I'm In Love With My Bestfriend's Billionaire Fiance!
Chapter 118: An Act Of Desperation...

Chapter 118: An Act Of Desperation...

(Jace’s POV)

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"Jace!"

Ethan’s voice pierced through the fog of my consciousness like a scream underwater—distant, distorted, desperate.

My ears rang, drowning everything out in a high-pitched static that felt like a drill in my skull. I blinked hard. Once. Twice. My vision was washed in white, an overwhelming glare that stung my eyes and made it impossible to focus. My limbs felt like they weren’t mine—numb, sluggish, too heavy.

"Shit..." I croaked, barely hearing my own voice. I tried to move, but my body rebelled fiercely, sending a cascade of pain shooting down my spine and across my ribs.

And then I felt it—hands, rough and frantic, grabbing the collar of my shirt and yanking me upright like I weighed nothing.

I groaned, dizzy, as the hallway spun around me.

"What the fuck, Jace?! Are you okay?" Ethan’s voice was raw, breathless, and much too close now. He gave me a harsh shake, his fingers clamped around my arms like a vice. "Talk to me!"

I blinked again and forced the spinning to stop. Ethan’s face finally came into focus—flushed, frantic, sweat dotting his forehead, his jaw tight with panic.

"I’m fine," I muttered, though I wasn’t. "It was just... a surprise attack."

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. But it sure as hell wasn’t the truth either. My chest throbbed like I’d been hit by a truck. Breathing hurt. Thinking about it hurt even more.

Then my brain caught up.

My eyes flew wide open.

"Where the fuck is Vic?" I snapped, adrenaline cutting through the pain like fire through fog. "Don’t tell me you let him escape!"

Ethan’s face twisted. "Of course he did!" he snapped back. "The second he dropped you, he bolted. I had two choices—chase him, or make sure you weren’t choking on your own blood. You won!"

I shoved him off with a growl, teeth clenched, fury burning hotter than the pounding in my skull. "What the fuck, Ethan! We can’t let him leave!!!"

Pain lanced through my ribs, but I didn’t stop. I pushed past him and staggered down the hall, the haze around my head giving way to sharp, urgent clarity. I didn’t care if I was concussed or broken—I had to catch him.

The hallway felt endless, each step harder than the last, but I forced myself forward. The moment we lost Vic Morano in this twisted labyrinth, it was game over. He knew the Abbey—every shadow, every shortcut, every place to vanish like smoke. Once he managed to get out of the compound, there will be no catching him.

We wouldn’t get another shot. I could not allow that to happen.

I heard a door slam up ahead, then quick footsteps—Vic’s. Fast and desperate.

He burst from one of the side rooms, a shadow in motion, his hair wild, face slick with sweat and adrenaline. He didn’t even look back—he just ran, heading straight for the exit like a man possessed.

And I ran too.

I didn’t think—I moved, lungs burning, legs screaming. Ethan was right behind me, his boots hammering the cracked tiles. We charged after him, the hallway narrowing like a tunnel in a nightmare. Vic reached the front door, wrenched it open, and disappeared into the scorching sun.

I hit the threshold a heartbeat later.

Outside, the air slapped me like a wall—humid, thick with the scent of mold, decay, and something electric, something alive.

I spotted him immediately—Vic sprinting across the courtyard, straight for the gaping mouth of the open gate.

"No—no, no, no, no!" I hissed.

I pushed harder.

Each breath was a stab in my chest, but I ignored it. My vision pulsed with every heartbeat, my head throbbing, but still I ran. My boots pounded the overgrown concrete path, weeds whipping at my legs. The shadows around the gate shifted—Vic was nearly there.

Vic was fast—but desperation made me faster.

His silhouette darted toward the gate like a shadow fleeing the light, feet pounding the ground in panicked rhythm. I felt every cell in my body screaming, Don’t let him get away. I dug deep, ignoring the splitting pain in my ribs, and hurled myself forward with everything I had.

I launched into the air, and for a fleeting second, gravity suspended us both. Then I crashed into him—shoulder first, full weight behind it. My body slammed into his back with a thunderous impact that sent a reverberation through my bones.

He didn’t even have time to cry out.

We slammed into the iron gate, the jarring clang echoing through the quiet, rotting courtyard like a warning bell. The force of the hit knocked the wind out of him—and me—but I didn’t let go. We tumbled to the ground in a violent tangle of limbs, dirt flying, blood pounding in our ears.

I rolled once, twice, then ended up on top of him. My knuckles curled instinctively, and I brought my fist crashing down into his jaw. The connection was brutal—a wet, satisfying crunch

filled the air as bone met bone. His head snapped sideways, and he let out a grunt of pain.

I drew back to hit him again, but he moved fast—too fast. Vic’s hand shot up and trapped mine at the wrist like a steel trap. Before I could react, his other hand snapped forward and cracked across my cheek, a punch so sharp it made stars explode across my vision.

Then he bucked violently and sent me rolling off him.

Pain exploded through my side as I hit the ground, but I twisted mid-fall and tried to scramble to my feet.

Vic beat me to it.

He surged up with a snarl, lips bleeding, eyes wild. He aimed a vicious kick at my ribs—but before it could land, Ethan exploded into the scene like a wrecking ball.

He caught Vic mid-swing, parrying the kick with a brutal shoulder block, then reached up and grabbed Vic by the throat.

I watched as Ethan slammed him hard against the gate.

Metal groaned under the pressure, hinges shrieking in protest. The gate buckled slightly, but held. Vic struggled—kicking, clawing, gasping—but Ethan had locked in like a vice, his hand crushing against Vic’s neck with terrifying precision.

"Stay down," Ethan hissed, voice cold, low, and deadly.

Vic thrashed wildly, but Ethan didn’t let up. He pressed harder, his arm flexing, his knuckles white. I could see the life draining from Vic’s face—the anger, the panic, the fire—flickering out like a dying bulb.

His movements slowed.

Then stopped.

He slumped.

Ethan kept his grip for a second longer—just to be sure—before finally letting go.

Vic’s knees gave out beneath him. He collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, limp and unconscious. Ethan caught him before he hit the ground, his body moving with trained efficiency. Without a word, he hoisted Vic over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, grunting as the dead weight settled into place.

I stood, panting, shaking, the adrenaline crash hitting hard. My cheek throbbed. My ribs screamed. My fists trembled—not from fear, but from the restraint it took not to pummel Vic’s unconscious body into the gravel.

Ethan gave me a look. "Let’s go," he said quietly.

I nodded, and together, we turned back toward the house.

As we reentered that haunted wreck of a place, dragging an unconscious man who’d just tried to escape justice, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of invisible eyes pressing in on us. The night air was still, but the silence was too perfect, as if the Abbey itself was watching.

I scanned the shadows, the broken windows, the crumbling balconies.

Had someone seen us?

Had someone watched us tackle Vic, beat him, choke him out?

The thought sent a chill down my spine, but I pushed it aside.

Right now, I didn’t care.

Right now, we had him.

And I was finally going to get some answers.

As we stepped over the cracked threshold, Ethan grunted under Vic’s weight and carried him down the flickering hallway. The lights still buzzed overhead, casting long, disjointed shadows that danced against the filth-covered walls. Every creak of the floorboards echoed like a warning.

I followed them in silence, my boots sticking slightly to the grime beneath me.

Something shifted in the air.

It wasn’t just the smell—though that was still pungent with mildew, sweat, and stale rot. It was the feeling. The house felt... alive now. Alert. Like it knew what we’d done.

Ethan hauled Vic into the room I’d been attacked in—his room, the only clean space in the entire house. He dropped him roughly onto the bed, and Vic’s head lolled to one side, a thin stream of blood trickling from his split lip down to the pristine pillow.

It was poetic.

Ethan looked at me, chest still rising and falling fast. "What now?"

I stared at Vic, my fists clenched.

Now?

Now we wait.

Now we dig.

Now we find out why this twisted bastard was hiding here, in this forgotten carcass of a house, and what the hell he’d been planning.

And when he wakes up?

He’ll talk.

He will talk.

No matter what... I would make sure he talks!

One way or another.