I'm In Love With My Bestfriend's Billionaire Fiance!
Chapter 116: Vic Is Home(?!)

Chapter 116: Vic Is Home(?!)

(Jace’s POV)

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"He’s home," Ethan said, eyes locked on mine, his voice low but steady. A rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. That was the first good news I’d gotten all damn day since I left Casey’s place.

I tried to mirror his smile, "Finally," I muttered. "Let’s do this, shall we?"

I turned, ready to move, my legs already humming with adrenaline. But before I could take a full step, Ethan’s hand shot out and gripped my arm like a steel vice.

"Not so fast, boss," he said, his tone sharpening.

I yanked back instinctively. "Ethan, come on. Don’t start with me right now."

He didn’t let go.

His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching there. "No," he said, quiet but firm. "Not this time. I can’t let you jump headfirst into whatever hell waits behind that door. My job is to protect you—remember? So let me do that."

"Actually," I snapped, eyes narrowing, "your job is to do as I say. And right now, I’m telling you—let me go."

For a beat, neither of us moved. A standoff carved from heat and history.

Ethan exhaled through his nose, his grip loosening just slightly. "Jace..."

I stepped in, chest brushing his. "You know me," I said, voice low and shaking not from fear, but fury. "You know

I’m not the type to sit on my hands while someone else fights my battles. Vic Morano made a move. On me. On the people I care about. And now he thinks he’s untouchable? That he can send shadows and whispers to tear my life apart, and I’ll just cower behind bodyguards? No. No chance in hell."

Ethan didn’t interrupt. He just stood there, lips pressed into a thin line, watching me with the same stormcloud eyes I’d seen too many times—right before a fight. Right before something burned.

I stepped back. "I have to be there when this goes down."

A beat passed. Then two.

Finally, he gave a grudging nod. "Fine," he muttered. "But you stay close. Don’t try to play hero unless you have to. Promise me that much. I still remember how shit went with Ramon and I don’t want a repeat of that, okay?"

I didn’t answer. I just rolled my eyes and gestured toward the door. "You’re wasting time."

This time, I let him lead.

We stepped out of the rundown little shanty that had been shielding us from the worst of the midday sun. The heat slammed into us like a wall—dry and unforgiving, smothering every breath we took. The street in front of us stretched like a mirage, wavering under the weight of the heat.

It was empty.

Dead silent.

Not a soul in sight.

Not even a single car creeping down the road. No breeze to rustle the faded leaves piled along the curb. Just the echo of our boots striking the pavement—sharp, cold, and far too loud in the stillness. It felt like the calm before something awful. Like the whole street was holding its breath, waiting to scream.

"You sure he’s in there?" I asked, eyes locked on the squat, shadowed house across the way.

"Confirmed," Ethan said without turning. "I saw movement myself a few minutes ago. Curtains shifted. Lights flickered. Someone’s in there."

We crossed the street slowly, deliberately. Every step felt heavier than the last, the sun pressing down like a hand on the back of my neck. I could feel sweat gathering at my brow, rolling down my spine. But it wasn’t just the heat. It was the anticipation. The fire. The threat.

The house loomed larger with every step. Once painted white, the siding had turned gray with grime. The windows were shut, heavy curtains drawn, the porch cracked and sagging like the house had grown tired of standing. The gate looked battered and rugged like it had survived so many battles, and was on the verge of yet another one.

The gate stood wide open.

It wasn’t just ajar—it yawned like the slack jaw of something dead, or something waiting. One hinge had all but torn away from the rusted post, the other hung on with a moan of protest, its joints eaten alive by time and neglect. If there’d been wind, the thing would’ve swung and groaned like a warning bell from an old horror flick. But there was no wind. No sound. Just the flat, heavy silence of heat and dust, and the faint crackle of something unseen.

We stepped through.

The air shifted the moment we crossed that threshold—thickened, as though we’d entered a different atmosphere entirely. The kind that didn’t want us there.

The compound was a ruin—no, more than that. It was a corpse. A hollowed-out carcass of what might once have been a home, now devoured by time and neglect.

Nature hadn’t just crept in—it had stormed the gates, victorious.

Vines as thick as ropes twisted up the crumbling walls, clawing into the faded bricks like they meant to pull them down, brick by brick. They slithered through shattered windows and hung down from the gutter like severed veins. It was as though the entire house was being digested by the earth that once supported it.

The concrete beneath our feet wasn’t much better. Cracks split it in all directions, like a spiderweb after an earthquake. Through those fractures, tall weeds had erupted—defiant, unrelenting. They swayed gently in the stagnant air, brushing against our legs like cold fingers.

There was no sound. No birdsong. No insects. Just the distant, droning hum of the city that seemed impossibly far away from this place—like we’d stepped through a tear in the world and crossed into something abandoned and forgotten.

Even the light felt wrong here. It filtered through the heavy air in long, sickly beams, casting strange shadows across the property.

Every step deeper into the compound felt like an intrusion. Like we were trespassers in a place that remembered pain.

My boot struck something solid, and I staggered, catching myself just before I fell. I looked down—and froze.

A jagged strip of metal protruded from the dirt like a shard of bone. It curled in on itself unnaturally, rusted and sharp-edged, and it took me a moment to realize it wasn’t just junk. It was part of something worse.

Following the twisted metal with my eyes, I saw where it led—into the ground, where a thick black cable bulged up from the soil, frayed and humming faintly with dangerous energy. Its insulation was stripped in places, revealing copper veins that pulsed with barely-contained power. The soft electric buzz was unmistakable—alive, hungry.

Someone had tried to warn others. A charred, melted tire had been carelessly tossed over it like a last-minute afterthought. It leaned sideways now, deformed from the heat, its edges crusted black. The smell of scorched rubber lingered faintly in the air, and I didn’t have to imagine what might’ve happened to someone less careful.

"Jesus..." I muttered, my voice barely more than breath. I took a slow step back, not trusting the ground beneath me.

A place like this shouldn’t exist in a society like ours. Not anymore. It felt untouched by civilization—as though it had been deliberately buried under the weight of silence, then left to rot. This place was a hazard!

"What the fuck, Vic..." I whispered, shaking my head slowly as I scanned the devastation before me. "What is this place?"

Ethan remained silent beside me, but I could feel the tension radiating off him. His eyes swept the perimeter, one hand resting near the concealed grip of his pistol. It wasn’t just wariness—it was instinct. A primal sense that this place wasn’t merely abandoned. It had been left behind... for a reason.

And suddenly, I wasn’t so sure we wanted to find out what that reason was.

But we were here now. No turning back.

Ethan said nothing behind me. But I knew he was scanning everything, eyes trained for movement, for threats, for any sign that this was more than just decay. I envied him, a little. I couldn’t stop thinking about the man himself.

Vic Morano.

The deeper I walked into his world, the more impossible it became to make sense of him. Who the hell was he, really? A ghost? A criminal mastermind? A bored sociopath playing games with people’s lives just for the thrill of it?

Whoever he was, this didn’t match the man who’d systematically dismantled parts of my world. This house—this ruin—was a contradiction. And contradictions are dangerous.

We moved fast now, cutting across the cracked yard, each step kicking up clouds of dust and dead insects. A shed stood off to the side, its door partially open, revealing the edge of something covered in tarp. I didn’t want to know. Not yet.

Ahead, the front door waited—tall, swollen from weather damage, paint peeling like burnt skin. Ethan reached it first.

Without a word, he dropped to one knee, fishing two metal pins from his pocket with the kind of precision that told you he’d done this a hundred times before. The lock-picking tools caught the sun as he held them up, his fingers moving deftly toward the handle.

But before he could even touch the lock, the door creaked.

Then it swung open.

Not just a crack, not just a hesitant push—but wide.

Inviting.

My stomach dropped.

Ethan froze, eyes darting toward me, every inch of him tense and wired.

"I didn’t touch it," he whispered. His voice, usually so grounded, had an edge I rarely heard.

"I know," I said. My voice didn’t sound like mine either.

The door gaped before us, revealing nothing but darkness beyond the threshold. No hallway light. No creak of movement inside. Just a void.

Something about that silence felt wrong. Not peaceful. Not still. But expectant.

"This isn’t good," he said.

"No shit," I breathed, trying to ignore the chill crawling up my spine despite the suffocating heat outside.

Was Morano expecting us? Were we walking right into a trap?

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