Chapter 412
Chapter 412:
A man in a suit hurried over. “Sir p>
“Put her in the starboard guest suite,” Lucian ordered. “Lock the windows. Remove anything sharp. And put a guard on the door twenty-four seven. She does not leave that room p>
“Yes, sir p>
Skye let herself be led away, her head hanging low, her body trembling with “sobs p>
But hidden behind the curtain of her hair, the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
Check.
She was out of the dungeon. She was in a guest suite. Guest suites had amenities. Guest suites had televisions. Guest suites were one step closer to the bridge.
Inside the starboard suite, Skye waited for the lock to engage. The moment the bolt clicked, she dropped the act. She wiped her tears away, instantly.
She scanned the room. It was luxurious: a king-sized bed, a writing desk, a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
She went to the TV first and turned it on. Satellite cable.
She flipped through channels. News. News. News.
Breaking News: “Production Halted on ‘Island of Truth’ Following Report of Gunfire. CEO Skye Sterling Unaccounted For p>
Skye watched the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Her company was bleeding. Investors were panicking. The reports were vague—“accident,” “security breach”—but uncertainty was more damaging than the truth.
A plan formed in her mind. A dangerous, reckless plan.
She couldn’t call for help directly. But she could use the one thing Lucian Graves cared about almost as much as power: money.
If Oracle crashed, it would ripple through the markets. Lucian had investments. He was a businessman first, a psychopath second.
She needed to convince him that her silence was costing him money.
She walked to the window. Reinforced glass, sealed shut. She looked out at the darkening sea. Somewhere out there, Alistair was searching.
She touched her empty ring finger.
Y𝗼u𝗿 𝘯ех𝘁 𝗿e𝘢𝘥 і𝗌 𝘰ո b𝘦.сo𝘮
I’m here, she thought, projecting the message into the void. I’m fighting. Just find me.
The beach where Skye had jumped was a crime scene of jagged rocks and crashing waves. The storm had passed, leaving behind a gray, sullen sky.
Alistair Thorne stood at the very precipice of the cliff, the wind whipping his coat around him.
He wasn’t praying.
He was searching.
He knelt near the jagged edge where the tire tracks ended. His eyes scanned the wet stone and the tangle of roots that clung to the cliff face.
“Alistair,” Julian called softly from the Land Rover behind him. “The tide has cycled twice. Anything that was down there p>
“Shut up,” Alistair growled without looking up. “She leaves signs. She always leaves signs p>
He leaned dangerously over the edge, gripping a sturdy branch. There, tangled in the roots of a wind-gnarled shrub jutting out from the cliff face, something glinted.
Alistair froze. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He reached out, fingers trembling, and untangled the object.
It was a ring.
Not just any ring.
It was the simple platinum band he had given her as a promise ring months ago. She usually wore it on a chain around her neck, or on her right hand.