Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 103: It’s My Turn

Chapter 103: It’s My Turn

Rain pelted against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, distorting the city lights below into blurry constellations. David Harrison stood motionless, silhouetted against the stormy panorama. The crystal tumbler in his hand caught the muted light as he swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, ice clinking against glass in a quiet rhythm.

Fifty-two floors above the city, he watched as people scurried below like insects, umbrella-topped dots hurrying through the downpour. How small they all looked from up here. How insignificant.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. That’s what power felt like—this distance, this perspective. Seeing the whole board when everyone else was merely pieces on it.

His phone vibrated against the marble countertop behind him. David didn’t turn immediately, taking his time with another sip of the eighteen-year-old scotch. Let them wait. The world operated on his schedule now.

When he finally reached for the device, the screen displayed no caller ID. Perfect.

"Speak," he commanded, his voice low and controlled.

The voice that responded was digitally altered, a synthetic rumble that stripped away any identifying characteristics. "You’ve watched long enough. It’s time you made a move."

David’s eyes narrowed. "I move when I’m ready." He returned to the window, one finger tracing a raindrop’s path down the glass. "Not before."

"She won’t wait forever."

A muscle twitched in David’s jaw—the only sign that the words had struck a nerve. Isabella. His Isabella. The woman he had cultivated, sculpted, invested in. The woman who believed she could simply walk away.

Lightning flashed, illuminating his reflection in the glass. He studied his own face—the sharp angles, the cool, calculated stare that had made CEOs and politicians alike shrink back during negotiations. People mistook his patience for weakness. They always had.

"I’ve been patient," David said, the words precise, measured. "But you’re right. The time for observation is over."

The voice on the line seemed to approve. "Your competitor moves quickly. Even now, he doesn’t realize the true value of what he’s taken."

David’s lips curved into a cold smile. "Liam Campbell. Self-made man with a savior complex. He thinks this is about a woman." He took another sip of scotch. "He has no idea what he’s stepped into."

"Intelligence confirms they’re at the Grand Meridian. Room registered under the name ’Eleanor Rigby.’ Subtle. She always did have her assistant handle the mundane details."

David scoffed at Isabella’s choice of alias. Always with the literary references, the little clues she left behind like breadcrumbs. As if part of her wanted to be found. As if she were toying with him, testing him.

"And security?" David asked, already moving toward his private office.

"Standard hotel protocols. Two guards in the lobby. Keycard access to the elevators after 11 PM. Nothing we can’t handle."

David placed his tumbler down on his desk, the rich mahogany surface reflecting the room’s subtle lighting. He pressed his palm against a seemingly innocuous panel in the bookcase, and a hidden compartment slid open silently.

"I want this handled with precision," he instructed, removing a sleek handgun from the compartment. He checked the chamber methodically, the metal cool against his fingertips. "No public spectacle. No police involvement."

"Understood."

"How many people does Campbell have with him?"

"Just her. Her usual security detail was dismissed at the entrance. Amateur move. Even for an assistant playing out of his league."

David almost felt disappointed. He’d expected more of a challenge from the man who’d dared to take what was his. "He underestimates me."

"Most people do," the voice conceded. "Until it’s too late."

David loaded the magazine with practiced ease, the soft click satisfying something primal within him. "Has she told him about the drive yet?"

"Unknown. But given their... activities since arriving at the hotel, business discussions seem unlikely."

A flash of rage surged through David at the implication, his fingers tightening around the weapon. He forced his breathing to remain even, his pulse steady. Emotion was a liability. Especially now.

"The drive contains access codes to every offshore account, every shell corporation, every piece of leverage I’ve accumulated over the last decade," David said, more to himself than to his informant. "Isabella Ashworth was never meant to have it. She certainly wasn’t meant to give it to her assistant."

"Maybe she hasn’t yet."

"I’m not a man who deals in ’maybes.’" David slipped the gun into his shoulder holster, the weight familiar and reassuring against his side. "Arrange transportation. Back entrance. Fifteen minutes."

"Already done."

Of course it was. David hadn’t become who he was by surrounding himself with incompetence.

He moved to his closet, selecting a black cashmere overcoat. The rain would provide excellent cover. The darkness, a willing accomplice.

"And David?" the voice continued, the digital distortion unable to mask the caution in the tone. "Remember what happened the last time you let personal feelings interfere with business."

David’s reflection stared back at him from the full-length mirror, his eyes cold and unreadable. "That was a costly lesson. One I don’t intend to repeat."

"So what’s the play? Elimination?"

David straightened his tie, a deep crimson against the stark white of his shirt. "No. Liam Campbell still has his uses. As Isabella’s personal assistant at Ashworth Luxury Events, he has access to information I need. Information that complements the Lazarus Project quite nicely."

"And the woman?"

A dangerous silence hung in the air before David responded. "She betrayed me. Stole from me." His voice softened to something almost tender, infinitely more threatening. "But Isabella Ashworth is mine. She always will be."

"You sound confident for a man whose woman is currently in another man’s bed."

The crystal tumbler shattered against the wall, scotch spattering across the pristine white paint like blood. David’s controlled facade cracked for just a moment, revealing the rage beneath. Just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a chilling calm.

"Isabella has always played games," he said, brushing an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. "She thinks she’s the queen on the chessboard, able to move in any direction. What she forgets is that even the queen can be sacrificed."

David crossed to his desk and pressed a button on his phone. "Reed."

A deep voice answered immediately. "Sir."

"Ready the team. We move in twenty minutes."

"Extraction or elimination?"

David checked his watch—an understated timepiece worth more than most people’s homes. "Extraction. I want him alive. Unharmed, if possible. We need his cooperation eventually."

"And the woman?"

David paused, memories flitting across his mind like shadows. Isabella Ashworth laughing in the Mediterranean sunlight. Isabella’s eyes, fierce and passionate during an argument. Isabella’s mouth forming the words "I love you" before she disappeared with his most valuable secrets.

"Untouched," he said finally, his voice so soft it was barely audible. "She belongs to me. Anyone who lays a hand on her answers directly to me."

"Understood, sir."

David ended the call and returned to the window. The rain had intensified, sheets of water cascading down the glass. Far below, a luxury sedan pulled up to the building’s private entrance, right on schedule.

He slipped a small velvet box into his pocket—another kind of weapon, this one aimed at Isabella’s heart rather than her body. She had always been susceptible to beautiful things. To promises. To him.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating his face for a brief moment. There was no hesitation there. No mercy. Only absolute certainty.

"It’s my turn now," David whispered to the storm. "And I always win in the end."

The phone on his desk buzzed once more. He picked it up without checking the caller.

"Team in position," the digitally altered voice informed him. "Campbell and Isabella Ashworth are still in the suite. Security cameras looped. Service elevator secured."

"Excellent." David adjusted his cufflinks—platinum, engraved with his initials. A gift from Isabella on their first anniversary. "Maintain surveillance. I’m on my way."

He holstered his gun, straightened his tie, and took one last look at the city stretched out beneath him. All those people, going about their lives, unaware of the carefully orchestrated drama about to unfold in their midst.

David smiled, a predator’s smile, all teeth and no warmth.

"Let the game begin."

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.