The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 974

Throughout the entire time they had been plotting together, the masked man constantly brought up Tamara and her unborn baby. Fitch had no idea what their actual relationship was.

He figured that if the man cared this much, a face-to-face meeting would put him in a great mood.

If Tamara and this mysterious billionaire hit it off, Fitch's future dealings with him would only get smoother.

Pleased with his own networking skills, Fitch waited with bated breath, his heart practically in his throat.

He stared intently, refusing to miss a single micro-expression.

"No need," the masked man replied flatly, cutting the idea down without a second of hesitation. The synthesized voice was completely devoid of ripples. "Now is not the time."

Fitch's stomach plummeted.

This guy was like a brick wall. It hadn't been this obvious over their encrypted phone calls, but sitting next to him in the flesh made the reality glaringly clear.

Conversing with this man felt like talking to a block of ice; no matter what bait Fitch threw out, it was completely ignored.

Though burning with curiosity, Fitch didn't dare ask any direct questions.

He kept his eager smile firmly in place, immediately pivoting to agree with him, even adding a touch of self-reproach.

"Yes, yes, of course, you're absolutely right, sir. Such incredible foresight! It was presumptuous of me. I was only thinking of giving you peace of mind and completely forgot about the bigger picture."

But looking at the man's terrifying aura and ruthless methods, he didn't seem like the type to get hung up on a romantic fling.

So... did he have some deeper, hidden connection to the ruined Sloan family?

Fitch's eyes drifted down to the man's hands, resting casually on his lap. Even through the soft black leather gloves, he could tell the knuckles were pronounced and the skin around the wrists was tight. This wasn't an old man.

But if he was a peer, why go to such extreme lengths to hide his identity? Even filtering his voice so perfectly?

The more Fitch thought about it, the thicker the fog of mystery became. But he didn't dare let a fraction of his doubt show. Instead, he eagerly reached into the car's mini-fridge, pulled out an imported bottle of water, twisted the cap off with practiced ease, and offered it with a slight bow.

"You've had a long, exhausting journey, sir, and we still have a bit of a drive ahead. Please, have some water and get some rest. I personally inspected the residence we prepared for you. It's a detached villa on the outskirts of the city, perfectly quiet with maximum-tier security. It's totally off the grid—you won't be disturbed by a soul."