Chapter 266: He Wanted Her Alive ~ He Didn’t Know Who Was Sitting With Her

Lucas leaned back against the couch, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make her wait for it.

"Here’s what happens next," he said finally. "You go back to him."

Gracie’s stomach dropped.

"Back to Durnik?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended. "After everything I just did to him?"

"That’s exactly why it works."

Lucas’s tone stayed calm, almost casual, like he was explaining something obvious rather than something reckless. He watched her carefully as he continued.

"He’s furious right now. Humiliated. But underneath all that noise, he’s scared. Scared of what else you might still have. Scared of what you’ll do next."

Gracie let out a short, disbelieving breath. "So I just... message him and apologize?"

"You do more than that," Lucas said.

His eyes held hers without blinking.

"You make yourself soft again. Scared. Convince him someone forced your hand. That you never wanted to hurt him. That you panicked, made a mistake, and now you’re desperate to fix it. Sweet-talk him the way you used to. Give him the version of you he was addicted to before everything blew up."

Gracie’s jaw tightened.

She already knew what that meant.

For months, Durnik had only ever known her through a screen. Late-night video calls. Recorded clips. Soft voices and calculated teasing. She had never let him get close in person, and that distance was exactly how she had controlled him. Money moved because the fantasy stayed just out of reach.

What Lucas was asking for now was different.

If Durnik demanded more this time ~ a real meeting, real access, her body instead of just another video ~ she might have to give it.

The thought settled heavily in her stomach. She could already imagine the way the old man would look at her if she finally walked into the same room as him ~ how quickly obsession would turn into entitlement once the screen was gone.

The idea of his hands on her body made her skin crawl. That soft, aging grip. That desperate hunger. And worse than his hands was the rest of him. She couldn’t stand the thought of that small, stunted cock anywhere near her, pressing against her, claiming her like it had any right to. The same pathetic thing he used to show off in videos like it was worth something.

The thought alone made her stomach tighten with pure disgust.

"And once I’m back in?" she asked, forcing her voice to stay steady.

"You don’t stop at forgiveness." Lucas’s tone remained even, but something colder moved underneath it. "You get closer than before. Close enough that he starts giving you real responsibility. Real access. A position inside the company. Somewhere near the money, near the paperwork, near the people who actually keep things running under him."

Gracie stared at him. "You want me to work for him."

"I want you inside," Lucas corrected. "Everything after that comes later. For now, your only job is simple. Repair the relationship. Secure a real position. Get close enough to the shareholders that they start recognizing your face in meetings."

The lounge felt smaller around them.

Gracie studied his expression, searching for the rest of the plan ~ the part he was clearly holding back.

"That’s not everything," she said slowly. "You’re not telling me the full plan."

"No," Lucas replied without hesitation. "I’m not."

"Why?"

"Because you don’t need the whole picture to do your part." His gaze didn’t soften. "You need your role. Nothing more. Not yet."

Gracie opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was no real opening to argue. The way he spoke left the structure already locked in place. She could accept the role or walk away from the deal entirely, and they both knew she needed the money too much to walk away cleanly.

"Fine," she said at last, quieter now. "I go back. I fix things with him. I get close. I get a position. I get near the people at the top."

"That’s all you need to worry about for now."

She let out a slow breath. The weight of the agreement settled heavily in her chest.

"And if he doesn’t buy it?" she asked. "If he sees through me?"

Lucas’s answer came without a trace of doubt.

"He won’t. Men like Durnik want the version of the story that makes them feel powerful again. Give him that version, and he’ll take it. He’ll convince himself it was his strength that brought you back, not your performance."

Gracie nodded slowly.

Meanwhile, across the city, behind one of Tharok’s private warehouses, a plain white bus sat waiting under the dim glow of a security light.

No markings.

No company logo.

No plates worth remembering.

Six men climbed in without wasting time; dark clothes, black gloves, masks pulled up over their noses. Professional. Quiet. The kind of men who only needed a location and a face.

Tharok stood near the door, arms crossed, watching them settle into their seats with the flat, bored precision of men who had done this more times than anyone should admit to. He tossed a folded paper inside before the last man boarded.

"Bring her in clean," he said. "No mess. He wants her alive."

One of the men caught the paper without looking at it twice, already tucking it into his jacket.

The door slammed shut.

The engine roared to life, a low, guttural growl that cut through the quiet of the lot.

This time, the bus didn’t ease into traffic.

It pulled out hard, tires briefly losing grip against the gravel before catching and surging forward, engine climbing fast as it cut across the city with clear, undisguised purpose. Inside, the men held onto the overhead rails as the vehicle leaned hard through turns, streetlights strobing across their masked faces in quick, rhythmic flashes.

Nobody spoke.

There was nothing to say. Everyone in that bus already knew their part, already knew the shape of the job, and silence was easier than wasted words.

The city blurred past the windows; traffic lights, storefronts, pedestrians who had no idea what was rolling past them at that exact moment. Somewhere out there, a woman was sitting in a lounge with no idea how close the countdown had already gotten.

By the time they crossed into the upscale district, the bus was still moving fast, faster than it had any right to on streets this clean.

Manicured trees. Quiet buildings. Warm, ambient lighting spilling from private lounges and glass-fronted entrances.

None of it made the driver ease off the gas.

If anything, the stillness of the district made the bus feel louder, more out of place, like a blade cutting through silk.

The Airbnb came into view ahead; polished glass catching the afternoon light, warm lounge lighting glowing faintly from inside, the calm, curated look of a place built entirely for comfort and privacy.

The bus shot toward it, engine snarling.

Then, without warning, the brakes bit down hard.

The whole vehicle jerked forward violently, throwing every man inside against his restraint as the bus came to a sharp, heavy stop along the curb. Tires scraped against the asphalt in a rough, drawn-out shriek, the sound splitting through the quiet street like something tearing.

A few heads on the sidewalk turned instinctively toward the noise.

For half a second, nothing moved.

The bus simply sat there, engine idling, windows dark, a black shape against the pale, sunlit street; wrong in a way that made a passerby quicken her steps without fully understanding why.

Then the door slammed open.

Six masked men stepped down in a quick, controlled line, boots striking the pavement one after another in near-perfect rhythm. No hesitation. No slow scanning of the street. No wasted movement.