The Billionaire Heir Fell for the Wrong Girl (Hathaway Whitmore) novel Chapter 98

Chapter 98

Chapter 98

Hathaway felt restless as she sat by her mother’s bedside in the hospital.

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In her previous life, Jeremiah had thought she’d hurt Jessica. He’d grabbed her by the throat, his eyes burning with rage she could still remember the way she could barely breathe.

If he believed she’d splashed wine on Jessica on purpose this time, he’d definitely come after her.

She’d heard he was on a business trip? If she remembered right, he was in the Middle East this time-with all the fighting and chaos over there, it was pretty dangerous.

‘Honestly, he can never come back for all I care,’ Hathaway thought.

As that thought crossed her mind, Hathaway hissed in pain-she’d accidentally nicked her finger with the fruit knife while peeling an apple.

She quickly popped her finger into her mouth.

Sylvia looked over. “Why are you so distracted? Let me see your hand.”

Hathaway gave an embarrassed smile. “It’s nothing, I barely scratched myself.”

She handed the apple to Sylvia. “Here, Mom, have this. I’m stepping out for a bit, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Sylvia said, holding onto her hand. She looked at her daughter, always busy and always alone, and her heart ached. “Your dad left us so suddenly, and Jeremiah’s already married. Now it’s you.

“I hope you can settle down soon-find someone who’ll be there for you, someone you can count on. That’s all I want for you.”

Hathaway hadn’t realized her mom had been so worried about her future.

‘Does Mom really think marriage is some magic fix for everything?’ Hathaway thought.

“Isn’t it enough that I’m always here for you, Mom?” Hathaway said.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but” Sylvia’s face was still pale as she held Hathaway’s hand and let out a soft sigh.

“Mom, Lorenzo’s started grad school. We’ve both got a long road ahead of us” Hathaway said.

Sylvia forced a smile. Of course, she wasn’t talking about Lorenzo. She knew her daughter-Hathaway had always seen Lorenzo as nothing more than a little brother.

“Alright, alright,” Sylvia said.

Just then, Mary came in with a basin of water, ready to help Sylvia wash her hands before she ate the fruit.

“Mom, I’ll be right back,” Hathaway said.

She grabbed her bag and hurried out of the room.

Jeremiah was still the heart and soul of Blackwood Tech’s R&D-no one could ever steal him away.

‘If I can’t have him, then he can go to hell for all I care, Hathaway thought.

“Wasn’t I wishing he’d die in my previous life, too?’ she reminded herself.

11:59 Tue, Jul

Chapter 98

‘Don’t go soft now, she told herself.

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Jeremiah might have been a businessman, but after years working on energy projects overseas, he’d built connections with the liaison officers of armed groups in the conflict zones.

Once, when a project in the Middle East went sideways and several of his top engineers were taken hostage, the official channels were useless.

He had his fixers pull some strings, paid a sky-high ransom, and got his people out from the edge of the war zone.

But there was also that time a Middle Eastern businessman pissed him off. The very next day, Jeremiah made a call and had the guy’s hand chopped off.

Hathaway saw the photo herself-right after the job was done, the guy sent a picture of the severed hand straight to Jeremiah’s phone.

Back in her previous life, when Hathaway was at rock bottom and burning for revenge, she snuck into Jeremiah’s study late at night, rummaged through his locked drawer, and finally found the hidden contact for a killer-for-hire.

But before she could make her move, she died.

She actually wrote that number down herself back then.

She never imagined that those deadly digits would only be put to use after she was time-traveling.

Even now, with that sweat-soaked scrap of paper long gone, Hathaway could repeat that number perfectly, eyes closed.

Hathaway bought a brand-new, untraceable SIM card from a scalper and paired it with a voice changer.

After a few tweaks, the voice coming through the receiver was gruff and masculine, sounding like a middle-aged man.

She jumped through several relays, routing her call through layers of intermediaries, until she finally dialed that number burned into her memory.

The moment the call connected, a cold, wary voice in Arabic came through the line.

“How did you get this number?” the voice demanded.

Hathaway answered in Arabic, cool and direct: “Doesn’t matter how I got it. I want someone dead.”

“A businessman, goes by J&B. He’s somewhere near Petra,” Hathaway stated her target.

“You want me to kill him?” the voice on the other end asked, clearly surprised.

They didn’t mess with guys like that unless they had to. If things went south, the authorities would come knocking, and no one could escape a cross-border manhunt. It wasn’t about the money-it was the kind of trouble that could follow you for life.

Someone like J&B? Taking him out was asking for trouble-way too hot to handle.

“I want him dead-” Hathaway spat, but as soon as the words left her mouth, she pictured Edmund Blackwood leaning on his cane. Out of respect for him, she quickly corrected herself, “his manhood instead.”

There was a pause, then the voice on the other end burst out in Arabic, loud and clear: “Boss! Is it his life or his manhood? There’s an old saying-a tiny slip, and you’re way off target. Make sure you know what you want!”

Hathaway’s cheeks flushed. “Just his manhood.”

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Chapter 98

“Alright, but the price went up fifty times,” the voice said, sounding relieved that it wasn’t a full hit.

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“What? You charge five million dollars for a hit, and now you want twenty-five million dollars for this?” Hathaway shot back.

“A hit’s one bullet. But what you’re asking for? That’s up close and personal. And I heard J&B knows his way around a gun- he’s no pushover. So, what do you think, lady?” the voice replied.

Hathaway’s instincts screamed trouble-something was definitely off.

After a few words, the guy switched from calling her “boss” to “lady”-he must’ve caught on that she was using a voice changer.

“Forget it,” Hathaway said, steadying herself and staying alert. “He’s not worth that kind of money anyway.”

Hathaway lost her nerve.

She hung up in a flash, ripped out the SIM card, flung it into the river without a second thought, then stepped on the gas and drove away.

The next day, the blazing sun baked the desert into a shimmering copper landscape. The wind whipped up rust-red sand, blasting the area with scorching heat and swirling clouds of dust.

Yann didn’t wait for the car to stop-he braced himself on the doorframe and hopped out, his boots landing in a spray of dust.

Moments later, a souped-up pickup screeched to a halt by a pile of gravel. A mercenary in a sand-streaked desert camouflage uniform jumped out.

After a few steps, the black mercenary took the lead and asked, “Where’s J&B?”

“At the hunting grounds,” Yann replied.

The wind on the hunting grounds carried a chill, and for once, Jeremiah wasn’t in his usual suit. Dressed in camouflage, he aimed his rifle at a distant target, his finger hovering over the trigger.

Sweat trickled from his temples down his neck, disappearing into his open collar and tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and back.

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