Chapter 42
Chapter 42:
“You fainted,” Skye lied without blinking. She took a sip of her coffee. “Grandmother’s soup didn’t agree with you. You collapsed right as we came in. It was quite dramatic. I spent the night monitoring your breathing to make sure you didn’t swallow your tongue p>
Liam rubbed his chest. He felt a deep, aching soreness. He unbuttoned his shirt and looked down. An ugly, purplish bruise was blooming on his side. He frowned. “This looks like p>
“You fell against the fireplace grate,” Skye interjected smoothly, cutting him off before his foggy brain could process the shape of the injury. “You’re lucky you didn’t crack a rib. It was a hard fall, Liam p>
Liam stared at her. His memory was a black hole. He remembered the heat, the smell of her perfume, a desperate need… and then nothing. Darkness.
A wave of shame rolled through him. He had passed out on his wife on the one night they were supposed to be… trying.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking away. “That was… embarrassing p>
“It’s fine,” Skye said, standing up abruptly. She grabbed her leather satchel from the floor. “Go shower. You smell like bad decisions and regret p>
“Where are you going?” Liam asked, trying to sit up straighter, but wincing as his bruised ribs protested.
“I have classes,” Skye said, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “And I’m not staying here to watch you nurse a hangover p>
She didn’t wait for a reply. She walked out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. She didn’t look back at the Manor. She got into her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel tight.
She drove fast, putting miles between herself and the toxicity of that house. She didn’t stop until she reached The Spire.
The private elevator whisked her up to the penthouse. The moment the doors opened, she shed the persona of the student wife. She walked into her study, the “Oracle” command center. Five monitors hummed to life.
She sat down and cracked her knuckles. It was time to hunt.
ехc𝘭u𝘀iv𝗲 ոove𝗹s 𝗼𝗻 𝖻е.𝘤о𝗺
She pulled up the data she had intercepted last night. Someone had leaked the club photo to the press. She needed to know who.
She ran a trace on the email address that sent the tip to TMZ. It was a burner account, encrypted. Amateur hour.
Skye bypassed the encryption in three minutes. She traced the IP address to a prepaid phone. Then she cross-referenced the geolocation data with known associates.
The signal originated from The Obsidian Club at 12:55 AM. The phone ID matched a secondary device registered to Tiffany Blaire—Seraphina’s best friend.
Skye sat back, a cold smile touching her lips. Tiffany had been the spotter. Seraphina had pulled the trigger.
“Got you,” she whispered.
She saved the data to an encrypted drive. Then she texted Felix.
Meet me in the garage. I have something for Alistair.
Ten minutes later, Skye was in the underground parking garage of The Spire. The air was cool and smelled of polished concrete and money.
A matte black sports car sat in the shadows. The window rolled down. Felix, Alistair’s man, sat in the driver’s seat.