Chapter 897
“Good,” Liam said, his voice thick. “Get me the file on the Elysium accounts. And Lee —”
“Yes, sir?”
“Send a private security detail to the hospital. Guard Lucian’s room. No one goes in or out without my personal authorization. File it under the anonymous donor protocol.”
“Understood.”
Liam looked at his hands. They weren’t stained with blood. They felt like they were.
At the hospital, Skye collapsed into a plastic chair in the waiting room.
𝗥o𝗺𝘢𝗻c𝗲 𝗻𝘰𝘃𝗲𝗅𝘴 𝗼𝗇 𝗀a𝗹𝘯𝘰𝘃𝖾ls.cоm
Alistair sat beside her without a word. He simply handed her a cup of terrible vending machine coffee.
“He did it,” Skye said, staring into the black liquid. “He played his part perfectly.”
“And you?” Alistair asked quietly.
“I gave him exactly what he needed,” Skye whispered. “A public enemy. If everyone thinks we’re at war, Arthur won’t suspect we’re working together.”
“Liam is playing a dangerous game,” Alistair said. “But Skye — the sniper. The angle. I checked the police report. The shot came from the North Tower.”
He paused. “The North Tower is owned by a shell company linked to Arthur Sterling. Not Kensington.”
Skye looked up. “Arthur? But why would Liam take the blame?”
“If Liam had ordered it, he wouldn’t use your uncle’s property — it’s too messy, too easily traced back to the family feud. He’s making himself the target,” Alistair said. “He wanted you to ‘hate’ him publicly so you wouldn’t be collateral damage when Arthur retaliates.”
“Exactly,” Alistair said, his eyes moving down the hall toward the ICU. “And right now, being near Liam Kensington is a death sentence.”
The ICU doors burst open. A doctor stepped out, his expression grave.
“Family of Mr. Graves?”
Skye and Alistair rose.
“He’s out of surgery,” the doctor said. “He’s alive. But he’s in a coma. The next twenty-four hours are critical.”
Skye let out a breath she felt she had been holding for hours. “Can we see him?”
“Briefly. One at a time.”
Alistair nodded toward the door. “You go.”
Skye walked into the room. It was filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines. Lucian looked small in the bed, tubes running everywhere.
She took his hand. “You hold on, Lucian. You hear me? Hold on. We’re going to make them pay.”
Outside, Alistair watched through the glass. He pulled out his phone and typed a message to an encrypted number.
Subject is stable. Bait is set. Waiting for the sharks.
He hit send.
Skye didn’t leave the hospital that night. She slept in the chair, waking each time a nurse checked the monitors.
By morning, she felt like a ghost. But her mind was clear.
She drove back to Kensington Tower. She didn’t storm in this time — she walked through the lobby with the icy calm of an executioner.
She bypassed the secretary and went straight into Liam’s office.
He was asleep on the couch, still in his suit. He looked exhausted. Vulnerable. For a moment, Skye’s heart softened. Then she remembered the microphone.
She dropped a file onto his desk with a sharp crack.