Chapter 86
Chapter 86
Lucas sat in back room of a private club, the kind that didn’t ask questions as long as money kept moving. The music outside thumped faintly through the walls, but in here, the air was tense and sharp with intent.
Three men stood in front of him. None of them looked particularly respectable. One leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, another sat on the edge of the table flicking a lighter open and closed, while the third watched Lucas with the patient stillness of someone who had done ugly things for pay before.
Lucas adjusted his cuffs, forcing calm into his posture.
“You all know why you’re here,” he said.
The man with the lighter smirked. “You said it was urgent. And expensive.”
“It will be,” Lucas replied. “If you do it right.”
They exchanged glances.
Lucas leaned forward, placing his palms on the table. “There’s been an accident. A woman was hit by a car. Tragic. Unfortunate.” He paused, then added, “The driver must be held responsible.”
The tallest of the three frowned. “You want evidence fabricated?”
Lucas’s eyes hardened. “I want the truth to be shaped.”
Silence followed.
“She must not survive to testify?” one of them asked cautiously.
Lucas stiffened. “No. Nothing that crude. I don’t want blood on my hands.”
A lie, but a careful one.
“I want every thread to point in one direction,” he continued. “Witness statements. Camera blind spots. Delayed medical response. Conflicting timelines. Enough confusion that the authorities won’t bother looking deeper.”
“And the driver?” the man with the lighter asked.
Lucas smiled thinly. “He must look guilty. Negligent at best. Malicious at worst.”
The third man finally spoke. “Why?”
Lucas didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened, an image flashing through his mind–Adrian standing in the ring, undefeated, untouchable, hailed by thousands. Alive.
Too alive.
“He must not meet Elena,” Lucas said instead. “Not now. Not ever.”
The men exchanged looks again.
“So you want him in jail,” the tall one summarized. “Manslaughter. Vehicular homicide. Something that sticks.”
“Yes.”
“And if the woman survives?”
Lucas’s fingers curled slightly. “Then make she didn’t live then.”
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That earned him a long, measuring stare.
“This isn’t cheap,” the lighter said.
Lucas reached into his inner pocket and placed a black card on the table. “Do a diligent job, and you’ll never worry about money again.”
The card gleamed under the low light.
One by one, they nodded.
“We’ll handle it,” the tall man said. “By the time the police finish their work, he won’t even know what hit him.”
They turned and left without another word.
Lucas remained where he was, shoulders slowly sagging as the door closed behind them.
For a moment, fear crept in.
If this failed–if Adrian walked away from this too-
Lucas clenched his jaw, forcing the thought down.
No. This time, Adrian Cole would be finished.
Across the city, Elena sat alone at a quiet café, hands wrapped tightly around a glass she hadn’t touched. The sun had dipped low, staining the water gold and red, but she barely noticed.
On the table in front of her lay a thin folder.
Her mother’s documents.
She stared at it as though it might burn her.
Every page inside had once convinced her she was doing the right thing–financial records twisted out of context, half–truths framed as certainty, warnings whispered late at night about Adrian’s “instability,” his “dangerous ambitions,” his “hidden life.”
At the time, she had believed them.
Or maybe she had wanted to.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the folder, skimming pages she now hated herself for trusting.
“I was stupid,” she whispered.
Since Adrian left, everything at home had fallen apart in ways she hadn’t expected. The house felt colder. Louder. Arguments flared over nothing. Decisions that once felt easy now crushed her with doubt.
She had thought strength came from power, from connections, from men like Lucas who could open doors with a phone call.
She’d been wrong.
Adrian had never raised his voice. Never pressured her. Somehow, without her realizing it, he had been the one holding everything together–making space for her to breathe, to rest, to feel sate.
Only after losing him did she understand how heavy the world actually was.
Lucas had helped her career, yes. Deals. Introductions. Influence.
But love couldn’t be mistaken for help.
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She closed the folder slowly.
“I just want to tell you,” she murmured to the empty chair across from her. “Even if you don’t forgive me.”
She checked her phone again.
No missed calls. No messages.
She dialed Adrian’s number.
Once.
No answer.
Twice.
Still nothing.
A third time, it went straight to silence.
Her chest tightened.
Maybe he wasn’t coming.
Maybe he had only agreed to meet to give her hope–five cruel minutes of it–before reminding her how completely she’d lost him.
She looked at the clock. He was late.
A terrible thought crept in.
What if something happened?
She shook her head quickly. No. Don’t spiral. Not now.
But unease settled in her stomach, heavy and cold.
Elena gathered the folder against her chest, staring out at the street, waiting for a man who wasn’t even answering his phone.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
