Chapter 18 - The Trap is Set
For five days, the estate was locked down like a military fortress. Every entry point was monitored, every vehicle inspected, and every digital ping traced across the coastline.
We didn't have to wait long for him to make his move.
On the sixth night, right around midnight, the primary motion sensors near the private helicopter landing pad—the exact same landing pad where Richard had smiled and kissed my forehead before our fateful flight three years ago—tripped.
"Movement on Sector Four," Marcus’s voice crackled through the encrypted earpiece in my ear. "One thermal signature. He's coming up the cliffside trail."
I sat in the darkness of my second-floor study, the room illuminated only by the soft, steady glow of my master security monitors. In my hands, I held a sleek, titanium-framed Smith & Wesson M&P Shield—a weapon I had learned to fire with lethal precision during my months of secret preparation.
"Let him in," I whispered into my comms unit.
"Amelia, that's too risky—" Marcus protested from the bunker.
"Let him reach the terrace," I commanded, my voice absolute. "This ends tonight. On my terms."
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Through the infrared security feeds, I watched a solitary figure clamber over the stone retaining wall of the terrace. He was soaked to the bone, his prison jumpsuit tattered and mud-stained, his hair matted against his forehead. The charismatic, untouchable billionaire was gone, replaced by a desperate, hollowed-out ghost driven entirely by blind, psychotic vengeance.
Richard crept toward the glass sliding doors of my study, a heavy steel crowbar clutched tightly in his right hand.
