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Chapter 122
Chapter 122:
His phone rang. It was the courier service.
“Mr. Thorne,” the dispatcher said, voice crackling. “We can’t send the van. The roads are flooded. We’ll have to reschedule for tomorrow morning p>
“Unacceptable,” Elias hissed. “The instructions were precise. Midnight p>
“Sir, it’s a hurricane warning. We can’t risk the driver p>
Elias hung up.
He looked at the safe. He looked at the clock. 11:40 PM.
If he waited until tomorrow, it was just a gift. If he delivered it now, it was a statement. It was proof that no force of nature could keep him from her.
Elias Thorne did not miss deadlines.
He spun the safe dial. He grabbed the Kelly bag and the largest box of lipsticks. He didn’t bother with an umbrella—it would be useless in this wind.
He ran out the side door, bypassing the main garage where the chauffeur was sleeping. He sprinted to the smaller detached garage where he kept the utility vehicles.
He jumped into the black Range Rover. He threw the gifts onto the passenger seat.
He roared out of the driveway.
The rain was a solid wall of water. The wipers were useless. The wind shook the heavy SUV like a toy.
Elias gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He knew the road—he had memorized the satellite maps of the area when he bought the property.
He turned onto the private lane leading to the Vance Estate. The tires slipped on mud. The car fishtailed.
Elias corrected the skid with cold precision, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
𝙍𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 @
Don’t crash. Don’t crash. Don’t crash.
He reached the heavy iron gates. He punched in the override code he had… acquired… from the security firm’s database.
The gates groaned open.
He sped up the driveway, gravel spraying like bullets. He slammed on the brakes in front of the main porch.
11:55 PM.
He grabbed the bags, tucked them under his jacket to shield them, and sprinted for the door.
He was soaked to the bone in three seconds. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His shoes were ruined.
He didn’t care.
He pounded on the heavy oak door. Bam. Bam. Bam.
Inside, Aurora jumped. Who would be here in this storm?
She grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from the mantle—old habits from the trailer park died hard—and walked to the door.
She looked through the peephole.
She saw a dark figure, dripping wet.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open, candlestick raised.
