Chpater 9

Now, they were thrown on the floor, not a single piece of untorn flesh on their bodies, barely breathing.

A bodyguard reported what they'd found out, his voice trembling slightly due to the gruesome details.

"Ma'am, they confessed everything."

"Someone approached them, said that killing young Mr. Sterling would make you suffer immensely, and gave them a sum of money to stage that scene."

"Young Mr. Sterling was supposed to die in that warehouse. The kidnapping was staged so the killers could finish the job while making it look like a ransom gone wrong."

Isabella's hand tightened around the glass she was holding. It cracked, then shattered. Blood seeped between her fingers, but she didn't flinch.

"Who hired them?"

"The trail leads to the same shell company. Registered under Marcus Webb — Sebastian Thorne's law school roommate."

"And Sebastian himself?"

The bodyguard hesitated. "We found encrypted messages on a burner phone recovered from his study. Direct communication with the kidnappers. Timestamps match the night of the warehouse incident."

Isabella let the broken glass fall from her hand. Shards scattered across the marble floor.

"He wasn't trying to compete with Jacob for the inheritance," she said slowly, the truth crystallizing. "He was trying to eliminate him permanently."

"It appears so, ma'am. The plan was for young Mr. Sterling to die in the warehouse. When that failed, we believe Mr. Thorne may have been the one who suggested Devil's Island as a way to... finish the job more slowly."

Isabella's memory lurched. It was Sebastian who had first mentioned Devil's Island. Over dinner, casually, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

"He's too unruly, Isabella. Maybe some time away would straighten him out. Isn't there that place your family uses? The island?"

She had thought it was her idea. Her decision. Her punishment.

It was his. All of it.

"Where is Sebastian now?"

"At the penthouse. He's been making calls all morning. We believe he may be planning to leave the country."

"Lock down every exit. Airports, ports, private airstrips. Nobody named Thorne leaves this city."

She walked to the mirror and examined her reflection. Blood on her hands, circles under her eyes, her perfect composure in ruins.

She straightened her collar. Fixed her hair. Applied lipstick with a steady hand.

Then she drove to the hospital.

I was sitting up in bed, picking at hospital food. When she walked in, I noticed the bandage on her hand and the barely concealed fury behind her eyes.

"What happened?" I asked, not because I cared, but out of habit.

"Sebastian," she said simply.

Something in her tone made me set down my fork.

"I found proof. The warehouse, the kidnapping — it was all him. He wanted you dead, Jacob. He's been trying to kill you since before he even proposed to me."

I stared at her. A year ago, I would have shouted "I told you so." Now I just felt tired.

"Are you surprised?"

"No," she admitted. "I'm ashamed. You tried to tell me. From the very beginning, you tried to tell me about him."

"You slapped me for it."

"I know."

We sat in silence. The heart monitor beeped steadily.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

Isabella's eyes hardened. The warmth she'd been showing me over the past few days vanished, replaced by the cold calculation of a mob heir.

"Sebastian Thorne is going to learn what happens when you target someone under Isabella Blackwood's protection."

"I thought I wasn't under your protection anymore."

She looked at me, and for a moment, her mask slipped. Underneath was something raw — regret, grief, and a fierce, terrible love that she had never known how to express.

"You were always under my protection, Jacob. I just failed you."

She stood, and before I could react, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to my forehead. It was brief, barely a second, but it was the gentlest touch I'd felt in over a year.

"I'm going to fix this. All of it."

She left, her heels clicking down the corridor with the rhythm of a countdown.

That evening, Sebastian Thorne was picked up at a private airstrip, two hours before his chartered flight to Geneva. He had three suitcases, a new passport, and $2.8 million in bearer bonds.

He did not make his flight.