The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 499

The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, each one sending another wave of ten through Bill’s battered body.

His grip tightened around the phone.

Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move, to get up, to do something, but fear rooted him to the chair.

Monroe’s warning echoed in his mind. The beating. The threats. The cold certainty in the man’s eyes when he spoke about consequences.

Had they changed their minds?

Had Damien Blackwood decided twenty-four hours was too generous after all?

A cold sweat broke across Bill’s skin as the footsteps drew closer.

Each one echoed through the hollow silence of the mansion like a countdown to an execution.

His pulse hammered in his ears.

It had to be Monroe.

Who else would come back after what happened?

Bill’s breathing quickened, every muscle in his battered body locking up.

The footsteps stopped.

Then finally, a figure appeared in the doorway.

Bill’s breath caught and the fear on his face shifted instantly into confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

It was his driver.

The man stood frozen in the doorway, his face pale as he took in the destruction around him.

His eyes swept across the wrecked study–the overturned furniture, the shattered glass, the gutted cabinets, the scattered documents littering the floor.

Then his gaze landed on Bill

His disheveled hair.

The blood matted near his temple.

The split lip.

The bruises already darkening across his face.

The panic on the driver’s face was immediate.

“Sir…?”

He rushed forward without hesitation.

“Sir! What happened to you?” he asked, his voice rising with alarm. “What happened her.

Bill let out a shuddering breath of relief, which quickly curdled into bile-filled rage.

“Stop asking questions, you moron!” he snapped. “Where the hell were you?!”

The driver stumbled back, visibly rattled.

“I-I didn’t leave, Sir,” he stammered, shaking his head frantically. “I was in the undergroun garage. After I parked the car, I went to the restroom and…”

His face paled.

“Two men in suits grabbed me when I came out. They locked me inside and wouldn’t let me leave.”

The driver’s eyes darted nervously around the wrecked study.

“I kept banging on the door, Sir. Nobody came. They only let me out when they were leaving

Bill waved him off impatiently.

“Useless.”

The driver immediately fell silent.

A moment later, he hesitated.

“Sir…” His voice trembled. “Those men…”

He swallowed hard.

“Were they Mr. Blackwood’s men?”

“Who else would it be, you dimwit?!” Bill roared, though his voice cracked from the pain.

His chest rose and fell violently.

“What are you standing there for? Be useful and get upstairs!”

He pointed toward the staircase.

“Pack my things. Anything valuable you see, take it. Jewellery, watches, cash-take everything.”

A brief pause.

“We’re leaving this place in two hours.”

His eyes hardened.

“Now move!”

The driver flinched at the outburst.

For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something, but one look at Bill’s bloodied face and murderous expression was enough to change his mind.

“Yes, Sir! Yes, I’m going!”

The driver turned and scrambled up the stairs.

Why would he?

He had power. Status Influence.

Women had always been drawn to men like him.

Only later did he realize that none of it had ever been about him.

It had always been about Ashcroft.

The realization still infuriated him.

Everything she had done, every conversation, every calculated move had been centered aging string & means is an end

*** What Tim had collected in a single day, the Carson he blamed most for all of it, was still out there breathing comfortably. completely unaware of what was coming

The thouge alone was enough to harden the hatred already festering inside him.

Bill hit sand and watched the money vanish from his account.

Only a few seconds passed before his phone buzzed and a single message appeared on.

Bill stared at the word.

Just like that, it was done.

A slow, vicious smile spread across his battered face.

Brandy Martinez had taken everything from him and now she was finally going to pay for it.

For a moment, that thought brought him satisfaction.

Then another realization surfaced.

It wasn’t enough.

Why should he be the only one left carrying the consequences?

“I will not be the scapegoat for some cheap whore’s obsession,” he muttered.

His eyes darkened as he opened a new message and began typing.

Whatever happens, my name never comes up. Keep it clean. Make sure nothing traces back to me.

His thumb lingered over the screen before adding one final instruction.

Make it look like Nicholas Ashcroft ordered the hit.

He hit send and watched the message change from Sent to Seen.

A cruel sense of satisfaction settled over him.

Uh oh… just when everyone thought the dust was finally settling.

For those wondering if we’re getting sidetracked, we’re not. Every piece of this arc connects to the bigger picture