Chapter 25: The Storm Begins

Wren

The voice from the military receiver didn’t simply fade into static. It chilled the carriage house until every breath felt like inhaling glass.

Your father did not commit suicide… Beatrix Ashford did not pull the trigger. I did.

Ten minutes.

That was all the synthesized voice had given us before the London police or whoever was pulling the strings raided this refuge. But going straight to the Mayfair vault without ammunition, without the physical evidence needed to expose the true mastermind, would be a suicide run.

We didn’t need to flee the Cotswolds yet.

We had to walk straight back into the jaws of the beast.

The storm had escalated into a full gale by the time Kaelen navigated his unlit vehicle through the dense pine perimeter and back onto the Ashford estate. Lightning split the iron-gray sky, illuminating the sprawling silhouette of Ashford Manor like a giant, rotting creature crouched in the darkness.

A jagged bolt struck the central power relay on the high estate wall with a deafening metallic crack.

Instantly, every floodlight surrounding the manor died.

The outer security perimeter plunged into absolute darkness.

“The backup generators aren’t kicking in,” Kaelen murmured, his voice low as we crept through the soaked, overgrown hedges toward the rear servant entrance. His broad frame shielded me from the driving rain, his heavy coat pressed against my back. “The storm fried the master circuit, or someone cut the lines deliberately.”

Inside, the manor was pure chaos.

Without power, the electronic magnetic locks throughout the ground floor had defaulted to open. Shouts of panic echoed through the dark corridors, bouncing off the high marble walls. Flashlight beams crisscrossed the grand foyer as Julian’s private security guards scrambled around, their radios spitting broken static and frantic orders.

“Where is he?” a guard yelled from the main hallway.

“Vance locked himself in the west study! He’s burning files!”

“The police vans are stuck at the south gate! The electric tree fell across the road!” another voice shouted. “Get the backup batteries online!”

I pressed my back against the cold stone of the narrow corridor leading toward the administrative wing.

The darkness was thick and suffocating, yet strangely comforting.

For six months, this house had been my prison. I knew every creaking floorboard, every hidden shadow, and every turn of these halls better than any man Julian had hired to guard me.

“Julian’s private study,” I whispered, turning toward Kaelen in the shadows. My lips brushed the warm skin of his jaw, feeling the dangerous pulse beneath his stubble. “His personal safe is behind the mahogany bookcase. If he’s burning files, he hasn’t reached the hard drives yet. The physical records for the Mayfair vault access codes are in there.”

Kaelen’s silver eyes caught the faint flash of lightning through the high arched window above us.

His hand slid around the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my wet hair as he pulled me closer until our foreheads touched. His breath was warm, carrying the scent of cedar and rain.

“I have the hallway,” he rasped, his voice quiet and firm. “If anyone comes down this corridor, I’ll handle them. Take five minutes, Emerence. Not a second more.”

“Kaelen,” I breathed, gripping the lapels of his soaked jacket. The fear of what lay ahead was real, but the heat between us in the frozen corridor was overwhelming. “If Julian is in there—”

“He won’t touch you.”

His lips pressed against mine in a brief, fierce kiss, carrying a dark promise that made my pulse race.

“Go.”

I slipped around the corner, moving like a shadow across the carpeted hallway.

The heavy double doors to Julian’s private office were unlocked. A thin line of yellow candlelight flickered through the gap. The corridor smelled strongly of scorched paper and expensive scotch.

I pushed the door open just enough to slide through.

The office was in ruins.

Leather-bound books had been ripped from the shelves and scattered across the rug. Gray smoke curled upward from a cast-iron wastebasket near the massive desk, where charred financial ledgers still glowed red among the ashes.

Julian wasn’t at his desk.

My heart hammered, but I forced my strategic mind to suppress the panic. I moved behind the mahogany desk, stepping over broken glass and overturned crystal decanters.

I reached behind the third shelf of the central bookcase, running my fingers along the cold brass trim until I felt the hidden release.

Click.

The heavy wood panel swung outward with a soft hydraulic hiss.

Behind it sat a digital wall safe.

The display was dark from the power outage, but the mechanical override remained.

I reached beneath my cashmere sweater and pulled out the thin, flexible backup keycard I had kept hidden for months. I inserted the narrow metal notch attached to its edge into the mechanical slot and turned it sharply to the left.

Another click.

The heavy steel door swung open.

Inside were three thick black leather dossiers, two encrypted flash drives, and a velvet-lined box containing a heavy antique brass key stamped with the crest of the Ashford Mayfair vault.

My breath caught.

This was it.

The paper trail proves how Julian, Lyra, and the mysterious third figure had systematically funneled cartel money through the family name.

I grabbed the dossiers and brass key, shoving them into the inner pocket of my coat.

“Looking for these, darling?”

A cold, wet hand clamped over my mouth from behind.

I was dragged backward against a broad, trembling chest.

The smell of cheap scotch and stale sweat flooded my senses.

Julian.

His grip was desperate and unhinged, his fingers digging into my cheeks hard enough to hurt. I thrashed against him, driving my elbow into his ribs, but his weight pinned me against the edge of the desk.

“You thought you were so clever, didn’t you?” Julian hissed into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. His voice sounded ragged, shattered by paranoia. “You and your fake madness. You and your pretty doctor.”

Something cold and metallic pressed against the side of my neck.

A revolver.

“He’s watching the door, isn’t he?” Julian whispered with a sick, breathless laugh. “He thinks he’s protecting you. But he doesn’t know about the private stairwell behind this desk, does he?”

My chest heaved.

I couldn’t scream through his hand, but my sapphire eyes locked onto the dark doorway across the room.

Outside, a heavy thud shook the floorboards.

Then came Kaelen’s deep voice, barking a warning.

A gunshot cracked through the darkness.

Julian cocked the hammer against my neck with a loud, final clack.

“Say goodbye to your doctor, Wren,” he sneered into my hair. “Because we’re leaving together.”