Karma Doesn’t Sleep: The Revenge Queen Rises novel Chapter 8

On the other side of nightfall, neon lights lit up the city like a promise.

This was Alson Creek’s most exclusive private club. Ryan strolled out, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging a folder. His black dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, giving him that careless, couldn’t-care-less vibe—the kind of guy who never had to try too hard. Classic trust fund trouble.

Francisco was waiting by the car and hurried over as soon as he saw him.

“Mr. Packman.”

After seven years working for Ryan, Francisco knew how to read his moods. One look at Ryan’s easygoing face, and he could tell the deal tonight was done.

Ryan tossed him the folder. Inside were documents for twenty-five percent of West Medicine’s shares.

“From today on, West Medicine belongs to me,” Ryan said, his lazy drawl doing nothing to hide the arrogance underneath.

Francisco grinned. “Tomorrow, when George hears about this, he’s going to lose it. He’s been after West Medicine for months and couldn’t get a foot in the door… But sir, you always said you weren’t interested in the domestic pharmaceutical business. What’s with the sudden change?”

Ryan shot him a look—cool, sharp, the kind of look that shut people up fast.

Francisco immediately felt a chill. He dipped his head. “Sorry, Mr. Packman. I shouldn’t have asked.”

He hurried ahead to open the car door, then remembered something. “Mr. Packman, the arrangements at the hospital are set. Everything in the Ms. Sadinton’s entire floor has been shut down, including the cameras and the elevators. You can go straight up.”

Ryan had lived overseas these past few years. Every time he flew home, he kept things quiet, stayed for just a few days, and then vanished again. But he always stopped by Alson Creek, and he always made a trip to a hospital to see a woman in a coma.

Francisco’s curiosity had gotten the better of him once. He’d built up the nerve to ask, “Mr. Packman, who is Ms. Sadinton to you?”

Ryan hadn’t even looked up from his papers. He just said, cool as ever, “A fool.”

Francisco wanted to ask, If she’s just a fool, why do you fly back every year just to see her?

But he never did.

Tonight, though, Ryan broke the routine.

“We don’t need to go anymore.”

Francisco blinked, surprised, but kept his mouth shut. “Understood. I’ll take you straight to the hotel.”

Ryan didn’t reply. He slid into the backseat, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. The lines on his forehead softened, but he looked tired.

The car slid into motion.

He came to her bedside, touching her cheek with that practiced tenderness. “Why aren’t you sleeping? Did I wake you?”

She caught the bright, fresh lipstick stain on his white collar—impossible to miss. She could practically see the scene: Clive tangled up with Kristen, Kristen curling up in his arms, nuzzling him like a snake.

“Come on, be good. Close your eyes and rest,” Clive murmured as he leaned in, going for his usual goodnight kiss.

Amelia caught a whiff of Kristen’s perfume on him. He was about to kiss her with the same lips he’d just used on another woman.

Her stomach lurched.

She shoved Clive away, gagging and nearly doubling over.

“What’s going on, Amelia?” Clive’s voice was full of concern. “I’ll call Dr. Donald right now!”

He played the perfect husband, worry written all over his face—if you ignored the cold flicker in his eyes.

Amelia almost admired his act.

“No, it’s fine, Clive.” She steadied herself, reaching for his sleeve and tugging gently. “My stomach just feels a little off. Maybe I’m just hungry.”