“What I’ve always wanted,” Gabriel said smoothly. “The truth. You see, dear Chelsea, you’re not as untouchable as you think. And unless you want the world to know about your little… experiments, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
Chelsea’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Gabriel added, his tone dripping with malice. “Tell Kristie to run while she still can. Because next time, I won’t miss."
The line went dead.
I stared at Chelsea, my chest tightening. Her secrets, my identity, and Gabriel’s vendetta—it was all spiraling out of control.
“What do we do now?” I whispered.
Chelsea didn’t answer. She just stared into the darkness, her expression grim.
Calvin glanced at me, his jaw set. “We fight back.”
That’s the point. But… how?
“We need to go to my safehouse.” Calvin spoke.
We pulled up to a rickety old house. I hurried myself to walk inside, standing in the corner of the living room, trying to make sense of the chaos unraveling around me. The place—it was functional, cold, and barren of the luxury I had thought defined him. Just four walls, a couch that looked like it belonged to a garage sale, and an air of suffocating tension.