Page 52 of The Beast's Broken Angel
The Turner attack, Noah's convenient presence in my home, the perfectly timed revelation of betrayal—it was all too neat, too orchestrated. Harrison had always been the spider at the centre of the web, pulling strings while appearing indispensable.
“Harrison,” I said quietly, my voice carrying the dangerous stillness that preceded violence, “I think we need to have a different conversation entirely.”
His hand froze over the controls. In that moment of hesitation, I saw the truth written across his carefully composed features. Harrison wasn't revealing Noah's betrayal—he was framing him for his own.
But I needed to be careful. If Harrison was playing games, I couldn't let him know I was onto him. Not yet.
“You're right,” I said, letting calculated anger replace suspicion in my voice. “The timing, the access, the tactical knowledge. It all fits.”
Harrison's relief was almost imperceptible, but I caught it. He thought he'd sold me on Noah's guilt.
“What are your instructions?” he asked.
I let the rage show on my face, the betrayal I would have felt if Noah really had been working against me. “Viktor and I will bring him in. Prepare the basement interrogation room.”
Harrison nodded. “Of course. I'll have everything ready.”
As Harrison made his preparations, I signalled Viktor to follow me. If I was going to get the truth out of Noah, I needed to do it without Harrison's interference. Whatever game my advisor was playing, I'd handle Noah personally.
13
WRATH AND RUIN
ADRIAN
Iwatched the security feeds from my office, fingers drumming against the mahogany desk as Noah moved through the east wing corridor with his usual purposeful stride. Medical supplies balanced in his arms, that focused expression he wore when treating patients, completely unaware that in five minutes his world was about to collapse around him.
I knew he was innocent. Every instinct screamed it, every moment we'd shared proved Harrison's accusations were fabricated lies designed to misdirect my suspicions. But knowing and being absolutely certain were different beasts entirely, and in my world, that sliver of doubt could get us both killed.
Harrison stood behind me, radiating satisfaction as he watched his carefully orchestrated trap spring shut. “Painful, but necessary,” he murmured with paternal sympathy. “Better to discover betrayal now than during our next vulnerability.”
The condescending tone grated against my nerves, but I kept my expression neutral. Harrison needed to believe hismanipulation was working, that I was wrestling with emotional attachment rather than seeing through his elaborate frame job.
“Viktor, Marcus,” I spoke into the intercom, voice deliberately cold. “Bring him down.”
On screen, Viktor and Marcus appeared at either end of the corridor like the closing jaws of a vice. Noah's confusion looked genuine—too genuine, and that's what would have unsettled me if I hadn't already spotted the inconsistencies in Harrison's evidence. The way his face shifted from mild curiosity to dawning alarm, the instinctive step backward when he registered the threat.
“What's going on?” Noah's voice crackled through the security system, bewildered rather than defiant. “Viktor, what are you doing?”
Viktor didn't answer, just kept advancing with the methodical pace of a predator who'd cornered prey countless times before. Behind him, Marcus emerged from the opposite direction, military coordination leaving no escape routes.
The medical supplies scattered across marble floors as Viktor's massive frame blocked Noah's retreat. Bandages and antiseptic bottles rolling like dice across stone that had witnessed countless betrayals over the decades.
“Secure him properly,” I instructed, studying Noah's face on the monitors while performing for Harrison's benefit. “I need him able to answer questions.”
Noah tried to back against the wall, probably hoping to de-escalate through communication. “There's been some kind of mistake,” he said, voice steady despite the circumstances. “Whatever you think I've done?—”
“No mistake,” Viktor interrupted, accent thick with practiced menace. “You come now. No resistance.”
That's when Noah's composure cracked, and I felt an unexpected surge of something complex watchinghim fight despite impossible odds. “Fuck that,” he snarled, surprising me with the venom in his voice. “I'm not going anywhere until someone explains what the hell is happening.”
He tried to push past Viktor—desperation rather than tactical thinking. The Russian caught his wrist with casual ease, twisting Noah's arm behind his back with controlled force that could either restrain or shatter bones depending on pressure applied.
“Don't make this harder than necessary,” Viktor advised, voice almost gentle despite the violence implicit in his grip.
Noah struggled against the hold, cursing in language that would have scandalized his hospital colleagues. The healer's oath apparently forgotten in the face of impending violence, and part of me admired his refusal to go quietly.
That's when Marcus lost patience. The ex-Marine struck without warning, the back of his hand connecting with Noah's face in a blow that split his lip and sent blood spraying across pristine white walls.
