Chapter 119

“As for all those luxury goods in the villa-ha! Every last one of them was bought with my family’s blood, wasn’t it? I’ll have someone come and haul away the second-hand junk. Whatever they fetch will count as partial repayment. Frankly, I’m being far too lenient with them as it is!”
Eight million dollars!
Elder Mrs. Sinclair felt like her head was about to explode.
It was as if a mountain had crashed down on her. She collapsed to the floor and flew into another one of her hysterical fits.
“Money? I have none! All I have left is my life! If you want that eight million, you’ll have to step right over my corpse!”
Anastasia shot her a cold, indifferent glance, utterly unmoved. She turned to Nora instead. “Today’s the last day of your three-day deadline. If I don’t see that eight million by tonight She let out a soft, chilling laugh.
“I’ll just have to send my husband to collect it for me.”
Nora and her daughter both blanched. They knew exactly who her husband was. Anastasia gave a dismissive snort and got to her feet. “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”
Of the eight bodyguards she’d brought, she left half behind—some to handle the pile of used goods, and some to keep the Sinclairs in check, just in case they tried sneaking back in.
Then she swept out, head held high.
Anastasia knew perfectly well the Sinclairs would never be able to scrape together eight million. But didn’t Julian still have a company in his name?
If they sold everything-even that company-they’d have the money, wouldn’t they?
A frosty determination flashed in Anastasia’s eyes.
That’s right. She wanted the Sinclairs left with nothing.
Everything they’d ever taken from her mother, from her—she would make them pay back in full.
“Stop by the nearest flower shop,” she instructed in the car.
She hadn’t brought her husband with her today. Maybe it was understandable, but he still deserved a little gesture.
Just thinking about Harrison made her spirits lift, the corners of her lips softly curving upward.
She spent ten minutes in the flower shop and came out holding a single rose. She’d looked it up last night—a single rose meant “You are my one and only.”
She wondered if her husband would like it…
Her steps suddenly faltered. Across the street, her eyes went wide in surprise.
-Harrison!
She was just about to call out when Harrison, oblivious to her presence, turned and headed into a private club with Logan and several bodyguards in tow.
“Follow them!” she urged her own bodyguards.
Inside, she spotted Harrison’s men and Thomas, standing by the elevator.
The entire floor was deserted-no other guests in sight.
“Where’s Mr. Harrison Lancaster?” she asked. This update ıs available on.net
She half-expected Thomas to stonewall her-after all, Harrison obviously had important business here.
But to her surprise, Thomas simply stepped aside and pointed out the room where Harrison was waiting.
Anastasia’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
But she was too eager to see Harrison to dwell on it. Clutching the rose, she hurried past Thomas toward the room.
She knocked on the door, calling softly, “Harrison-”
She hadn’t even knocked that hard, but the door swung open at once, and a wave of metallic, coppery blood hit her senses.
The screams inside cut off abruptly. On the ground, a man’s throat was pinned beneath Harrison’s heel, his body spasming-barely clinging to life.
Anastasia froze in the doorway, her face drained of all color.
Blood was everywhere. A battered, barely recognizable figure lay on the floor. Logan and several other men stood to the side, tense and silent. And at the center of it all, pressing his foot down on the bloodied man’s neck, was Harrison.
He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves carelessly rolled to reveal strong, muscular arms. One hand rested in his pocket, his chiseled features cold and unreadable. Two bright drops of blood stained his immaculate sleeve.
He radiated a lethal, chilling presence. The moment he looked up and locked eyes with her, his sharply defined face was icy, his gaze cold and merciless-like a specter straight out of hell.
Anastasia trembled, and the rose slipped from her fingers, falling soundlessly to the bloodstained floor.