Pretty boy.
That’s what Preston thought of Elmer as he sized him up.
Elmer noticed Preston’s unfriendly stare, but instead of getting angry, he just smiled, unbothered.
“Mr. Winslow, do you like Nia too?”
Elmer’s tone was as casual as if he were asking about the weather.
Preston’s face flushed bright red in an instant.
“W–what? Who says I like her? We’re… we’re just friends, that’s all…”
He stammered through the words, his cheeks burning as if he’d been steamed alive.
His heart hammered in his chest.
Elmer gave a faint, knowing smile.
“Good to hear…”
“What do you mean, ‘good to hear‘? Say what you really mean.”
Preston shot him a glare.
Elmer’s handsome, refined face stayed perfectly calm, his voice as clean and crisp
as fresh snow.
But his next words sent a jolt through Preston.
“Because Nia will be mine, sooner or later. I’d advise you not to waste your time on
her.”
As Elmer threw down his challenge, Niamh was on the phone in a quiet corner of the park.
Carlisle was on the other end.
“That number and payment account you gave me? Both are overseas burner lines. I’m still digging into who’s behind the servers–they’re slippery. All I know is the trail leads to Blackspire, but it might not be aimed at you specifically. Could be someone selling burner numbers. As for who else used the number that hired the thugs, I did find something…”
Niamh listened silently. Names were already taking shape in her mind; she just
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needed hard evidence.
“It’s Susy Fraser. The Fraser family’s golden girl.”
Meanwhile, in the hospital room, Prescott was reporting his findings to Jonathan.
Jonathan’s tightly furrowed brow eased, just a little.
“I understand. You can go.”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as Prescott left, Jonathan’s frown returned, deeper than before.
His stomach, which had finally stopped aching, began to throb again.
Hearing Susy was the one behind the hired thugs had actually come as a relief.
But…
Was Marina really innocent in all this?
If Susy was the mastermind, did she really need to go so far as to insist the thugs ruin Niamh’s hands?
The more Jonathan thought about it, the worse his stomach felt.
A memory surfaced–of a young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, with delicate features, hair dyed a silvery gray, and a mouth full of braces. It was hard to say if she looked obedient or rebellious.
Jonathan pressed a hand to his chest, torn.
So…
Was it him who had changed?
Or had his Rina changed?
Or maybe… they’d both changed.
For three days straight, Marina didn’t go anywhere. She holed up in her room and
cut off the internet.
By now, her jewelry design career had practically collapsed. But the truth was, she didn’t have any other skills.
That PhD in psychology? Fake. She’d bought it, just so she could impress people, and seem accomplished.
Edna had advised her to keep a low profile for now–wait for the storm around
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Niamh to blow over. With the connections she’d built up through Jonathan, she could always find a way to bounce back.
Marina thought it made sense, so she handed her studio over to her deputy for the time being.
Even if her current clients didn’t want to keep working with her in the future, at least for now they were bound by contracts. She hadn’t breached any agreements, it was unlikely anyone would risk breaking the deal prematurely.
But on the fourth evening, her deputy called in a panic:
“Ms. Thornton, something’s wrong!”
