The Billionaire’s Fight For Redemption (Noah and Sierra) novel Chapter 297

“Not yet,” Adrian replies. “She’s got a lot going on right now, but once things settle, I’ll tell her… I’m not about to let her slip through my fingers.”

His words land heavier than they should. It’s just a simple confession, but it hits me like a two-edged blade, slicing somewhere in my heart.

I don’t understand the reaction.

He’s my friend. He’s happy and that’s all that should matter.

So why does it feel like something is slipping through my fingers?

I clench my hands beneath the table, nails pressing into my palms as if the physical sting might ease the tightening in my chest.

Maybe it’s not about him. Maybe it’s about the fact that unlike Adrian, who seems to have found something steady and real, I lost the woman I loved because of lies and my own stupidty.

Gunner lifts his glass first. “About damn time,” he smiles, clinking it against Adrian’s.

I follow a second later.

“Congratulations,” I say, forcing a half-smile even as something inside me keeps twisting.

***

Later that night, I’m home but the house is too quiet.

I’m sitting in the dark when my phone rings.

"What have you found?" I ask.

“She covered her tracks well, but I was able to link the fabricated evidence to her secret email address,” Blaze says evenly. “We can prove she set everything up to frame Sierra.”

A sharp, dark satisfaction cuts through me.

“Good,” I mutter. “And Brook?”

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Unfortunately, I can’t find anything concrete tying her to it,” he replies. “She knew what she was doing.”

My jaw tightens. “What do you mean?”

“No calls. No texts. No emails. Nothing that connects them digitally. They met in person almost as if she planned ahead; that way, if this blows up, she can claim she had no idea what Jocelyn was planning.”

A low curse leaves me before I can stop it.

He’s right. That’s not enough because Brook can easily play innocent and distance herself.

I drag a hand down my face, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

“Keep digging,” I growl. “I don’t care how deep you have to go. I want something concrete tying her to this.”

“I’m on it.”

The call ends, but before I can even put my phone down, it rings again.

“Hey, Mom.”

There’s a pause on the other end.

“Are you okay?” she asks gently, as if already knows

I lie “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

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