Chapter 5

CHASE’S POV.

The wheels touch down at the airport with a gentle thud, and the jet slows on the runway. Through the sleek oval window, I spot my car already waiting—black, polished, and quiet like a panther ready to pounce.

Good. I hate waiting.

The moment the stairs descend, I unbuckle my seatbelt, grab my coat, and descend the steps. The wind slaps my face—New York’s usual greeting, and that’s when my phone buzzes before my shoe even hits the tarmac.

“Have you made up your mind yet?” I answer, my voice clipped.

There’s a pause on the other end, then a man clears his throat. “Yes. We’re ready to make you a deal.”

A slow smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I nod. “Okay. My people will call you,” I blurt, and hang up without another word.

My driver opens the car door before I reach it, and I slip in, tossing the phone onto the seat beside me, and tap open my iPad. My proposal waits—clean layouts, digital models, mock-ups of the smart city I’ve been quietly piecing together like a madman with too much money and not enough patience.

Multi-billion dollar innovation. Sustainable. Futuristic. Branded with my name in ways subtle and not-so-subtle. I scroll through the numbers, the projections, the renderings, and I can’t help it—I'm impressed with myself. Arrogance? Maybe. But I’ve earned it.

The driver turns slightly, waiting, and I barely glance at him. “Take me home.”

The car pulls off, smooth and fast, gliding down the service road out of the private terminal and into the city that never shuts up.

I finish reviewing the final slides and shut off the iPad, exhaling slowly. The adrenaline buzz fades, and the jet lag kicks in like a bitter ex. I lean my head back, my eyes fluttering shut.

Buzz. Buzz. My eyes snap open as the phone lights up beside me.

“Ugh,” I groan. “I said my people will call them back. This is what I get for getting into business with rich old men.” I scoff, grabbing it with the intention to chew someone out.

But it’s not the D.C. guys. It’s Ivy.

“Huh.” I blink at the name, and for a moment, I consider ignoring it, but why rob myself of a chance to gloat a little? I swipe to answer.

“Let me guess,” I sigh, letting the smirk color my tone. “Your little jet has engine issues, and now you want to take me up on my offer. Too late, I’m already in New York.”

I wait for that witty little tongue to respond, but nothing.

Suddenly, I hear a crash. The sound of glass shattering, loud and jarring, then a scream follows in the background.

“Ivy?” I jerk forward. No answer. Just more crashing, followed by a metallic clatter of something heavy hitting the floor, and then— Nothing.

“Ivy! Are you there?” I bark, my voice sharper now, and still, no reply.

“Stop the car. Now.” I order.

The driver slams on the brakes, and we come to a jarring stop. I press the phone tighter to my ear, hoping for something—breathing, footsteps, a voice, but the line is eerily silent.

Something is wrong. Very wrong.

I hang up and immediately dial the office line for House of Valemont. It rings. Twice, but no one picks up.

“Goddamn it,” I hiss, then try the front desk’s extension. Still nothing. “So they lied about having a 24/7 customer team. They are lucky I am not a customer, otherwise…”

I stare at the phone in my hand, my heart pounding harder than it has in years. I pick up my tablet, fingers moving fast across the screen.

My jaw clenches as a secure app loads—one I built myself, inaccessible to anyone outside my core team. I enter my biometric key, then tap a blank square in the corner. A string of numbers, code, and coordinates flashes across the screen, and then ping! A red light pops up.

Location: Echo Ridge Point.

Of course. A fucking cliff. What is she doing near a cliff?

“Drive. Now.” I shove the tablet forward, pinning the location onto the driver’s dash screen. “Fast as you can.”

“Yes, sir.” My driver’s grip tightens on the wheel like he knows his life depends on it, and the car surges forward, cutting across lanes with the scream of tires and honks in the distance.

I sit there, heart pounding in rhythm with the blinking pin on the screen. I can’t breathe properly, and I can’t think.

“What the hell has happened to you, Ivy?” I mutter to myself, over and over, my eyes never leaving the map.

A sharp turn makes me lurch slightly in my seat, but I barely notice. I take a look at the screen, and the pin has barely moved. Not a good sign.

“Faster!” I snap. “Or I swear to God, I will come over there and drive this thing myself.”

“Yes, sir!” my driver pushes the pedal hard enough that the car practically growls. Trees blur past. The city fades into the rearview, and now we’re cutting through the forest roads.

I run a hand through my hair aggressively, yanking the strands at the root. “Should I call her husband?” My hand hovers over my phone. But then I freeze because why did she call me instead?

She would never willingly call me. Ivy Valemont Sinclaire hates me. With reason. I’ve given her reasons. Too many in fact. That’s how I know she would never call me unless it was something only I could… You know.

“Therefore, there must be a reason,” I whisper to myself. “Did he finally fuck up?”

I swipe back to my iPad and I tap a different icon this time. A secure vault.

I scroll until I find the file labeled HOUSE OF VALEMONT – MASTER F*ED. I hesitate for half a second, then open it. Password. Biometric scan. Face ID. There she is. Camera 04. The hallway outside her office. She’s in that black velvet dress from D.C.—God, she looked breathtaking. I watch as she pauses at the door, her hand trembling slightly.

I slide in an earpod and crank the volume, the feed jumping to inside the room. There is Harry and a woman who, according to my research, is her legal counsel. On the goddamn conference table, half naked.

I lean forward, the tablet shaking slightly in my grip as I watch Ivy drop her award and part of it slams her foot. “Poor Ivy. Harry is cheating on her.”

My jaw locks, and a sickening rage bubbles in my throat. "You fucking coward," I mutter at the screen. “How could you…”

Then I see her sit down, and I fast-forward the footage until I see Harry dragging Ivy across the hallway to the elevator. I pause the video and clench my fists. Hard. My knuckles pop. I’m seconds away from snapping this tablet in half. “What did that bastard do to you, Ivy?”

I rewind and play it again, watching the exact moment her heart breaks and the second she realizes she’s surrounded by traitors. “I’m going to kill him,” I whisper. “I am going to kill him for hurting you like this.”

I rip out the earpod and toss it onto the seat, the tablet clattering after it. My vision is red. My skin feels tight, and I want to hit something. Destroy something. But I need to get to her first.

“How much further?” I bark.

“Ten minutes!” the driver shouts over the roar of the engine.

Ten minutes too long. I lean back into the seat, barely containing the storm that wants out. Cruel thoughts start circling in my mind. Vicious, violent thoughts of what I’ll do to Harry, that woman, and anyone else involved in hurting her.

“Is that why she called me? Does she think Harry tried to kill her?” My gut twists at the possibility. But I shake my head, trying to focus. “Let’s get there fast.”

Finally, we turn onto a gravel road that snakes through trees. Then I see them. Tire marks. Deep ones. Leading straight to the edge.

I throw the door open before the car fully stops, and I run to the cliff’s edge and stop, barely breathing.

Far below, upside down and mangled, is a black car. Steam hisses from the hood, and the windshield’s shattered.

“Fuck! Ivy…” I whisper.

“Come with me!” I bark at the driver, already making my way down the slope, my shoes slipping on the gravel but I don’t stop. Nothing matters but getting to her. Branches slap my face, mud cakes my pants, but I don’t care.

Finally, I see her. She’s lying on her side next to the car, motionless. Her dress is torn. Blood streaks her arms, and her face— Her face is barely recognizable.

“No. No. No.” I drop to my knees and press two shaking fingers on her neck. There is a pulse. Its faint, but it’s there.

“She’s still alive,” I whisper, a tidal wave of relief crashing through me. “Help me carry her!”

“Was she driving herself?” the driver asks, peering inside the car since there’s no one else. No second set of prints and no signs of another passenger.

“Who cares??Let’s move.” I bark.

Together, we carry her carefully up the incline, every step, every jolt a threat.

We reach the car, and I lay her gently across the back seat and brush the hair from her face, my heart in my throat.

“You know where to go,” I nod to my driver, my tone cold and sharp.

I sit next to her, staring, and for the first time in years, I feel something I thought I’d buried long ago. Fear. Helpless, consuming fear.