Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 35: Gregory Savage

Chapter 35: Gregory Savage

VANESSA BELMONT

"Who’s Gregory Savage?" I repeated. "Um ... a James Bond villain. No, a delicious cocktail. Oh, no. No. He’s a 1940s actor."

"He’s the man Fiona met at the coffee shop."

"Oh. Why did he hook up with Fiona?"

"Why don’t we go ask them? They’re at an abandoned warehouse outside the city."

"Well, I was thinking we would do something fun for our wedding night, but yeah, sure, let’s go to the creepy warehouse and confront the bad guys."

Nathan took my hand and kissed my knuckles. "I’ll make it up to you."

"You realize this is a trap, right?"

"Obviously. But we’ll have back-up and we have Malone."

"Malone’s like our Rambo."

"You got that right."

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

FIONA GRAND

The rain lashed against the car window as I stared at the burner phone in my lap. Gregory Savage’s words echoed in my skull. Vanessa belongs to me. Nathan belongs to you.

A deal with the devil.

I should’ve thrown the phone out the window. Should’ve told the driver to take me straight to the airport. But the thought of Vanessa—smug, undeserving, winning—made my fingers tighten around the device.

The sedan hit a pothole, jolting me from my thoughts. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. "Ma’am, the address you gave—it’s up ahead."

I peered through the downpour. A nondescript warehouse loomed in the distance, its windows dark. "Stop here."

The car idled as I weighed my options. Gregory was dangerous. Unhinged. But he had resources. And he could get me what I wanted: Vanessa gone. Nathan in my arms.

I stepped out into the rain.

The warehouse door creaked open before I could knock. A burly man—one of Gregory’s—nodded me inside. The space was cavernous, dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete and rusted metal.

Gregory stood near a steel table. "You ready?"

"For..."

The shadows hollowed his cheeks, made his eyes look like pits.This man scared the hell out of me. For a microsecond, I felt sorry for Vanessa and whatever trauma he had in store for her.

"For the big show, Miss Grand. After all, our prey is coming to us."

"Nathan?"

"And Vanessa."

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

VANESSA BELMONT

The warehouse looked like it had been rejected from a horror movie for being too cliché—rusty chains, flickering lights, the whole nine yards of nope.

Inside, Fiona stood with her arms crossed, looking like the poster girl for Green Tea Bitches. Next to her was a man—broad-shouldered, muscled, a boxer’s build. He didn’t smile, but his disturbing gaze never left me.

"I know you brought men, Jang," said the probable Gregory Savage. "But trust me when I say I brought more."

"What do you want?" asked Nathan.

"Vanessa," said Savage.

"Over my dead body." Nathan drew me behind him. "We don’t have any beef with you. But Fiona has a date with the police."

"More like the preacher," said Fiona. "Because we’re going to the chapel," she sing-songed. Her eyes were bright. Was she high? Because she looked high.

"You remember me, Vanessa?" asked Savage.

"Nope."

Savage tilted his head. "Five years ago. Prague."

I stared. "Prague?"

He nodded. "You saved me. Dragged me from the river and gave me CPR."

I stared at him, open-mouthed. "What? When?"

"Five years ago," he said again. "Prague."

"I’ve never been to Prague."

Savage’s expression turned to surprise. "Yes, you have."

I crossed my arms. "Look, Gregory. I would know where I was five years ago, and it wasn’t Prague."

Savage’s smirk faltered. "You’re lying."

I threw my hands up. "Who lies about not going to freaking Prague? Why wouldn’t I admit I saved you? That’s like bonus points for heaven."

"Who cares!" yelled Fiona. "Just take her already."

I whirled on her. "Excuse me?"

Savage, meanwhile, was still staring at me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. "If it wasn’t you in Prague ... then who the hell was it?"

"Sounds like a you problem," said Nathan.

The tension in the warehouse was thick enough to choke on. Nathan’s grip on my hand tightened. Malone, ever the silent sentinel, had already positioned himself between us and Savage’s men, his fingers twitching near the gun holstered at his side.

Fiona, meanwhile, looked like she was enjoying this way too much. Her lips curled into an evil grin as she toyed with a strand of her hair, her too bright gaze flicking between Nathan and me.

"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "if this is about some mistaken identity in Prague, I feel like we could’ve cleared this up over email. Maybe a Zoom call."

Savage’s jaw clenched. "This isn’t a joke."

Nathan stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. "Enough. Whatever you think Vanessa did or didn’t do, it ends here. You want a fight? You’ve got one. But you’re not laying a finger on her."

Fiona let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, Nathan. Always the hero. But you can’t save her this time."

"Last chance," Savage said, his voice eerily calm. "Tell me the truth about Prague."

"I am telling the truth!" I snapped. "I don’t know you! I’ve never seen you before in my life!"

For the first time, doubt flickered in his eyes.

Then Fiona, impatient, lifted a revolver. "Enough talking."

She shot Savage first. The bullet pierced his throat. He grabbed at his neck, spluttering blood as he sank to the ground.

She aimed the gun at me, and Nathan, that beautiful moron, tried to cover my body with his. I shoved him out of the way.

And then...

Pain.

White-hot and searing, radiating from my chest.

I looked down.

Blood bloomed across my shirt.

I gasped, my hands pressing the wound as my knees buckled. The world tilted, the warehouse spinning around me. I collapsed to the concrete floor. I couldn’t breathe. I was reminded of the first time I died, when I felt my chest crack, my lungs puncture...

Was I going to die again?

"No, Vanessa! No!"

Nathan gathered me in his arms, holding me tight. I didn’t have the strength to move or to speak, but if I could ... I would’ve said that I loved him.

I heard another gun shot. Nathan slumped over me.

The last thing I heard was Fiona’s manic laughter.