Chapter 900
The lobby of the Kensington building hummed with the mid-morning rush. Suits and briefcases blurred into a river of ambition and caffeine.
Skye walked against the current, her face set in stone. She marched straight to the reception desk.
“Miss Sterling,” the receptionist stammered, recognizing the fury in her stride. “Do you have an appointment?”
Skye reached into her purse. She didn’t pull out a weapon. She pulled out a thick, velvet-bound folder — the Emergency Asset Protection Agreement Liam had sent over via courier that morning. It was a document that would effectively grant Kensington Global temporary custody of Oracle’s assets to “safeguard” them during the crisis.
“Give this to him.” Skye slammed it on the marble counter. “Tell him I don’t want his protection. Tell him I’d rather let Oracle burn than hand him the keys.”
𝘈𝖽𝗱𝘪с𝘁ivе ѕ𝘵оri𝗲s on 𝗴𝖺l𝗻ov𝖾ls.𝖼𝗈𝗆
“I… I will,” the receptionist said, visibly shaken.
Skye turned, making sure the security cameras caught the disdain on her face. She walked out, the glass doors swishing shut behind her. In her mind, she hoped Liam would see the folder and understand. She wasn’t rejecting his help — she was publicly rejecting his connection to her, severing the visible tie so Arthur would feel safe enough to strike.
Up in the executive suite, Liam watched the feed on his tablet. He saw Skye’s anger. He saw the fire in her.
“She hates you, sir,” Secretary Lee said quietly, placing a cup of tea on his desk.
“Good,” Liam murmured. “Hate keeps her warm. Hate keeps her alert. If she hates me, she won’t trust me. And if she doesn’t trust me, she won’t get close enough to be caught in the crossfire.” He picked up the folder Lee had brought up and traced the embossed logo with one finger. “Frame it.”
“Sir?”
“Put it on the wall.” Liam pointed to the empty spot next to his diploma. “Remind me of what I have to lose.”
At the hospital loading dock, a nondescript white van idled. The words Bio-Hazard Waste Disposal ran along its side in faded lettering.
Alistair pushed a gurney toward it. On the gurney was a body bag, zipped up to the chin.
“This is dignified,” Lucian’s voice came from inside the bag, muffled. “I smell like bleach and regret.”
“Shut up,” Alistair hissed. “There are eyes everywhere.”
He shoved the gurney into the back of the van. “Stay down. Don’t move until we hit the safe house.”
“If I die of suffocation, I’m haunting you,” Lucian grumbled.
Alistair slammed the doors shut and climbed into the driver’s seat. Felix was already in the passenger seat, checking the mirrors.
“Tail?” Alistair asked.
“Black sedan. Four o’clock,” Felix confirmed. “Arthur’s men.”
“Let’s take them for a ride.” Alistair gunned the engine.
The van lurched forward. He drove aggressively, weaving through traffic, taking sharp turns, leading them away from the coast toward the crowded market district.
“Lose them,” Felix said.
Alistair yanked the wheel and dove into a narrow alleyway. He killed the lights.
The black sedan shot past the alley entrance, missing them entirely.