Chapter 974:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

Giselle’s eyes widened. She saw it as a monumental step, a signal that he was choosing her. Her face lit up with a triumphant, ecstatic glow.

“I’d like that,” she breathed. “I’d like that very much.”

She personally led him upstairs to a guest suite, her hand lingering on his arm just a moment too long.

Hilliard stepped inside. The moment the door clicked shut and the lock engaged, the mask of warmth vanished from his face. It was replaced by a look of cold, hard focus. He pulled a micro-computer from his coat and began decrypting the stolen data.

Across town, in the war room of the Van Doren estate, a silent alarm flashed on Eleonora’s private tablet.

Giselle’s subterranean lab had been accessed. Off-schedule.

The visitor log showed one name: Hilliard Holloway.

Eleonora’s finely sculpted eyebrows drew together. A man who would go to war with the world for Cailin Morton did not suddenly develop a casual interest in biochemistry.

A cold knot of dread tightened in her stomach.

She picked up a secure, encrypted phone.

“I want a full background sweep on Hilliard Holloway,” she said, her voice like ice. “I want to know every single person he’s spoken to in the last forty-eight hours. Every word.”

𝘛𝗿𝘦ոdіng ո𝗼𝘷е𝘭ѕ о𝗇 𝗴а𝗹ո𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗅s.c𝗼m

The first weak rays of morning sunlight sliced through the blinds of the guest room. Hilliard unplugged the micro-drive, his eyes bloodshot from a night spent staring at lines of code.

He ran a hand over his face, the rasp of his stubble loud in the quiet room. He straightened his slightly rumpled shirt collar and opened the door.

Downstairs, Giselle was sitting at a small breakfast table, a cup of coffee cradled in her hands. She looked up as he descended the staircase, her face lighting up.

She stood, moving to intercept him, her shoulder brushing deliberately against the lapel of his suit jacket as he passed.

“You’re up early,” she murmured, a playful pout on her lips.

“An early board meeting,” Hilliard said, his tone cool and dismissive. He didn’t slow his stride.

In the brief moment of contact, a tiny, almost invisible smear of coral-pink lipstick transferred from her lips to the dark wool of his inner lapel. A mark of ownership. A silent declaration.

Hilliard, his mind already on the decrypted data and the coming war, felt nothing. He didn’t notice the faint, cloying scent of her perfume or the tiny stain she’d left behind. He simply walked to the front door and let himself out.

His SUV sped back toward his penthouse. He shed the jacket as soon as he was inside, tossing it onto the arm of a leather sofa before disappearing into his study to connect with his security team.

Half an hour later, the chime of the private elevator announced an arrival.

Mia had come for Cailin’s medical authorization forms. The housekeeper let her into the vast, silent living room to wait.

Her eyes immediately fell on the discarded jacket. It was a beautiful piece of custom tailoring, impossibly expensive.

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