Chapter 4 - The Trap Springs ShutI froze, locking eyes with Blake.
The horror on Blake’s face instantly hardened into something dark, toxic, and terrifyingly cold. The chemical fog in his brain seemed to burn away, replaced by the razor-sharp predatory instinct of a billionaire who had just realized he was being hunted in his own home.
“Stay here,” Blake whispered, his voice dropping an octave into a low, dead rumble.
He stood up slowly, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand. He didn't look like a broken man anymore; he looked like a ghost filled with sudden, vengeful fury.
“Blake? Honey?” Chloe’s voice echoed closer down the hallway, accompanied by the gentle click of her designer heels on the hardwood floor. “Are you in the office?”
Blake stepped behind the heavy oak door just as it swung open.
Chloe stepped into the office, looking immaculate in a cream designer trench coat, her blonde hair styled in flawless waves. She held a designer handbag over her arm, her expression a masterclass of fabricated worry.
“Blake, thank goodness, I was so worried about—oh!”
Chloe stopped dead in her tracks as she saw me sitting behind the executive desk, looking like an avenging angel risen from the dead, with an IV bag pole standing beside me.
For a fraction of a second, raw, unfiltered panic flashed across Chloe’s face. But she recovered with terrifying speed, pasting on a pathetic, tearful smile.
“Natalie! You’re… you’re alive! Thank God, we were all so terrified—”
“Shut up, Chloe,” I said quietly.
Chloe blinked, turning her gaze toward the doorway where Blake stood in the shadows. “Blake, darling, thank goodness you’re here. She’s… she’s unstable. You need to get her back to the hospital, she doesn't know what she’s saying—”
“She knows exactly what she’s saying, Chloe,” Blake’s voice cut through the room like a sheet of industrial plate glass.
He stepped out from the shadows.
Chloe took a half-step back, her eyes darting between us. “Blake? What’s wrong with you? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like you’re a venomous snake that crawled into my bed,” Blake snarled, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed.
Before Chloe could react, Blake reached out, grabbed her by the lapels of her expensive trench coat, and slammed her back against the heavy wooden door with a loud CRASH.
“Blake! Let me go! You’re hurting me!” Chloe screamed, her mask of innocence instantly shredding into vicious hysteria. “Have you lost your mind? Are you still out of your damn mind from the blood loss?”
“The only thing out of my mind was the poison you slipped into my scotch every single night,” Blake roared, his face inches from hers, his veins bulging at his temples. “The police have the toxicology reports, Chloe. They have the wire transfer receipts from Julian’s Cayman shell company. They have the emails detailing how you set me up to murder my wife so you could steal my empire!”
Chloe went completely rigid. All color drained from her face, leaving her looking like a porcelain doll that had been dropped on concrete.
“I… I don't know what you’re talking about… Julian? What does Julian have to do with this?” she stammered, her voice pitching up in frantic denial.
“Don't insult my intelligence twice in one week,” Blake hissed. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tossed it onto the desk in front of me. On the screen was an active speakerphone call.
“Are you recording this?” Chloe shrieked, lunging forward, but Blake shoved her back against the door with brutal force.
From the phone speaker, a smooth, cultured voice cut through the room.
“Well, well, well. It seems our little domestic drama has gotten complicated,” Julian Vance’s voice echoed through the office.
Chloe froze. She stared at the phone in horror.
“Julian,” I said, leaning forward and speaking directly into the phone’s microphone. “Your little plan didn't quite make it to the finish line.”
On the other end of the line, Julian let out a low, smooth chuckle. “Natalie. I must admit, I didn't think you had it in you to survive two stab wounds. But it doesn't matter. The Stanford board already voted this morning. With Blake implicated in a violent domestic attempted murder, the board has unanimously invoked the morality clause to strip him of his CEO voting rights. Effective immediately, I am the controlling chairman of the Stanford Group.”
Blake’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would shatter. “You son of a bitch,” he growled at the phone.
“Business is business, cousin,” Julian replied smoothly. “And by the way, Chloe? You served your purpose. Don't call this number again.”
Click.
The line went dead.
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Chloe stood frozen against the door, her eyes wide with sudden, sickening realization. “He… he hung up on me. He’s abandoning me…”
“Oh, he’s not just abandoning you, Chloe,” I said softly, standing up from the desk, my hand gripping the IV pole for support. “Because while you were standing here playing the victim, Detective Marcus and a federal marshals team just raided Julian’s corporate headquarters downtown.”
