Chapter 687
Chapter 687:
Skye melted. The fight drained out of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, responding to his fear with her own need.
They broke apart, gasping for air, foreheads resting against each other.
“I’m sorry,” Skye whispered. “I won’t do it again p>
“Swear it,” Liam demanded.
“I swear p>
He kissed her again, softer this time. A seal on the promise.
Liam put the car back in gear. His hand found hers and interlaced their fingers, holding on tight.
Meanwhile, across town, a drone buzzed low over the streets before landing on the balcony of a secure safe house. A courier retrieved the memory card and uploaded the data.
In his cell, Parker Hayes watched the upload bar complete on his handheld console. He switched tabs to a chat window.
Parker [Lobby Chat]: Mission complete. Victoria is safe. Lucian is humiliated. And “Preston” is officially a legend. You’re welcome.
He leaned back on his cot, a smirk playing on his lips. Prison wasn’t so bad when you had Wi-Fi.
Back at Kensington Manor, Liam and Skye walked through the front door, exhausted but united.
Harper, the housekeeper, met them in the hall. Her face was grave.
“Mr. Kensington, Mrs. Kensington,” she said. “There was a call from the hospital. From the Vance family p>
Skye’s blood ran cold. “Julian p>
“He was found unconscious in his study,” Harper said. “He’s in the ICU. They say… it looks like an overdose. But the police are treating it as suspicious p>
Skye felt the world tilt. Julian. Her mentor. Her friend. The man who had taught her how to survive in this shark tank. He had been quiet lately, withdrawn, but he wasn’t suicidal.
𝗢𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹 𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝗲.𝗰𝗼𝗺
This was the Syndicate. It had to be.
“We have to go,” Skye said, spinning around.
“I’m driving,” Liam said, grabbing the keys again.
They ran back out into the night. The victory against Dominic felt miles away. The real battle—for life—was just beginning.
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and dying flowers.
Skye and Liam ran down the corridor toward the ICU waiting room. They found the Vance family butler, an old man named Alfred, sitting on a plastic chair with his head in his hands.
“Alfred,” Skye said.
The butler looked up. His eyes were red. “Miss Skye. Thank God p>
“How is he p>
“Stable, for now,” Alfred said. “The doctors pumped his stomach. They found traces of a heart medication he doesn’t take. Someone… someone poisoned him, Miss Skye p>
Skye looked through the glass wall of the room. Julian Vance lay on the bed, hooked up to a dozen machines. He looked small. Fragile. Not like the titan of media she knew.