Chapter 4 Text from the Devil

The rain was freezing. It plastered Adela's dress to her skin and sent violent shivers down her spine. She stood under the small awning of the Elysium club, the wind whipping her wet hair across her face.

She didn't care about the cold. The cold was better than the suffocating air inside.

Her phone buzzed again. A harsh, continuous vibration against her hip.

Her fingers were numb as she dug into her leather purse and pulled the device out. The bright screen illuminated her pale, wet face in the darkness.

A text from Juston.

She wanted to throw the phone into the street. She wanted to block him. But her thumb hovered over the screen, and before she could stop herself, she opened the message.

Don't think you can play the victim and blame this all on me. Your precious family is a hundred times sicker than I am.

Adela frowned. Her brow furrowed as rain dripped from her eyelashes onto the screen. What was he talking about?

A second text popped up immediately.

Remember the charity gala two years ago? The 'accident'? The one where you almost died?

Adela's breath caught in her throat. The memory hit her with physical force.

The swelling in her throat. The desperate gasping for air. The terrifying darkness closing in as the anaphylactic shock took over. She had eaten a seafood risotto. She was deathly allergic to shellfish.

A third text arrived. It felt like a physical strike to her face.

You think your family is any better? I was there when Kayden planned the menu for that gala. I heard him tell the chef to 'add a little something' to your risotto. He wanted to hurt you, Addie.

The phone slipped in Adela's wet hands. She gripped it tighter, her knuckles turning bone-white.

He wanted to kill you, Addie. And your parents covered it up as a kitchen mistake. You have no one. You have nothing. You'll be back.

Adela stopped breathing.

The streetlights blurred. The sound of the rain faded into a high-pitched ringing in her ears.

She remembered the fight she had with Kayden that afternoon. He had mocked her design portfolio, calling her a useless leech. She remembered how he smiled at the gala, handing her the plate of risotto himself. Try this, it's the chef's special.

It wasn't an accident.

Her own brother had tried to murder her. And her parents had swept it under the rug to protect the family name. Kayden hadn't even visited her in the hospital.

The betrayal from Juston was a cut. This was a bullet to the chest.

A violent wave of nausea hit her. Adela stumbled backward, her shoulders hitting the cold stone pillar of the club's exterior. She slid down the wall, her legs giving out completely.

She sat on the wet concrete, gasping for air as if her throat was swelling shut all over again.

Her family. Her own blood. They didn't just hate her. They wanted her gone.

Juston was right. She had absolutely no one.

A pair of bright headlights swept across the wet pavement, blinding her for a second.

A massive, black Maybach pulled up silently to the curb, stopping exactly in front of where she sat shivering on the ground.

The rear window rolled down with a soft hum.

Harmon Holland sat in the back seat. The interior light cast sharp shadows across his face. He looked down at her, his expression entirely unreadable. He didn't look surprised to see her on the ground. He looked like he had been waiting for it.

The driver's side door opened. Donovan Tate stepped out into the rain, holding a large black umbrella.

He walked over to Adela and looked down at her with professional pity.

"Miss Richmond," Donovan said, his voice cutting through the rain. "Mr. Holland insists you get in the car."

Adela looked from Donovan to the open door of the Maybach. It looked like the entrance to a vault. A dark, terrifying unknown.

But as she looked down at the text message still glowing on her phone, she realized the unknown was better than the hell she came from.