Chapter 381
Chapter 381:
She met Beatrice’s eyes.
“If these photos leak, Beatrice, I won’t just sue you. I will trigger the clause. I will take the house. I will take the silver. I will take the chair you’re sitting in. Your choice p>
Beatrice froze. Her mouth snapped shut. She knew the document. She just hadn’t believed Skye had memorized it.
Skye turned and walked out. She didn’t look back at Liam.
Liam stood there, watching her retreating back. He looked at his own hand trembling slightly on the head of his cane. He looked at the torn photos in the bin.
He realized, with a sinking feeling, that he didn’t know the woman who had just walked out.
And that terrified him more than losing the money.
The helicopter shot would look stunning on TV. The island was a jewel of green dropped into a turquoise ocean—white-sand beaches, swaying palms, and a massive modern villa perched on the cliffs. It was paradise.
For Skye, it was a prison with better lighting.
The boat ride over had been choppy. She stood on the deck now, wearing oversized sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat, shielding her face from the harsh tropical sun.
Liam stood beside her. He wore linen pants and a loose shirt, trying to look casual, but the cane he leaned on ruined the illusion of a carefree bachelor.
“Cut!” Director Gordon shouted through a megaphone. “Okay, great arrival shots. Now get to the villa entrance. Look… complicated p>
“Complicated,” Skye muttered. “I can do complicated p>
They walked up the wooden path. Cameras swarmed them instantly, boom mics dipping in and out of their vision like mechanical birds.
The host—a tanned man with too many teeth—bounced out to meet them.
“Skye! Liam! The power couple that imploded! Are you here to rekindle or revenge p>
Skye gave a PR-perfect smile. It was dazzling and completely empty. “We’re just here to find the truth, Mark p>
Liam swallowed. “I hope we can find common ground p>
“Cut! Moving on p>
They were ushered into the villa. It was air-conditioned to a freezing temperature. The production team immediately descended on them.
𝖱𝗲𝖺𝖽 𝗐i𝘁𝗵𝗈𝘂t 𝘤𝘂t𝘀 o𝗇 bе.𝗰o𝗆
“Phones,” a producer demanded, holding out a plastic bin.
Skye hesitated. Her phone was her lifeline to Alistair. To Julian.
“Contract,” the producer reminded her.
Skye dropped her phone into the bin. It landed with a thud. Anxiety washed over her. She was cut off.
In the city, thousands of miles away, Alistair Thorne sat in his office, staring at his phone. The GPS dot that represented Skye had stopped moving. Then it vanished.
She was offline.
He picked up his desk phone and dialed Director Gordon’s private line.
“Hello?” Gordon answered, sounding harried.
“This is Alistair Thorne,” Alistair said. His voice was deep, scraping the bottom of the register.
“Who?” Gordon asked, distracted by the noise of the set. “Look, buddy, I’m busy. No solicitors p>
“If you hang up,” Alistair cut in, his tone lethal enough to freeze the line, “I will buy your production company within the hour and have you fired before lunch. Don’t test me p>
Gordon went silent. The name finally registered. Thorne. The Thorne. The man who owned half the city’s dark underbelly and most of its high-rises.
“Mr… Mr. Thorne?” Gordon stammered, his arrogance evaporating instantly. “I… how did you get this number p>
“I have eyes on your set,” Alistair said. “If anything happens to Ms. Sterling—if she is hurt, if she is threatened, if she so much as trips—I will hold you personally responsible. Is that clear p>