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The Coldhearted Surgeon's Billionaire Revenge
img img The Coldhearted Surgeon's Billionaire Revenge img Chapter 6 6
6 Chapters
Chapter 8 8 img
Chapter 9 9 img
Chapter 10 10 img
Chapter 11 11 img
Chapter 12 12 img
Chapter 13 13 img
Chapter 14 14 img
Chapter 15 15 img
Chapter 16 16 img
Chapter 17 17 img
Chapter 18 18 img
Chapter 19 19 img
Chapter 20 20 img
Chapter 21 21 img
Chapter 22 22 img
Chapter 23 23 img
Chapter 24 24 img
Chapter 25 25 img
Chapter 26 26 img
Chapter 27 27 img
Chapter 28 28 img
Chapter 29 29 img
Chapter 30 30 img
Chapter 31 31 img
Chapter 32 32 img
Chapter 33 33 img
Chapter 34 34 img
Chapter 35 35 img
Chapter 36 36 img
Chapter 37 37 img
Chapter 38 38 img
Chapter 39 39 img
Chapter 40 40 img
Chapter 41 41 img
Chapter 42 42 img
Chapter 43 43 img
Chapter 44 44 img
Chapter 45 45 img
Chapter 46 46 img
Chapter 47 47 img
Chapter 48 48 img
Chapter 49 49 img
Chapter 50 50 img
Chapter 51 51 img
Chapter 52 52 img
Chapter 53 53 img
Chapter 54 54 img
Chapter 55 55 img
Chapter 56 56 img
Chapter 57 57 img
Chapter 58 58 img
Chapter 59 59 img
Chapter 60 60 img
Chapter 61 61 img
Chapter 62 62 img
Chapter 63 63 img
Chapter 64 64 img
Chapter 65 65 img
Chapter 66 66 img
Chapter 67 67 img
Chapter 68 68 img
Chapter 69 69 img
Chapter 70 70 img
Chapter 71 71 img
Chapter 72 72 img
Chapter 73 73 img
Chapter 74 74 img
Chapter 75 75 img
Chapter 76 76 img
Chapter 77 77 img
Chapter 78 78 img
Chapter 79 79 img
Chapter 80 80 img
Chapter 81 81 img
Chapter 82 82 img
Chapter 83 83 img
Chapter 84 84 img
Chapter 85 85 img
Chapter 86 86 img
Chapter 87 87 img
Chapter 88 88 img
Chapter 89 89 img
Chapter 90 90 img
Chapter 91 91 img
Chapter 92 92 img
Chapter 93 93 img
Chapter 94 94 img
Chapter 95 95 img
Chapter 96 96 img
Chapter 97 97 img
Chapter 98 98 img
Chapter 99 99 img
Chapter 100 100 img
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Chapter 6 6

The driveway to the guest estate was overgrown. Hydrangeas spilled onto the gravel, their heavy heads brushing against the sides of the Audi.

The house was a modest colonial, dark and smelling of damp wood and neglect. It was perfect.

Anya killed the engine. The silence of the woods rushed in to fill the void.

She sat for a moment, waiting for the beta-blocker to take the edge off her tremors.

She grabbed her bag and stepped out. The gravel crunched loudly under her heels.

VROOM.

A low, guttural roar tore through the silence. It sounded like a beast waking up.

Anya jumped, dropping her keys. They landed with a metallic jingle in the dirt.

She spun around.

Through the thin line of hedge that separated the property from the neighbor's lot, she saw light.

The neighboring house wasn't a colonial. It was a fortress of concrete and glass, a brutalist masterpiece perched on the edge of the cliff.

A car was idling in the driveway.

It was silver. Low to the ground. Aerodynamic. A McLaren P1.

The driver's side door scissor-lifted up, looking like the wing of a predatory bird.

A long leg clad in dark trousers stepped out.

Anya squinted against the glare of the security lights.

The man stood up. He stretched, rolling his shoulders.

It was Julian.

Anya's breath hitched. She scrambled for her keys in the dirt, her fingers fumbling.

Julian turned. He looked across the hedge. The distance was less than thirty yards.

He didn't look surprised. He looked like he was expecting her.

He leaned against the low roof of the supercar, crossing his arms. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face.

He didn't speak. He simply watched her scramble, his amusement a palpable force even across the distance.

Anya finally grasped her own keys. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her dress. She felt exposed. Ridiculous.

"Running from the fallout, Doctor?" Julian called out. His voice carried easily in the night air. "Or running towards the war?"

"Stalking is a crime, Vance," she shouted back, her voice lacking the authority she wanted.

"I bought this place a year ago," Julian said, gesturing to the glass fortress. "The cliffside offers an excellent vantage point on the Everett estate. Call it due diligence. You're the one trespassing on my view."

Anya turned and jammed the key into the lock of the front door. It stuck. She jiggled it frantically.

"Need a locksmith?" Julian asked. "I have a multi-tool."

"Go to hell," Anya muttered.

The lock finally clicked. She threw the door open and practically fell inside.

She slammed the door and threw the deadbolt. Then the chain.

She leaned her back against the wood, sliding down until she hit the floor.

Her heart was hammering again.

It wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be. Julian Vance, the man who held her leash, the man who terrified Bentley, had been waiting for her.

She crawled to the window and peeked through the dusty blinds.

Julian was still standing there. He had walked to the edge of his property and was now leaning against the hedge, looking directly at her house. He lit a cigarette, the cherry glowing bright red in the darkness.

He knew she was watching.

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