Chapter 17 - The Phantom of the Penthouse
The engine of Nathaniel’s armored Maybach roared like a wounded beast, tearing through the flooded avenues of the city. Rain lashed the windshield in violent sheets, blurring the crimson smear of traffic lights. In the backseat, Rose gripped Nathaniel’s hand with bruising strength, her knuckles bloodless. Beside her, little Leo was curled against the leather seats, wrapped in blankets and finally asleep from sheer exhaustion.
"Faster, Marcus!" Nathaniel barked, his voice raw, stripped of all billionaire composure.
"Pedal is to the floor, sir," Marcus answered grimly from the front, swerving around a stalled delivery truck. "Perimeter feed at Vance Manor went completely dark forty seconds ago. Arthur Thorne brought professional mercenaries. He didn't come to negotiate."
Nathaniel closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. His mother, Eleanor, was still frail, recovering from the initial fall that had nearly stolen her life. To subject her to the rooftop once more was not merely cruelty—it was Arthur Thorne’s twisted signature, an obsession with poetic destruction.
"He won't hurt her before we get there," Rose said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. She looked into Nathaniel’s haunted eyes. "Arthur is a narcissist, Nathaniel. Men like him don't kill in the dark. He needs an audience. He needs you to watch."
Nathaniel turned to her, his expression a mixture of profound agony and awe. Rose was drenched, her maid’s uniform torn and soaked in river water, yet she sat beside him like an iron-willed queen. "I promised to protect you and my family, Rose. And every step I take drags you deeper into hell."
"We walked into hell together when I caught your mother on the terrace edge," Rose replied, her fingers tightening around his. "Now we finish it."
The car slammed through the iron gates of Vance Manor. The security lodge was destroyed, glass littering the asphalt, two guards slumped unconscious in the rain. Marcus brought the car to a screeching halt directly in front of the marble portico.
Nathaniel drew a tactical sidearm from beneath the glove compartment, checking the chamber with a lethal, metallic click. Rose grabbed a heavy steel wrench from Marcus’s emergency kit beneath the seat.
"Marcus, stay with Leo. Lock the doors. If anyone touches this car, put a bullet through them," Nathaniel commanded.
"Understood, sir. God be with you."
Nathaniel and Rose burst into the grand foyer. The crystal chandelier above was swinging gently, casting fractured shadows across marble floors stained with fresh footprints. The mansion was tomb-silent, save for the hum of the emergency elevator generator ascending toward the penthouse terrace.
May you like
High above them, through the central glass atrium, a solitary silhouette stood against the stormy sky, holding a trembling figure in a wheelchair by the edge of eternity.
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