Page 88 of The Colour of Revenge
Over months, he infiltrated Edward’s business accounts, siphoning millions in small, untraceable transactions. By the time anyone noticed, the money had vanished, buried in offshore accounts.
That money became my lifeline. My freedom.
It’s how I’ve been able to build this new life, to afford the house in Kensington without raising suspicion. But I know the truth—and I know Edward. If he ever finds out, he’ll destroy me.
After him there’s only one more man left on my list; my father.
I know Nate isn’t happy that I’m leaving him out of this, but I need to do it alone. Taking down the men who’ve wronged me is about more than justice—it’s about reclaiming my control. And when Nate is involved, I lose focus. He’s a force of nature, and as much as I love working with him, this one needs to be mine.
It’s been years since I last kept tabs on Edward. At first, I was obsessed, checking for any sign he suspected me. But it became clear he had no idea what I’d done.
Or at least, he didn’t suspectme.
So, I stopped looking.
As I open my laptop and type his name into the search bar, that old, familiar dread slithers in.
Edward Blackwell.
Thousands of results flood the screen—articles about his company, his wealth. But one headline stands out:
[Blackwell Industries Merger with Gardner Enterprises Falls Through After Gardner Disappears.]
A strange tightness coils in my chest.
Gardner. Simon Gardner.
Wasn’t the party Nate took me to about a merger involving him and… Nate’s dad?
I pause, my fingers hovering over the keys as a wave of unease washes over me.
His dad… whose name is Ed.
The blood drains from my face.
No. It’s just a coincidence. It has to be.
I keep scrolling. Faster now, heart hammering. I scroll through article after article until I find one about Edward’s family. My stomach turns as I read:
Wife: Evelyn Blackwell
Daughter: Melanie Blackwell (deceased)
Son: Nathaniel Blackwell
The name slams into me like a wrecking ball.
The words blur on the screen as white-hot fury ignites in my veins.
Nathaniel Blackwell.
Nate.
My mind fractures, splintering into jagged pieces. Every moment we spent together replays in my head—every stolen glance, every lingering touch.
The way he always showed up at my crime scenes.
The way he knew where I lived.
