Chapter 923:
Kailee’s face contorted with rage. “What are you even saying?”
Rylie had planned for reinforcements to fail. Their high-end encryption would delay any breach. All she needed was time—and she’d bought every second she could.
“Isn’t it true?” she pressed. “Your grandmother quietly transferred the family’s core asset into a Havenridge trust. With any other trustee, you might’ve fought for access. But not Havenridge. You can’t touch that money, can you?”
Kailee stared at her, eyes darkening like storm clouds. After a long silence, she whispered, “Looks like today it’s either you or me.”
Beside her, Felipe raised his pistol. “I’ll finish this myself.”
Before he could even aim, the floor-to-ceiling window behind Rylie exploded inward. Glass sprayed across the room as a bullet cut through the air, striking Felipe’s gun hand with brutal precision.
He screamed. The weapon clattered to the floor.
Rylie moved instantly.
Kailee fired almost simultaneously, her compact revolver barking, but the bullet tore through empty space where Rylie had stood a heartbeat earlier.
From a distant perch in the trees, Storm’s voice crackled low through the comms. “Next time, it’s his head.”
He crouched on the slope beyond the villa, scanning the perimeter. Nightingale had already disabled the electric fence, but another wave of security was advancing fast.
Not the same team that clashed with Deandre, Storm noted. But they’re here now—pushing in.
“These rich folks never run out of guards, do they?” he muttered dryly.
Inside the study, chaos erupted.
Downstairs, the heavy oak front door splintered open with a deafening crack. Wood shards flew across the marble foyer as a towering figure stormed in—silent, relentless, unstoppable.
Møɍɛ ųρɗα†єş ıŋ ɢαℓŋσνєƖş.ƈσʍ
The noise echoed up the staircase.
The guests exchanged uneasy glances. “That must be our reinforcements, right?”
Shaun edged toward the landing, brow furrowed. “Something’s off. That doesn’t sound like our men.”
Moments later, Shaun was back—not walking, but hurled through the study door like a sack of trash. Splintered wood flew as he crashed onto the floor.
“Ah!” Jennifer cried out, jolting into stunned silence.
Every head snapped toward the entrance. Pupils narrowed.
A man in a black suit stood in the wreckage, dust and dried blood streaking his jacket, his left shoulder torn open by a bullet wound. But his right hand gripped a pistol like iron, his eyes sweeping the room with surgical calm.
A small, cruel smile twisted his mouth. “Playing a deadly game, are we? Mind if I join?”
“D-Deandre?” Kailee stammered, her voice trembling. The ever-calculating strategist felt something cold coil in her gut—fear she couldn’t suppress.
Deandre flicked the barrel of his gun lazily. “So? Decided how you want to die yet?”
From behind a toppled bookshelf, Rylie peered out. Recognition flickered in her eyes. Only now did it click—Deandre hadn’t followed her here for Melany. He’d come for her.
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