Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
RIAN
Remington is ours.
The ink is just about dry on the contract. The lawyers are satisfied. The money moved clean, quick, invisible. By rights, I should feel invincible. Relieved. Ecstatic.
But for some weirdly inexplicable reason, I don’t.
Something sits heavy in my chest. A weight that won’t shift. A pressure, like I’ve swallowed a stone. It has no logic, no reason, but’s lodged there all the same.
‘That went well,’ James comments from the other side of the table in the boardroom at the Beckett offices. The lawyers just left.
I pluck my phone from my suit pocket, conscious I cancelled two of Rebekka’s calls earlier. I had no choice. I was mid meeting. I did it for her. To get things done. To get this across the line and put her future beyond Anthony’s reach.
I dial her number and wait for it to ring.
Straight to voicemail.
My gut twists.
‘What’s up?’ James stands, with a frown.
‘Something’s not right.’ I feel it with every fibre of my being.
Ten seconds pass. I dial again. Straight to voicemail. I try again. And again.
The unease in my chest spikes into full-blown panic.
The silence claws at me.
‘Rebekka,’ I say, yanking my laptop around. James rounds the table and stands behind me, staring at the screen over my shoulder as I pull up the penthouse security feed. The hallway is empty. There’s only one guard outside the door.
‘Where the fuck is Carter?’
I stab at my phone. ‘Channing. Why is there only one of you outside my apartment?’
A pause, then a wary voice. ‘Carter went with Ms Remington. She wanted to pick something up.’
My blood runs ice.
‘Pick up what? Where?’ I snarl.
‘She didn't say, Sir. She just said she wouldn’t be long—’
Fucking imbecile. I hang up. My thumb is already on Carter’s number. He answers on the second ring.
‘Mr Beckett—’
‘Where the fuck are you?’ My voice is a growl.
‘Outside Anthony’s building. She insisted she—’
There’s an almighty crash, like smashing glass, followed by muffled shouting.
‘What the fuck—’ Carter’s voice cuts out.
The line goes dead.
And my heart stops with it.
I’m already moving.
I turn to Callaghan; he’s outside the boardroom door. ‘Callaghan—the car now!’ My roar echoes off the marble as I tear through the lobby. He’s at my shoulder in a heartbeat. James is hot on our heels.
‘I’m coming with you,’ he says darkly. It’s not up for debate.
The Bentley is waiting at the kerb. I dive into the back, Callaghan slams the door, and starts the engine.
‘Anthony’s building,’ I snap.
My chest is on fire.
My skin itches with panic.
Every second feels like a year.
The city conspires against us. Traffic is thick, crawling. Taillights glow red in endless lines. Then the rain comes—sheets of it hammering down, blurring everything into a smear. Wipers thrash uselessly across the windscreen.
For fuck’s sake.
James says nothing, simply sitting silently beside me. His face is like thunder.
I try Rebekka again. Straight to voicemail. Again. My pulse is a jackhammer.
‘Come on, sweetheart, answer me,’ I mutter, forehead pressed to the cold glass.
I stab another call—Killian this time.
He picks up first ring. ‘I think Rebekka might be in trouble. She went to Anthony’s to pick up her things.’
‘He took an early flight home from London this morning. I’m monitoring his movements.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘According to the CCTV in his building, he’s at home.’
‘Fuck. Can you hack the cameras inside his penthouse?’
‘I’ll do one better. I’m two minutes away.’ His voice is lethal.
‘So are we. Me and James.’ I hang up before I waste breath. Try her number again. And again.
Nothing.
It’s futile, but I need to feel like I’m doing something. I literally promised her this morning that I’d never let her down. And I fell at the first fucking hurdle.
The rain is relentless, the traffic unbearable. Every horn, every brake light, every second is a knife to the ribs.
Finally, we reach Anthony’s building. My stomach drops.
And all I can think is—what if I’m already too late?