusement flickers across his face again.He leans back deeper into the booth, “I was very optimistic about our future arrangement. So op
NATHANIEL“You know what, Mr... I do not even know what I should call you,” I mutter after giving him nearly ten uninterrupted minutes to ramble about his dangerous friends, his reach across New York, and how murdering him inside this restaurant would apparently guarantee my body ends up floating somewhere in the Hudson by sunset.He pauses, that ugly grin stretching across his face again.“My friends call me Fausto,” he says, leaning back deeper into the booth. “But I do not think you and I have crossed that threshold yet, don’t you think?”Fausto. The executioner.The man really has a god complex.“No, Mr. Fausto,” I answer, settling back into my seat. “We haven’t. Because you are demanding the impossible from me. I cannot offer you what you want without destroying my name in the process.”The amusement leaves his face, his eyes narrow beneath the chandelier light, thick fingers tightening around the whiskey glass.“Is that so, Mr. Blackwell?” he asks quietly. “You mean you would pu
CHAPTER 172NATHANIELThe moment those words leave his mouth, the entire atmosphere inside the restaurant changes. Like the air itself has shifted around us.I lean back deeper into the leather seat, keeping my expression unreadable even though every instinct inside me is already screaming that this man is far more dangerous than I initially thought.Because ransom? That would have been simple. Money is easy. I have plenty of it.But this? This feels bigger. Messier. Permanent.The fat bastard swirls the whiskey around his glass while studying me with the satisfaction of a man who believes he finally has leverage over someone untouchable.“You know,” he says casually, “before your cousin disappeared, I really thought small.”I stay silent. Mostly because I want him talking.Men like this always expose themselves eventually if you let their egos breathe long enough.“The clubs were profitable. Gambling underneath them. A little laundering here and there. Some private rooms for special
NATHANIELThe address leads me somewhere in midtown. New York is already alive in that aggressive way only this city knows. Morning light spills between skyscrapers in sharp golden streaks while Times Square flashes advertisements large enough to blind people before breakfast. Men in expensive suits storm across intersections with coffee cups in hand and phones pressed against their ears like billion-dollar deals will collapse if they stop talking for two seconds. Taxis choke every lane around me, horns blaring nonstop, while pedestrians curse each other like it is part of the culture. And here I am. Standing outside a high-end restaurant at barely eight in the morning, about to walk straight into what is very obviously a trap. On the way here, I already accepted that possibility. Lure me in. Take me too. Send pictures of both Rhys and I tied to chairs somewhere underground while demanding money from my family. And unfortunately for everyone involved, Harriette and Eleanor wo
BETTYI stare at the photograph for a moment before unfolding it carefully.It’s a picture of Grace. Baby Grace.Of course, Nathaniel would carry around a photo of Grace. Why didn’t I think of that?She is so tiny in this picture.Her little cheeks. Big green eyes, and that ridiculous pink hat Harriette bought her because apparently every rich baby needed designer winter wear, even though she hated wearing hats and screamed whenever one touched her headMy chest softens instantly at the memory, as I can almost hear her tiny, angry cries inside my head again.A breath escapes me as I stare at her smiling face.But then my eyes drift further across, and my entire body stills.Because sitting beside Grace...is me.My brows pull together as I stare harder without blinking. And for a moment there, I think I might be hallucinating.I force myself to blink, just to make sure it’s me, sitting beside her while looking down at her with a tired smile.Yap. confirmed.I remember this day.Harriet
NATHANIELMy hands won’t stop trembling, and the paper shakes between my fingers, the words blurring no matter how many times I blink.I must have read the same line a dozen times, but it still doesn’t make sense. Divorce. “She wanted to divorce my grandfather?” The word tastes foreign in my mouth.
BETTY“Girls’ night out, huh?” Rhys’s voice slips into the air behind me, smooth and amused, with that kind of teasing tone that says he knows what happened here tonight.I turn toward him, or rather, I try to, but the world sways a little too much for me to look graceful doing it.“Yeah, we might’
BETTYI freeze outside the door, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat.I force myself to look in, and the sight steals whatever air was left in my lungs.The room looks like a battlefield, books scattered like fallen soldiers, and papers littering the floor in torn, angry flurri
NATHANIELIt’s finally time to close the Virnkirk deal, a moment that should feel clean and decisive, but for reasons no one has bothered to explain properly, they want Rhys present.The request irritates me more than it should because I don’t need his theatrics or his unpredictable presence muddyin







