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"She drove home. Everything was quiet, but then I saw one of her neighbors enter the building with a man. Seemed like a casual thing, so I didn't think much of it at first..." Jacob trails off for a second, his gaze hardening. "But something felt off. So I went in, found that woman on the ground, unconscious, and heard Isabella's screams."
I can feel the controlled fury in his voice, a mirror reflection of my own rage.
"That's when I bolted to her place," he says. "Busted through the door just in time to see her and the intruder fighting. I threw the bastard against the wall and shot him. Then everything went silent. Isabella passed out. I called you immediately after and brought her here."
I nod at Jacob, a silent dismissal hanging in the air between us. "You can go," I murmur, the words heavy with unspoken weight.
When the door clicks closed behind him, I lean back in my high-backed leather chair with a silent snarl curling the edge of my lips. I let the anger and the rage take over, and dark emotions roll through me like a storm.
Isabella... Sweet, loving, caring Isabella. Not at all like those women she's so often compared to. The socialites with their duplicity painted in rouge and perfumes. No, she is real and genuine, raw in her fear and strong in her vulnerability. Jackson had painted her the villain and tried to bend my perception. I growl under my breath, the sound of a primal rumble of warning to ghosts and shadows. I realize now how wrong I was. How wrong we all were about my brother. He wore a mask so perfect, so seamless, that no one saw the cracks until it was too late.
Sitting here, surrounded by security and luxury I once thought infallible, I've never felt anger like this. It burns in me and lights a fire in my veins. For every whispered lie, for every false lead, for every danger that touched Isabella due to this family's blind missteps... I will correct these errors, no matter the cost. Jackson's transgressions will not be the end of this. They will be the beginning of retribution.
The ring of the phone slices through my thoughts. It’s an unwelcome intrusion. I glance at the caller ID to see my mother’s name, and my stomach clenches with a mix of obligation and irritation churning within. I press the phone to my ear.
"Damien," her voice comes, sharp as a shard of glass. "Tell me you've found that whore who poisoned Jackson."
My grip tightens around the phone. The room feels colder suddenly. I settle the mask of calm over my features, a skill perfected over years of practice.
"Mother, I'm keeping tabs on Isabella," I respond, my voice even concealing the storm inside.
There's a dismissive scoff from her end, a sound that grates against my nerves. "Just kill the bitch and get it over with."
A heavy sigh escapes me before I can stop it. "Let me handle it, Mother. Mind your fucking business."
The line goes deathly quiet. "I'm sorry, Damien," she says, softer now. "The grief... it's making me act out."
I close my eyes, the sting of her silence sharper than her words. "It's okay, Mother," I find myself saying, the lie smooth and practiced. "Go, spend a day at the spa."
I don't wait for a reply before ending the call with a click that sounds far too final. The phone slips from my hand to the desk as I lean back with the chill of the room seeping into my bones.
The atmosphere in my office is oppressive, every dark, intricate panel of wood seeming to absorb my frustration. It's usually a place of control and power, where decisions are made with a cold, calculated mind. But today, the air is charged with tension, the lingering scent of leather and aged books doing nothing to ease the smoldering cauldron of emotions within me. Victor walks in and takes the seat on the couch as usual.
“I can tell by the look on your face that I’m not going to like what you have to say," I tell Victor as I note the dark clouds in his eyes.
"I dug up some information about Edward Storm," he starts, and I immediately lean forward with every muscle tensing as I listen to him.
Apparently, Edward Storm was seen as a pillar in the community. A businessman with a reputation that was unimpeachable. He was the diligent son-in-law at his late wife's family company, revered and successful. When cancer took hold of his wife, though, something in him shattered. Gambling became his solace, dragging him deeper down with drinks and adulterous nights.
After she passed, leaving a fortune that should've guaranteed comfort, he spiraled. Bad bets broke him, financial ruin clawed at his heels, and desperation inked his future with illegal dealings. He courted danger, brushing shoulders with our rivals and swapping his integrity for precarious prosperity.
The shocking divergence from the man he showed the world to the one lurking in shadows is almost a cliche, if not for the sting of reality. The gnawing question iswhy. Why marry Isabella off to Jackson, of all people? What dark prize could that union possibly present?
Victor's gaze is heavy, expectant. "We need to understand what Jack had over him and what made Edward throw Isabella into the lion's den. It’s a piece we’re missing, Damien."
I nod as the cogs turn fiercely in my mind. This isn't just about vengeance anymore. It's about unearthing a truth that changed the course of Isabella's life and redirecting my own in the process.
I point to the dusty, old box I’d gotten from Julian. "Get a few men on this," I instruct Victor. "Everything inside needs to be pieced together, every scrap of paper."
Victor narrows his eyes, curiosity piqued. "What's in the box?"
"It's information Julian collected from Isabella's childhood home," I respond tersely, feeling the edges of a puzzle pressing on my consciousness.
Victor's eyes widen momentarily. "He actually helped you?" he questions with a mixture of surprise and skepticism.
A gruff grunt escapes my lips as I lean back in my chair.
"Apparently, Julian has no desire to see our delicate balance upended. With the Hawthorns gaining more money and power, Julian would be staring down a barrel of problems. His assistance wasn't selfless. It was purely self-serving. He wants a favor in return."
