Chapter 7
586words
I sat at the head of the Wells Group boardroom table, my black suit a stark contrast against the polished mahogany, facing a room of corporate vultures.
"That concludes our meeting," I rose, my gaze sweeping the room with calculated menace. "A friendly reminder to certain individuals: I've overlooked many indiscretions out of respect for my father. Don't mistake my tolerance for weakness. My patience has limits."
Several gray-haired executives visibly paled, dabbing sweat from their foreheads.
Over these three years, I'd clawed my way up from the bottom of the Wells Group hierarchy.
"The Ice Queen." "Wells's Butcher." "Colder than her father ever was." The whispered names followed me everywhere.
As I exited the boardroom, Lance fell into step beside me.
Lance Wells—an orphan my father had taken in when I was seven. Officially adopted, technically my brother.
Once my father's most loyal attack dog. Now mine.
"Prep the team. Another late night ahead," I said, massaging my temples.
"Right away, Alice."
Field exchanges rarely go according to plan.
Violence, blood, death—these had become my daily bread. Those years with Loki now seemed like a strange dream—unpleasant but remarkably ordinary.
That night, predictably, a mole in our ranks triggered a bloodbath. The exchange collapsed into gunfire and chaos.
In the firefight, Lance and I were separated. I escaped alone, bleeding from two bullet wounds.
No phone, no backup. I hastily bandaged myself and assessed my location.
Perfect—a Wells Group charity gala was happening nearby. The event manager would recognize me.
I limped toward the venue, one hand pressed against my side to slow the bleeding.
Blood loss made me light-headed. In my delirium, I thought of my son—how he'd be old enough now to run into my arms, to demand bedtime stories.
Imagining his smile brought a warmth I hadn't felt since returning to the Wells name.
In the Wells world, only the ruthless survive.
"Ma'am, this is a private event. You can't enter," a security guard blocked my path.
"I'm Alice Wells. Get your manager. Now."
The guard faltered at my tone. "Y-yes, ma'am. One moment."
I sagged against the wall, gazing up at the night sky. The stars were unusually bright. What a beautiful night to die, I thought absently.
"Alice?"
A voice from the past shattered my daze.
I looked up, certain I was hallucinating from blood loss: Loki Dalton.
He looked as stunned as I felt.
"Alice!" he gasped. "My God, it's really you!"
His face broke into a delighted smile.
I stared at that smile, feeling nothing but detached curiosity.
"Alice, you're hurt! Where have you been all these years? Why did you disappear? Do you have any idea how long I've been searching for you?"
I regarded him with cold confusion.
Loki lunged forward, seizing my arm.
"Remove your hand," I said, my voice arctic.
"Alice! Enough stubbornness! Look at yourself—living like a vagrant! I'm willing to forgive your disappearing act. Just come home."
"Fuck off," I muttered, lacking the energy for this confrontation.
"Is this still about Cynthia?" Loki's voice rose, his eyes reddening with emotion.
I almost laughed.
"You've mistaken me for someone who gives a damn," I said flatly, as if addressing a stranger.
Loki's grip tightened painfully, his expression darkening. "Now that I've found you, Alice, I'm not letting you disappear again."
Weakened by blood loss, I couldn't break free. "Let go..."
My vision began to tunnel, darkness creeping in from the edges.
Loki's face swam before me.
Then nothing but darkness.
