Chapter 140
Jackson slammed his fist against the desk, the sound echoing through the cold office walls. His tie was loosened, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched so tightly it felt like his bones would crack.
“How the hell have you still not found her?” he shouted at the team of men standing before him.
The lead investigator lowered his head. “We’ve checked every lead, sir. Someone’s hiding her. Someone powerful, and they’ve erased every trace.”
wwww
Jackson’s throat burned with fury. “I paid you millions. I don’t care what you need–bribe the police, scan airports, interrogate locals. I don’t care if she changed her name or her face. Find her.”
The men nodded and exited silently.”
Jackson sank into his chair, breath ragged. He hated how desperate he sounded–how obsessed. He’d told himself for weeks that he just wanted her back to fix the company, to clear her name only to protect their brand.
But that lie had long dissolved.\
Because as the months dragged on, and Samantha remained gone, he realized something else–something deeper. Something he had never wanted to admit.
He missed her.”
Not just her presence, but her laugh. Her quiet loyalty. The way she’d make tea when his head ached, how she fixed his tie without asking, how she never forgot anything about him–not even the way he liked his eggs.}
He missed how their house used to feel like a home. Now, it was cold marble and louder silences.
He remembered the day she had first asked him if she could open a flower shop. Her eyes had sparkled with hope, her voice shy as she held a brochure of a property outside the city. “It’s small,” she had said. “But I think I could make something
beautiful out of it.”
He had laughed. Called it unprofitable. Said it was a waste of time. “You’ll go bankrupt before the first rose blooms,” he’d said,
She had smiled tightly and never brought it up again.
He didn’t know it then, but that was the first time he killed her dream.
That truth gutted him. So, like the coward he now realized he was, he fled the house that no longer felt like home and headed for the only place that numbed the ache.
A bar.
He sat in a VIP booth at a private lounge, downing glass after glass of whiskey. The music pounded through the walls, but he was deaf to it. Lost in thoughts of her. Her touch. Her scent. Her tears.
He closed his eyes and saw her again–bruised, begging, whispering let me go–and his stomach twisted with guilt so sharp, he nearly vomited.
He left the booth momentarily, needing air, needing space from his own mind. But as he passed one of the private side lounges, he paused.”
A voice caught his ear.
Candice.
He narrowed his eyes and took a cautious step closer, remaining just outside the door.
“I want it clean, Candice whispered sharply. “Make sure she dies. And Jackson must never know.”
His blood froze./
“I’m paying you double for silence,” she continued. “You get it done, and disappear. Leave no trace.“”
The man she was talking to shifted nervously. “You… you really want to kill Samantha?”
kill so
“Don’t say her name, Candice snapped. “She’s taken enough from me. I want her gone.”
“That’s… that’s murder. This is evil.”
Candice laughed bitterly. “There’s no such thing as evil when you’re protecting what’s yours. Jackson is mine. He belongs to me. I gave birth to Nathan. I raised him. I sacrificed for him.”
She leaned in closer.!
“I hurt him that day,” she said softly. “I made it look like Samantha had him kidnapped. You should’ve seen Jackson. He was furious. I made him believe she was evil… and it worked.“”
The man shifted again, stunned. “You set her up? The kidnapping… the hospital of your son… it all fake? It was you we were dealing and not Samantha?”
Candice smirked. “Every. Last. Tear.“”
Jackson’s entire world tilted. His breath caught in his throat. His mind played the memories again–Samantha screaming that
she didn’t do it. the horror in her eves. the betraval in her voice.
11:02 AM
*
she didn’t do it, the horror in her eyes, the betrayal in her voice.
He had believed Candice. He had punished Samantha.
He had locked her away. Hurt her. Let her bleed. And now… now he saw the truth.
He didn’t barge in. Didn’t confront Candice. His rage was too precise for that. Instead, he waited–silent, trembling–until Candice was gone.”
Then, he approached the man she had hired.\
The guy was seated near the bar, checking his phone, probably expecting Candice to return. But instead, a hand grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall.”
Jackson’s face was dark, dangerous. A gun was pressed into the man’s ribs.
“Tell me,” Jackson growled through clenched teeth. “How much did she pay to kill Samantha?“\
The man trembled. “I–I… don’t shoot-“}
“I said–how much?”
“Three million! But I didn’t do anything yet! I swear! I was still thinking-”
“Where is she?” Jackson barked. “Where is Samantha right now?”
“I don’t know! I swear! But I know the address Candice gave me. It’s where she thinks Samantha is living. A flower shop in the countryside, I think.”
Jackson pressed the barrel harder. “Give. Me. The. Address.“}
The man fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it over.
Jackson snatched it.<
He didn’t say thank you. Didn’t issue threats.
He just whispered–more to himself than anyone-“I’m going to have you back, Samantha… you are mine.“}
And this time, he meant it.”
