Chapter 196
[ 521 words ]
Chapter 196:
She walked to the front registers, her mind a chaotic blur of adrenaline and dread, completely devoid of any desire to make small talk or wait for a slow card reader. She pulled three crumpled twenty-dollar bills from her pocket, dropped them on the counter, and took the useless treats without waiting for her change.
Caroline pushed through the glass doors. The crisp, cold autumn wind of Alexandria hit her face, making her shiver violently.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened the encrypted military app. The screen was still a dead, terrifying black. No messages. No proof of life.
Her psychological defenses were crumbling.
She walked to the corner of the street, raised her hand, and hailed a black Uber SUV. She gave the driver the address to Jarrod’s downtown penthouse.
Caroline slid into the cold leather backseat and stared blankly out the window at the passing city. She realized, with a sickening drop in her stomach, that she had nowhere else to go. The dangerous, silent penthouse was her only remaining sanctuary.
Forty minutes later, Caroline stepped into the private elevator. The heavy metal doors slid shut with a loud, absolute click, locking her back inside the dead, silent world Jarrod had built.
𝗟atеѕ𝘁 c𝘩𝘢𝘱𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈n 𝘨𝘢𝘭n𝘰v𝘦𝘭𝘴.сo𝗆
Caroline dragged her feet across the dark hardwood floor of the penthouse. She didn’t even bother taking off her oversized hoodie. She collapsed onto the massive gray fabric sofa in the living room and immediately fell into a heavy, exhausting sleep.
Miles away, across the Potomac River, the scene shifted to the heavily fortified Romero family estate in Georgetown.
It was late Saturday night. The dim, yellow glow of the security wall sconces cast long, fractured shadows across the expensive Persian rugs lining the second-floor hallway.
Harper Romero paced the corridor. She wore a pure silk lounging robe that cost more than most people’s cars. She held a crystal glass of sparkling water, her manicured nails tapping aggressively against the rim.
She was in a foul mood. Cornelia had just spent twenty minutes screaming at her over a massive, six-figure credit card bill.
As Harper passed the heavy, double oak doors at the end of the hall — the entrance to General Augustus’s private study — she suddenly stopped walking.
The doors were not completely shut. A tiny, half-inch sliver of dark space remained open.
Through the crack, Harper heard the low, distinctly British voice of Carson Finch, the estate’s head butler.
Harper’s eyes narrowed. Her instincts flared. The General’s study was an absolute restricted zone. Finch never delivered reports this late on a Saturday night unless it was a matter of extreme family security.
She set her crystal glass down on a nearby mahogany side table, moved silently, pressed her back against the wall, and slid closer to the crack in the door.
Through the narrow gap, she could see Finch standing at attention in front of the General’s massive desk. He was holding a thick, black folder stamped with the insignia of Spectre Advisory.
Finch’s voice drifted clearly into the hallway. He was reading from a highly detailed background check.
Then Harper heard the name.
“Caroline Thompson.”
Harper’s breath caught in her throat. Her grip on the doorframe tightened.
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