Chapter 226

Serena's POV

I felt my eyes begin to sting, and a single tear slipped down my cheek. Somehow, I found myself smiling through it - a bittersweet mix of relief and heartache that felt uniquely fitting for the moment.

Atticus gently touched my elbow, smoothly guiding me toward the exit. The security team, despite their strict instructions about the gala's end time, merely nodded respectfully.

In the back of his Bentley, heading for airport, we sat in silence. I could feel Atticus watching me, probably noting how the vulnerability I'd shown in the ballroom had been replaced by my usual composure.

"Don't you want to know what went down with Rachel's grandfather?" His casual tone didn't quite mask his concern.

"Please," I gave him a knowing look. "It's not exactly rocket science."

"Enlighten me," he said, his lips quirking into that familiar half-smile.

I ticked off the points on my fingers: "One, he tried to pump you for information about your grandfather's condition and the family trust."

His raised eyebrow confirmed it.

"Two, he not-so-subtly suggested what a perfect power couple we'd make, conveniently blocking any chance of a Sinclair-Harrington merger."

"Got it in one," he admitted.

"And three," I paused, this realization still stinging, "he made sure we stayed just long enough to catch the Lucas and Rachel show." The Thornes hadn't pulled strings to get me into the Gala just to let me skip the main event.

"Christ, Serena," Atticus shook his head. "Sometimes that brilliant mind of yours must be exhausting. What if you'd just... I don't know, gone with your gut for once? Walked right up to Lucas, consequences be damned?"

I let out a short laugh. "This isn't a movie or webnovel, Atticus." Better to keep things professional, maintain the peace. Sometimes winning meant walking away.

The calm was shattered by a sudden swerve that had us both grabbing for the handles.

"Brooks?" Atticus called to the driver.

"Three SUVs, sir. They've been tailing us since we leave."

We turned to look - three black Escalades with high beams blazing were closing in fast.

"Get us out of here," Atticus ordered, his voice sharp.

"Yes, sir."

The Bentley surged forward, throwing us back against the leather seats. The streets were eerily quiet at this hour. The sudden roar of high-performance engines shattered that silence, echoing between the steel and glass canyons.

I watched as Atticus struggled with his phone, his usually steady hands-now trembling over the screen. For a man who'd weathered many storms in his life, his obvious distress sent warning bells ringing in my head.

"Can you handle this?" he asked, his polish cracking under pressure.

I took his phone without hesitation, though our driver's evasive maneuvers made even that simple task a challenge. My fingers brushed his hand-it was burning hot.

"Who's the contact?" I asked, trying my best to keep my voice calm.

"Get Wilson," he replied tersely.

I was scrolling through his contacts when the driver executed a sudden defensive driving maneuver that sent the phone flying. It disappeared somewhere under the custom leather seats.

"Brace yourselves!" the driver barked. Through the bulletproof glass, I caught sight of what had triggered his reaction-a matte black Escalade had come barreling through the intersection.

I unclipped my seatbelt and dove for the phone, fighting against the G-forces as we took corners. Just as my fingers closed around the device, we hit another sudden brake. The impact with the console made my head feel like it had been split open with a sledgehammer.

"Serena!" Atticus's voice cut through my disorientation, his grip on my arm steadying. He sounded more like a genuinely concerned human being.

Fighting back the wave of dizziness, I managed to dial Wilson and hit speaker. Atticus's voice filled the cabin: "Wilson, we've got a situation. Need immediate extraction. Track my location. Now."

"Copy that, Mr. Thorne. Activating Protocol Echo," came the efficient response.

"Share our live location through Signal. Wilson's team will intercept within minutes." He turned to me and controlled his breathing.

I nodded, wrestling with the phone while Atticus secured my seatbelt. I sent the location and confirmed with a quick, "Done."

When the driver reported we were being forced toward Lloyd District, I saw Atticus's expression darken. He tore a strip from his shirt and handed it to me. "For your head," he said quietly.

Only then did I notice the warm trickle of blood from where I'd hit the console. I felt the warm blood on my forehead, and an icy chill crept down my spine. Everything had happened in a blur - too fast to process. Only now did the horrifying truth sink in: this time was different from all the others. They weren't here to threaten or intimidate - they were here to kill us. A wave of primal fear surged through my body, bile rising in my throat.

But I forced it down. I couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now. Not when survival was the only thing that mattered. I had to live through this! I pressed the impromptu bandage to my forehead, muttering a thanks.

"This is on me," he said, regret coloring his words. "They're targeting me. You shouldn't be caught in this crossfire."

I shook my head, recognizing the bitter irony. "Maybe they're primarily after you, but I was already on their radar."