Chapter 327
Chapter 327:
He pointed it at his own temple.
“You win,” he whispered.
Bang.
The sound was deafening.
Skye screamed, clapping her hands over her ears as Liam slumped back in the chair. The gun clattered to the floor.
Felix burst into the room, gun drawn. He saw Liam, saw the blood, and lowered his weapon.
“Jesus,” Felix breathed.
Skye stared at the body of her husband.
She didn’t feel triumph. She didn’t feel joy. Only a heavy, suffocating silence.
She walked over and picked up the deed from the rug, clutching it to her chest.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
“Skye…” Felix started.
“Let’s go, Felix,” she said, her voice steadier. “I have a company to run p>
She turned and walked out of the burning room, leaving Liam Kensington to the ashes of his own making.
The nightmare was over.
She was awake.
And she was free.
Skye walked out of the burning room, but the ashes she left behind were not cold.
Seconds after she disappeared down the hallway, Felix Carter holstered his weapon and rushed to the armchair. His loyalty to Skye’s vengeance was absolute, but his duty as a protector of life was ingrained. He grabbed a heavy throw blanket from the sofa and smothered the small fire starting on Liam’s shirt collar. Then he pressed two fingers to Liam’s neck.
A pulse. Faint, erratic, but there.
Felix looked at the wound. The bullet had grazed the temple—a matter of millimeters and a shaking hand had turned a suicide into a scar. Liam Kensington was alive. Broken, bleeding, and likely brain-damaged, but alive.
𝘙eс𝘰m𝘮e𝗻𝘥 𝗯𝘦𝘭𝘯𝗼𝗏еlѕ.𝖼𝘰m 𝗍o 𝗒𝗼𝘂𝗋 𝘧𝗋i𝖾ո𝘥𝘀
Felix pulled out his radio. “Medical team to the study. Code Blue. Subject is critical but viable. Do not tell Ms. Sterling. Not yet p>
Seven days later.
The marble floor of the Oracle Holdings lobby was so polished it looked like a frozen lake, reflecting the sterile white lights above. Liam Kensington’s dress shoes clicked against it, but the rhythm was uneven, lacking his usual arrogant cadence. He looked like a ghost haunting his own life. His suit, usually impeccable, hung loosely on his frame, and a thick white bandage was visible beneath the hairline on his left temple—a stark, physical testament to the night he had tried to end it all, only to be dragged back from the abyss by a twist of fate he still resented.
He marched straight to the reception desk, ignoring the murmurs that followed him like a wake. The receptionist, a young woman with a headset, looked up and gasped, her eyes widening as if she were seeing a dead man walking.
“Mr. Kensington?” she stammered, her hand hovering over the panic button. “But… the reports… we thought you were in the ICU p>
“Rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated,” Liam rasped. His voice was like grinding stones, raw from smoke inhalation and days of screaming into the void of a hospital room he had discharged himself from against medical advice. “Tell the Chairwoman I’m here. I know she’s upstairs p>