The weight of the night lingered over Moris' estate like an unshakable storm. Isabel sat across from him, her fingers tracing patterns on the glass of water in her hands. The air between them was charged—anger, fear, determination. Everything was colliding at once.
"This isn't just about Sarah anymore," Isabel murmured. "Someone else is playing the game, and they're better at it than she is."
Moris exhaled, his jaw tightening. "Which means we stop reacting and start moving first."
He picked up his phone, dialing a number. Isabel raised a brow.
"Who are you calling?"
Moris met her gaze. "An old friend."
The call connected.
"Sinclair," a gruff voice answered.
"Benji, I need a favor."
A pause. Then a slow chuckle. "When the great Moris Sinclair calls in a favor, it must be serious."
Moris didn't waste time. "I need eyes on Sarah Carter. And I need to know who else she's been talking to."
Benji's voice shifted, his amusement gone. "You suspect she's being controlled?"
"I suspect she's in deeper than she realizes."
A moment of silence. Then Benji said, "I'll get back to you."
The call ended.
Isabel leaned forward. "Who's Benji?"
"An information broker," Moris said simply. "If there's something to know, he'll find it."
Isabel nodded, gripping the glass tighter. They were finally taking control.
But across the city, in a darkened penthouse, Sarah Carter wasn't feeling in control at all.
The Warning
Sarah sat stiffly on the velvet couch, her eyes fixed on the man standing in front of her. The stranger in the black suit had let himself in without knocking. That alone told her he wasn't here on friendly terms.
"I assume you know who I am," he said.
Sarah's throat was dry, but she refused to show fear. "That depends. Should I?"
The man smirked. "That depends on whether you value your life."
Her pulse jumped, but she kept her expression cold. "I don't like threats."
"This isn't a threat," the man said, stepping closer. "It's a warning."
He pulled a sleek phone from his pocket and pressed a button. A video played.
Sarah's blood ran cold.
It was security footage. Her security footage. Inside her own penthouse. The video showed her making a call—the call she had placed to Vincent Crowe to order Isabel's assassination.
Her stomach dropped.
The man tilted his head. "You thought you were running the show. But you're just another piece on the board."
Sarah shot to her feet, her hands curling into fists. "Who the hell are you?"
The man smiled, stepping toward the door.
"You'll find out soon enough."
And with that, he was gone.
Sarah stood frozen, her heart hammering.
Someone was controlling her.
And if she didn't act fast, she wouldn't be a player in this game anymore.
She'd be a casualty.
The Trap Is Set
Back at Moris' estate, Isabel sat on the terrace, Duke resting beside her. The dog's ears twitched, always alert, always ready.
Moris stepped out, handing her a glass of wine. "Benji got back to me."
Isabel straightened. "And?"
Moris took a slow sip before answering. "Sarah isn't the real problem. Someone else is pulling the strings."
Isabel frowned. "Who?"
He exhaled. "A name came up. Julian Roth."
The name meant nothing to Isabel, but the way Moris' face darkened told her everything she needed to know.
"Who is he?"
Moris' grip on his glass tightened. "Someone I should've buried a long time ago."
Isabel's breath hitched. "Then it's time we bury him now."
Moris' lips curved into a dangerous smirk.
"Agreed."
The hunters had become the hunted. But the real war was just beginning.