Chapter 23: Twelve hours
Kian watched Alice leave through the heavy glass doors of the restaurant, her hips swaying with a lightness that hadn’t been there an hour ago.
She was happy. She had swallowed his story about the trap down to the last drop, just as he knew she would.
It gave her comfort to think he was still the cold, calculating man she had always known, acting out of strategy rather than emotion.
He leaned back in his chair, taking a final sip of his wine. The glass was cool against his lips, but inside, his chest felt hot and tight.
His mind drifted back to the quiet, dark room at the estate.
He wondered if Isabella had touched the food the maids brought up.
He wondered if she was still sitting in the dark, her knees pulled to her chest, refusing to say a word.
The thought of her sitting up there, weak and pale, was driving him out of his mind.
He kept telling himself it was just a phase. She was tired, she was confused, and her head was filled with nonsense.
Once things settled down, she would realize how foolish she was being. She would come back to him.
He had already instructed Luke to quietly look into contacting their private doctor, someone who could prescribe a strong sedative or a quiet regimen of nerve pills.
Just something to take the sharp edge off her anxiety, something to keep her calm and resting until her head cleared. It was for her own good. He couldn’t have her tearing up rooms and hurting herself in the dark.
Kian stood up, threw a stack of bills onto the table, and walked out to his waiting car.
The rain had stopped, leaving the night air damp and heavy. Kian climbed into the back seat, staring out the darkened window as the driver pulled away from the curb.
Ten minutes into the drive, his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket.
Kian pulled it out. The screen showed an unregistered, burner number, a long, messy sequence of digits that didn’t belong to any local network.
His old instincts, honed over years of living in the shadows before he ever wore a silk tie, flared up instantly.
The number was masked. It was routed through three different proxy servers, built to bounce a signal so no trace could be dragged back to the source.
Only someone who knew how to hide in the dark used numbers like that.
Kian answered, pressing the phone to his ear without saying a word.
A quiet, low chuckle came through the speaker. It was deep, completely unbothered, and carried a light, arrogant warmth that made the hair on the back of Kian’s neck stand up.
"I wondered if you’d answer," Aaron said.
Kian’s jaw tightened instantly. The sound of Aaron’s voice made his blood run cold with pure, unadulterated disgust. He hated the man.
He had hated him from the moment they first crossed paths years ago.
Aaron carried himself like a king who owned every room he stepped into, arrogant, smooth, and sickeningly powerful.
But what infuriated Kian most was that Aaron’s arrogance wasn’t an act. The man had the money, the men, and the ruthless streak to back up every word that came out of his mouth.
"You’re calling from a burner line, Kazarov," Kian said, his voice flat and bitter. "You’ve got three seconds to tell me why before I hang up."
"Now, now," Aaron replied, his tone smooth and light, as if he were catching up with an old friend over drinks. "Don’t be so quick to drop the line, Mr. Carter. It wouldn’t be very wise."
Kian gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles turning white. "What do you want?"
"I think you already know what I want," Aaron said softly.
"I told the world yesterday morning," Kian spat, staring coldly out the window as the streetlights flashed by. "My wife and I are handling our personal matters internally. Stay the hell away from her."
"I would love to respect your privacy," Aaron said, though there wasn’t a trace of respect in his voice.
"Except, of course, I’d like to hear that from Isabella myself. Strangely enough, no one seems to be able to reach her. Her phone goes straight to voicemail. No one can get past the front gate. It’s almost as if someone is keeping her hidden away."
Kian felt a dark spike of tension in his chest. Isabella’s phone was currently sitting in the inner pocket of his coat. He had taken it the night he brought her back.
"My wife is ill," Kian said, his voice dropping into a hard, rigid tone. "She is resting at home under my care. She doesn’t have time to entertain calls from you. She isn’t interested."
On the other end of the line, Aaron went quiet for a beat. When he spoke again, the playful, light edge was entirely gone from his voice. What replaced it was a low, heavy weight that cut straight through the phone.
"You must think I’m a child, Kian," Aaron said softly. "You keep talking about what you decided. What you want. What you think is best."
A small pause stretched out over the line.
"You haven’t mentioned Isabella’s wishes once."
Kian’s breath hitched in his throat. The cold, heavy silence in the car felt suddenly suffocating. He clamped his teeth together, refusing to give Aaron the satisfaction of an answer.
"I’m giving you twelve hours," Aaron said calmly.
Kian let out a short, harsh laugh. "Or what? You’re in no position to issue demands to me."
"Twelve hours," Aaron repeated, completely ignoring Kian’s words. "Twelve hours to let her walk out of that front door of her own free will. If she stands in front of me and tells me to my face that she wants to stay with you... I’ll walk away. I won’t touch your family or your business ever again."
"She is my wife," Kian hissed, his patience snapping. "You seem to have forgotten who she belongs to."
"No," Aaron replied smoothly, without a single hint of hesitation. "I remember perfectly. The problem is... you seem to have forgotten she’s a Kingston."
The words landed like a physical blow. Kian’s eyes burned with anger. "You think you can just march onto my land and take her?"
Aaron gave a faint, quiet sigh. "I’m not going to argue with you, Kian. I’m telling you what is going to happen. Twelve hours. After that... I’m no longer asking."
The line went dead with a soft click.
Kian pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the black screen. His breathing was fast and shallow.
The arrogant bastard thought he could issue orders? In twelve hours, Aaron would realize just how heavily guarded the Kingston estate really was.
Kian had an army of security guards, electric fences, and iron gates. Aaron couldn’t touch him.
Yet, a small, ugly knot of anxiety began to twist in Kian’s stomach. Aaron wasn’t a man who made empty boasts. If he said twelve hours, he was planning something.