The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 498

Chapter 227 The Final Art of a Dead Man

Chapter 227: The Final Act of a Dead Man

The silence of the house was absolute, broken only by the hitching of Bill’s breath. I movement was a chore, his ribs were a roadmap of agony, and his side screamed ir with every shift of his weight.

He gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he hauled himself upward, using ti edge of his mahogany desk for support.

For a fleeting second, he stood on unsteady legs-but the agony in his ribs flared, for choked gasp from his throat. His knees buckled.

He collapsed back to the floor, reduced to crawling on his hands and knees.

Bereft of his shoes from the beating, he had no protection against the wreckage. Shar shards of monitor glass and the razor-edged scraps of torn documents bit into his skii every desperate movement-a stinging, constant reminder of the price he was paying.

He dragged his body over the hollowed-out casings of his hard drives, his jaw locked tic against the rhythmic fire in his chest.

His eyes scanned the room, landing on the ruins of his safe. It was picked clean, save fc few stray documents and a pathetic stack of cash.

The sight hit him like a physical blow, fueling the dark fire in his gut.

“You’ve destroyed my life, you filthy bitch,” he rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of agony and pure, unadulterated hatred. “I’ll see you burn for this. I’ll make you beg for the mercy I’m never going to give you!”

He scanned the floor, sweeping aside papers and broken hardware until his fingers brushed against something cool and metallic near the base of the leather chair.

His phone.

He flipped it over, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the screen-a map of spiderwebbed cracks covering the display. He pressed the power button, holding his breath. The screen flickered to life, showing the familiar interface.

A sharp, unexpected sliver of relief washed over him it still works.

Using the base of the chair for leverage, he shimmied his back against the upholstery. inching himself up.

“Urgh ahhh f-fuck,” he hissed, the movement sending a jolt of lightning through his side He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a jagged, rattling breath. “God dammit… motherfucker

With a final, pained heave, he slid himself into the seat. He slumped back, his ch

He stayed there for a few seconds, eyes closed, simply waiting for the white-hot agon ribs to dull enough for him to think.

Once his breath stabilized, he opened his eyes. His fingers, trembling slightly, navigate his call history and hit redial.

Two rings. Then, a click.

“Double!” Bill spat. His voice was a jagged rasp, trembling with a volatile cocktail of phy agony and pure, corrosive hate. “I’ll double the price, but it has to be done tonight!”

He heaved a ragged, wet breath that sounded like a death rattle.

“And no mercy! I want her agonizing. Do whatever you want to her-just make it last. Do understand me?”

A low, noncommittal hum came from the other end of the line.

Bill gripped the phone tighter, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the emptiness of the study.

“And I’ll throw in extra for a video. I want to see every second of her suffering. I want to he every single scream.” He paused, his breath hitching in his chest, his voice dropping to a dangerous, wet whisper.

“Ruin her. I want her broken, begging for an end before you finish her for good. I want it slow I want her pleading for the grave. I want to watch the light go out of her eyes.”

Bill finished his demand with a wet, shuddering gasp, his heart hammering against his nbs i he waited for the other man to share his bloodlust.

Instead, there was only a chilling silence on the line.

“We don’t take chump change ‘extras for that kind of work,” the voice replied, the tone so detached it was insulting “Twenty-five percent additional, upfront for the footage. Wire the money before we move. And make it clean.”

Bill’s grip tightened on the phone, his jaw muscles corded. He didn’t care about the price-

he’d burn every last cent to see her suffer-but the hitman’s cold, transactional greed grated against his raw nerves like sandpaper

“Fine,” Bill hissed, his voice trembling with hate. “Check your account in five minutes.”

Click

Chapter 227 The Final Act of a Dead Man

The click of the disconnected line hit Bill like a slap. He stared at the glowi of his phone, the silence of the room rushing back in to swallow him whol

Suddenly, a sharp click echoed from the foyer, followed by the soft sound

Bill’s heart hammered against his bruised ribs-a cold, sickening dread wa swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the study door, muscles tensing as if ex and his men to come back and finish what they started.

He wasn’t ready to die.

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