Chapter 675

The suitcase wheels clicked against the hardwood floor as Isabella Morgan dragged it toward the bedroom door.

Sebastian Powell's hand shot out, gripping her wrist. "Let me help you with that." His voice carried an edge of desperation she hadn't heard before.

She shook him off. "Everything's packed." Her tone was ice.

His gaze dropped to the untouched closet. She hadn't even bothered to unpack during her stay at the penthouse.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Were you planning to disappear without a word?"

The accusation hung between them.

Then crimson bloomed across his tailored slacks.

Sebastian recoiled. "Isabella—"

The pain hit like a sledgehammer. Her knees buckled.

He caught her as she swayed, his fingers coming away wet. "Christ, you're bleeding!"

This wasn't normal. The scarlet stain spreading across her skirt was too bright, too much.

"Hospital. Now." He swept her into his arms.

Isabella twisted violently. "Put me down!"

She wrenched free and slammed the bedroom door in his face, turning the lock with trembling fingers.

Blood trickled down her thighs as she slid to the floor.

"Sebastian," she gasped through the pain, "just go."

One night. That's all she needed to endure. By dawn, this would be over.

His fists pounded against the door. "You're hemorrhaging!"

"Period." She bit her lip until copper filled her mouth. "Heavy flow."

"Bullshit. Open this door!"

"Not your problem anymore." She curled into herself, riding the waves of agony.

Silence. Then retreating footsteps.

The grandfather clock struck three when the front door exploded inward.

Isabella barely had time to register the splintering wood before rough hands yanked her upright.

"Daniel Foster sends his regards," sneered the man with prison tattoos snaking up his neck.

Her pulse skyrocketed. These weren't Alexander Whitmore's men.

Rope bit into her wrists as they trussed her like game. "What does some two-bit gangster want with me?"

The backhand sent her sprawling.

"Your precious brother Andrew crossed the wrong people." The leader crouched, grabbing a fistful of her hair. "Three of my boys are in body bags thanks to him."

Isabella's laugh was bloody. "Then go after Evelyn Carter! She's Alexander's wife—"

"Alexander?" The thug exchanged glances with his crew. "Well, well. Seems we hit the jackpot twice."

A syringe flashed. Darkness swallowed her whole.

Eric Simmons licked his lips. "Boss, she's prime merchandise. We could get triple—"

Daniel's punch sent him reeling. "That bitch's brother cost me $20 million. Tonight, Andrew Morgan watches his sister die."

The text blazed across Daniel's burner phone: Got your leverage. Come alone or she's shark food.

Somewhere in the city, a phone vibrated against a mahogany desk. Andrew Morgan's blood ran cold.