His Wicked Obsession (Archer and Virginia) novel Chapter 513

Dominic's breath hitched. He viciously hurled his custom-made phone across the room, straight into a priceless antique painting.

With a deafening crash, both the phone and the painting shattered into pieces, littering the floor with stray parts and shards of glass.

Dead silence returned to the study.

...

Inside the penthouse suite of The Peninsula Hotel.

The heating was turned up high, and Archer sat on the Italian leather sofa, his long legs crossed.

He had changed into a set of all-black loungewear. His collar rested slightly open, and The Sandalwood Prayer Beads draped over his hand gleamed faintly in the light.

Zachary stood nearby, accompanied by a lean, tanned man. This was K, Vanderbilt Group's underground informant in Chicago.

"Mr. Vanderbilt, we've had eyes on the place just as you asked. Dominic has locked down the Harrington estate tighter than a vault. Not even a fly could get in. Mrs. Vanderbilt is confined to the master bedroom on the second floor, with guards rotating shifts outside her door around the clock."

K kept his eyes lowered, delivering the report respectfully.

Archer continued thumbing through his prayer beads without pausing, his gaze dropping to the dossier on Gemma resting on the coffee table.

"Are we entirely certain Gemma Harrington is dead?"

K nodded. "Over a year ago, she jumped into The Chicago Waterfront. It happened right during a hurricane, and the waves were massive. The police sent search and rescue teams out for two straight weeks, but they didn't recover so much as a scrap of clothing."

"According to local law, once someone has been missing for a certain period, the police declare them legally dead and close the case, even without a body."

Archer remained silent, but his fingers halted on the beads.

A living, breathing person who vanished into the water without a body wasn't definitive proof of death.

Would a bold, fiercely resilient heiress like Gemma really give up on her life so easily?

As if struck by a thought, he slipped the beads back onto his wrist and grabbed the itinerary detailing Gemma's travels in the six months prior to the incident, flipping through the pages.

Silence settled over the penthouse suite once more.

Archer pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind consumed by the image of "Gemma's" slender, resolute figure as she walked away from the car tonight.

Things were far too precarious. He couldn't afford to wait any longer.

...

Late the following night, inside the second-floor bedroom of the Harrington estate.

"Gemma" sat on the edge of the massive bed, wearing a thin silk nightgown.

The bedroom door had been deadbolted from the outside by Dominic's men, and even the balcony's glass doors had been fitted with restrictor locks. She was entirely imprisoned.

The overhead lights were off, leaving only the soft glow of a bedside reading lamp.