At the very last moment, she managed to send out a message on her phone.
“Help me.”
Victoria had no idea how long she’d been unconscious when, all of a sudden, blinding lights flared above her.
Somewhere nearby, someone laughed—a greasy, revolting sound—then a phone was shoved in her face as someone started filming.
“Damn, she really is a knockout. Great body, too. Too bad she nearly ended up dead.”
The voice sounded familiar, but her eyelids felt glued shut.
Her body ached as if it had been shattered and barely put back together. Even the faintest movement sent fresh waves of agony crashing through her.
“I don’t care how many bones are broken—fix her up. I want her alive,” the voice said, cold and cruel.
She finally recognized it. Teague.
Victoria tried to speak, but blackness swallowed her again, and the world faded away.
---
Quantum Core Technologies
Victoria hadn’t shown up at work for days, with no call or message—nothing.
Ailie was frantic, turning the office upside down looking for answers. Curtis had tried reaching out several times too, but Victoria’s phone remained switched off.
“Maybe she’s just… moved on to something else,” Curtis muttered, his tone hollow. Secretly, he wondered if Victoria had picked up on his feelings for her and decided to disappear because of it.
Ailie rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe Mr. Garcia had turned into such a hopeless romantic, and she didn’t even bother to argue with him anymore.
McNeil had arranged for Gwyneth to stay at the house on Winding Peak Lane. He himself hadn’t been back home in some time, busy with work at the company.
Every now and then, he’d call to check in—but never asked for Victoria.
The answer was always the same: Mrs. McNeil isn’t home.
He didn’t mind. As long as Victoria wasn’t causing trouble, that was enough for him.
He told himself that once things with Violet were settled, he’d go back to her. She was a sensible woman—he believed she’d understand.
That evening, McNeil had scheduled a business meeting.
As he passed by one of the private rooms at the club, raucous laughter and lewd jokes spilled out through the door. Inside, a massive TV screen played a video—every so often, the laughter would spike.
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