Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 32: I Wish She Would Disappear

Chapter 32: I Wish She Would Disappear

FIONA GRAND

I was supposed to be on my way to Paris.

My boarding pass was tucked into my designer purse, my luggage packed and in the trunk of the sleek sedan, and I was tucked into the backseat, stewing in my rage.

How dare Nathan choose Vanessa over me. I’d loved him since we were children, since the first time he’d played house with me in kindergarten. I’d spent years perfecting myself for him—my manners, my smile, my body—and he’d thrown me away for Vanessa Belmont and their contract marriage.

My phone case cracked under my grip.

The driver cleared his throat again. "Ma’am? The airport?"

I opened my mouth to give him the go-ahead, even though the last place I wanted to go was the airport. I didn’t want to return to France, either. Mother had made it clear that I needed to marry a wealthy man.

It was beneficial to me to keep my mother happy, even if that meant being the bankroll for her drinking and gambling. Nathan didn’t know it, but the living expenses he gave us every month went toward our surmounting debt.

No. I couldn’t return to Paris, but I had nowhere to go in Ash City. My father had burned every bridge to our friends and family when he stole their money. I thought about the man Mother had arranged for me to marry in Paris.

I shuddered.

"Ma’am?"

Ding.

A text. Unknown number.

Meet me. I’ll solve your Vanessa problem.

My pulse spiked. Was this a trap? A joke?

I didn’t care. A map with a dropped pin appeared under the text.

"Change of plans," I told the driver, and then I gave him the address.

***|***|***|***|***

The coffee shop reeked of cheap java and stale donuts. He was already waiting—dark eyes, tailored suit, a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all.

I sat down in the booth opposite him. He leaned in slowly, and the dim café lighting caught the sharp angles of his face. His fingers, nails perfectly manicured, tapped against the chipped Formica table—a quiet, rhythmic threat.

I leaned back, crossed my arms, and gave him the once-over. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Gregory Savage."

"Never heard of you."

"I make sure no one does." His gaze was black. Cold. Terrifying. "Before we discuss business, I have to settle an account with you."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

Before I knew what was happening, Gregory Savage lifted his hand and slapped me across the face. The violent motion snapped my head back, and I yelped in pain, my vision flashing white for a second. I stared at him, my palm pressed to my throbbing cheek. The sharp sting radiated down my jaw, and I tasted blood where my teeth had cut the inside of my lip. "What the hell!"

"If I had arrived one day later, you might well have killed Vanessa Belmont." His voice was eerily composed, as if discussing the weather. "If you had, you would now be in the ocean feeding the fishes."

He said the words in such a calm manner, it took a second for me to realize I was being threatened. My fingers trembled against my cheek, but I refused to let him see my fear. I swallowed hard, forcing steel into my voice. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"The amateur kidnapping you arranged with Viktor and his crew of morons."

I opened my mouth to deny it, but Gregory shook his head, his dark eyes boring into mine. "Lie to me, and I’ll kill you here."

The café around us buzzed with oblivious patrons—laughing, sipping lattes, scrolling through their phones. None of them knew that a predator sat across from me, his polished exterior barely concealing the monster beneath. I pressed my lips together, weighing my options. Denial was pointless. He already knew.

"You want Vanessa gone," he said. His fingers tapped against the table, a controlled, rhythmic motion. But his eyes—his eyes flashed with something raw. Hunger. Obsession. The polished charm of his exterior fractured just enough to reveal the barely restrained beast underneath.

I didn’t bother with denials. "I wish she would disappear, yes."

"She stole from you."

Yes. Exactly. That thieving bitch had stolen everything from me. My future, meticulously planned since childhood—every debutante ball, every etiquette lesson, every polite smile—all meant to secure my rightful place as Nathan’s wife. She hadn’t just stolen him—she’d stolen the life I was born to have, the future I deserved.

And for that, Vanessa Belmont would pay.

Gregory leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Vanessa belongs to me. Nathan belongs to you. Let’s take what’s ours."

A slow, calculating smile curled my lips. "Tell me more."

"I want Vanessa Belmont."

Something in his tone—reverent, hungry—made my skin prickle. "She stole from you, too?"

His manicured hand snapped out, gripping my wrist hard enough to bruise. "She belongs to me." The words were a snarl. "And you’re going to help me take her."

I didn’t pull away. "You’re not her ex. You’re not family." My pulse jumped as his thumb pressed into my vein, a silent threat. "What’s your damage?"

Gregory’s grip tightened. "That’s my business. But you should know that if you fail me, you’ll pay in blood."

His promise chilled me. I yanked my hand free, rubbing the reddened skin. "You think you and Vanessa will live happily-ever-after?"

His stone-cold gaze met mine. "Otherwise?"

"And Nathan?"

"Is yours."

Gregory slid a burner phone across the table, and I took it. He said nothing else as he departed from the booth. I watched one of his men put an umbrella over him and walk him to the Maybach parked on the street.

The moment the car took off, I exhaled. Gregory Savage was intense. He scared me. But he would be my ticket to finally get rid of Vanessa and be with Nathan.

I picked up the burner phone. A single contact was saved: GS. No message. No instructions. Just the implicit understanding that when he called, I’d answer.

Outside, the storm had worsened. I turned up the collar of my coat, my mind racing. The risk would be worth it, especially if I finally got the man, the wealth, the respect that I deserved.

Still ... Gregory Savage wasn’t just dangerous—he was obsessed. And obsession made people reckless. That could be useful. Or it could get me killed.