The Blood Contract
Chapter 88: Not taking no for an answer

Chapter 88: Not taking no for an answer

Vincent’s boots echoed across the marble flooring of the office, a steady rhythm of agitation that matched the storm brewing in his chest. One hand was buried deep in the pocket of his black slacks, but the other fisted and unfisted at his side, like a dam barely holding back an outburst.

His face was a canvas of fury. Brows drawn together in a tight knot, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked along its side. Every line on his face screamed impatience and frustration. His body trembled, not from cold, but from a barely restrained rage that curled its fingers around every nerve in his system.

The office door swung open a moment later, and Carter stepped in, his sharp business suit still perfectly tailored and pristine from the boardroom. A small frown creased his forehead the moment his eyes landed on Vincent. He looked around in slight confusion as if searching for another person before walking further inside.

"Vincent?" he called, puzzled, as he closed the door behind him. "What’s going on? They said it was an emergency."

Vincent halted his pacing immediately. His dark, intense eyes locked onto Carter’s. Without hesitation, he took two large strides forward until they stood face to face.

"I need to see Serena, Carter," he said, his voice hoarse from bottled emotion.

The moment those words left Vincent’s lips, Carter’s entire expression shifted. Whatever mild concern he’d worn on entering the office fell away like a dropped curtain. His brows furrowed, lips parted slightly in disbelief.

"Are you serious right now?" Carter asked, voice dipped in incredulity. His tone wasn’t just shocked—it was almost accusatory, as though Vincent had dared to spit something blasphemous in a sacred place.

"Yes, I’m being serious," Vincent replied with a steady voice that had been stripped of all pretense

Carter blinked, staring at him. "You came all the way here, told the staff it was an emergency, requested to see me urgently... only to tell me you want to see Serena?" he asked, his voice rising with disbelief. "Don’t you know where she lives?"

"This is an emergency, of course!" Vincent fired back, his control slipping as he exploded. "You think I’d be here if it wasn’t? I have reasons to believe that Serena has been unconscious for days, Carter. Days! And Lucian has kept her locked up in his damn house instead of taking her to the hospital or at least providing adequate medical attention."

The weight of the accusation hit the room like a gust of cold wind. Carter’s brows shot up as his mouth clamped shut. The switch in his expression was immediate. Gone was the sarcastic disbelief. Now, his gaze searched Vincent’s face, seeking a lie or exaggeration, and finding none.

"Are you sure of what you’re saying?" Carter asked slowly, his voice stripped of all earlier sarcasm.

Vincent took a step closer, his voice now low and dangerous. "I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure. You think I’ll joke with anything that concerns Serena? You need to find a way to get me in so I can get her out, because if she dies in his hands, I’ll hold all of you responsible."

The fire in his tone was impossible to ignore. Carter didn’t argue further, not because of the threat, but because of the severity of the information. Instead, he reached into his inner coat pocket, pulled out his phone, and swiftly dialed a number. Vincent watched him like a hawk, but the phone rang and rang without any answer.

Carter muttered something under his breath, then glanced at Vincent. "Wait here," he instructed and strode out of the room.

The minutes stretched like elastic, taut and filled with silence. Vincent resumed his pacing, but this time it was different—each movement laced with tension and resolve, like a predator readying for a strike.

Eventually, the door opened again and Carter stepped in, this time accompanied by a tall man with a lean build and an unreadable expression. His eyes were sharp, calculating, his steps deliberate.

"Who is this?" Vincent asked immediately, his gaze narrowing as it swept over the unfamiliar face.

"The person who can actually do something about what you just said," Carter answered. "Repeat everything. Let him hear it all."

Vincent didn’t hesitate. He launched into his account again, his voice carrying the same urgency, the same warning.

***

Outside, under the cool late morning sun, Darrell stepped out to the pool area, where the water shimmered invitingly but untouched. Adrian was there, lounging in one of the cushioned deck chairs with a small cigar tucked between his lips. A lazy curl of smoke wafted up into the air.

"I’m bored, man," Darrell groaned, dropping himself heavily beside Adrian. His legs sprawled out as he let his head loll back, eyes staring at the sky like it held answers.

Adrian didn’t respond. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling like a spirit escaping his mouth, eyes half-lidded.

"I wish I could go talk some sense into Boss’s head and drag him by the ear to stop wallowing and return to his active self," Darrell continued.

"I’d love to see you try," Adrian muttered casually, not even looking at him. "But don’t mention my name when it backfires, because it’s bound to backfire."

Darrell let out an exasperated sigh. "I’ve never been this inactive in all my life. There are meetings unattended, an incoming shipment, a fresh warehouse attack, and yet Boss has decided to confine himself to one damn room. It’s been twelve days already, Adrian. Twelve! The last three meetings he managed to attend were a disaster. He’s become a shadow of himself. He won’t even listen to the damn doctor. I swear, if madam doesn’t wake up soon, this guilt might just finish him off."

"This isn’t just guilt," Adrian pointed out, shifting slightly in his chair. "This is something deeper."

Darrell turned to look at him, brows raised. "Like what?"

Adrian tapped the ash from his cigar. "I think Boss is in love with Madam."

Darrell snorted and gave him a flat, disbelieving look. "Love?" he repeated. Then he threw his head back and laughed—a short, almost mocking sound. "You’re thinking too much into it."

"I know what I’m saying." Adrian looked at him now, all trace of humor gone. "It was confusing at first when I noticed it, but now it’s clear as day. It’s an unfamiliar feeling for someone like him, that’s why he doesn’t know how to handle it. He’s been doing stupid things since the first day he saw her."

He took another drag from his cigar, then added with a dry chuckle, "So much for turning him into a cold monster incapable of love. You lost, Modi."

Darrell was quiet now. The weight of those words settled between them. He let out another long sigh.

"I wish she would wake up already. She brought some color and life to this house. Now everywhere is gloomy, cold, even with the heat. Do you think she’s getting good enough care here, at home, instead of the hospital?"

"The doctor said everything the hospital would do, she’s already doing it here. But the hospital wouldn’t even know how to handle her case. So it’s better she stays here," Adrian answered.

At that moment, heavy footsteps approached them. One of the guards, Aaron, came striding over, face dark with urgency.

"What’s wrong, Aaron?" Darrell asked, even before the man could speak.

Aaron didn’t waste time. "Council members just arrived at the house. They don’t look happy. They’re demanding to see Boss and Madam."

Both men shot to their feet in an instant.

"How many are they?" Adrian asked sharply, already moving toward the house.

"Six," Aaron replied. "Mr. Vincent is with them."

"Vincent?" Adrian repeated, brows knitting together. His brain kicked into overdrive as possibilities swirled.

Inside the mansion, the air was thick with rising tension. The council members, like storm clouds gathering over calm skies, were putting pressure on the domestic workers. Their voices rose, questions and demands flying.

Darrell stepped in first, his presence commanding attention. "What is going on here?" he demanded, surveying the chaos.

"We have to see Lucian and Serena right now," Salvador snapped. "And we’re not taking no for an answer."

"What do you mean you’re not taking no for an answer?" This time, the voice came from Adrian, who had just caught up. His gaze was slowly shifted from Salvador, landing directly on Modi, who stood a little apart from the group.

Modi let out a sigh.

His lips parted to start the explanation in a calm manner, but before a word left his mouth, someone from the group flicked their wrist. A cylindrical object hit the ground and instantly exploded into a thick, choking cloud of smoke. The room was swallowed in a matter of seconds, the air turning opaque. Fire alarms screamed to life, red lights flashing like angry eyes.

"Damn it!" Darrell cursed, eyes squinting through the fog.

But he had seen the one who released the smoke. He lunged forward, tackling the person to the ground before they could disappear. Adrian and the guard tackled the others.

Guards poured in, alerted by the alarm, and chaos unfurled like wildfire. Orders were shouted, bodies moved in confusion, and tension thickened with each second.

In the midst of the pandemonium, no one noticed Vincent slip away.

Eyes sharp and movements deliberate, he maneuvered past the confusion, heading upstairs with the speed and silence of a shadow. His heart thundered in his chest, not from fear—but from a singular, driving purpose.

He was going to find Serena.