Obsession His Runaway Bride (Noelle and Adrian) novel Chapter 114

Chapter 114: Tear Down

+25 BONUS

Chapter 114: Tear Down

Dr. Everett leaned back in his chair. The worn leather groated beneath him as he exhaled slowly. The hospital’s central system buzzed faintly overhead, mixing with the occasional beep from monitors echoing down the hallway. His office was dim and only the desk lamp was on, while its warm light brushed across stacks of patient files and unread reports.

But none of them mattered right now.

All he could think about was Grace.

He had known her since she was a child–watched her grow up behind walls soaked in silence and power. He had seen the bruises she never spoke of, the cold stares she’d learned to ignore, the terrifying strength she had taught herself to wear like armor. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for the truth she dropped in his lap hours ago.

He slowly rubbed a hand across his face as the weight of it all pressed into his bones.

Because the truth… the truth was that Grace and Faith weren’t even Bartholomew’s real children. They were merely pawns adopted for convenience, distractions for enemies who might sniff too close to the truth. And Marco… Marco was the real heir. The son Bart had hidden in plain sight. The boy who’d grown up believing he was just another outsider taken in by a powerful family. All this time, he never knew he was blood.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Everett reached for the glass on his desk–a small pour of whiskey he hadn’t even touched yet. His fingers trembled slightly as they wrapped around it. He shouldn’t be drinking on duty, but tonight felt different.

Faith had been the chosen one. Bart’s favorite. His obsession.

And Grace–God, poor Grace–she had been the shield. The unloved one. The girl who had taken every hit meant for someone else.

The thought made Everett sick.

He closed his eyes for a moment as the image of Grace shaking in his arms earlier flooded his mind. She had cried like she hadn’t cried in years–like a child, broken open. And through that storm of sobs, she had told him everything. Her voice had cracked when she spoke of her grief. But more than that, was the cause of Faith’s death.

Everett closed his eyes for a moment, trying to exhale the heaviness sitting in his chest. But the stillness in the room did nothing to silence the memory. Suddenly, the door to his office burst open.

“Doctor! Patient Grace Blackwood is missing!”

Everett’s eyes instantly snapped open, already rising to his feet as a male nurse stumbled in, breathing hard and wide–eyed with panic.

The words hit like a gunshot and Everett’s entire body went cold.

“What?”

“I checked her room, the corridor, the stairwell–she’s not there. I even checked the cameras, but there’s a blind spot in the west wing hallway. It’s like she vanished-”

Everett didn’t wait to hear the rest.

He grabbed his coat and stormed past the nurse as his heart began slamming in his chest.

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Chapter 114: Tear Down

She was weak. She was vulnerable.

And if his suspicions of Grace’s desire for vengeance was the God help her.

*** +25 BONUS

Grace stepped out of the taxi and slammed the door shut behind her. The wind stirred the hem of her coat Marco had brought for her, but she barely noticed it as her eyes were fixed on the towering black iron gates ahead. The Blackwood crest stared back at her, cold and proud.

The name had never protected her. The blood had never claimed her. But this place–this empire—had used her. And now she was back, not as a daughter, but as a reckoning.

When the keeper squinted through the glass of his booth at the figure standing in front of the gates, his face blanched when he recognized her, and with fumbling hands, he scrambled to hit the release. The iron gates groaned open in front of her.

She didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she walked past without a word as her heels echoed along the polished stone path leading to the courtyard. The familiar lineup of sleek, black vehicles sat in perfect formation.

–

Her gaze moved over them until it landed on one- – an older matte black sedan with faint scratches on the door handle. The same one she used to drive before Bartholomew decided she no longer deserved it. She moved to it without hesitation and her fingers curled around the handle.

The door clicked open on the first try. She didn’t bother looking inside. Instead, she walked to the back with her boots sinking slightly into the gravel before stopping at the trunk. She cast a quick glance up at the mansion windows to confirm that everyone else is asleep.

Then, she crouched, quickly but with trained ease, her coat flaring slightly as she ran her hand along the trunk’s edge.

Most people would have missed it–but not her.

Twist the right latch.

Tap the seam twice.

Then press.

Click.

The hidden compartment released with a hiss of air.

Grace peeled it open, revealing an array of weapons neatly strapped into the custom rig. A silver handgun. Throwing knives in matched pairs. Two silencers. A compact combat blade tucked against the lining. Everything polished. Lethal. Ready.

She pulled the gun free and checked the magazine. Full.

Her breath was steady as she snapped it back into place.

She wasn’t here to threaten.

She was here to finish what her so–called family started.

And so Grace slipped two handguns into the holsters under her blazer, then one at the small of her back. Another tucked into the side of her boot. Her hands moved fast, focused–no trembling nor hesitation. She reached for the matte–black assault rifle she used to train with in secret and the cold steel felt familiar in her arms.

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Chapter 114: Tear Down

**+25 BONUS

The gatekeeper hadn’t seen her slip past she’d waited for his attention to shift before darting behind the row of hedges that lined the western wing of the estate. Her boots were silent on the grass. She stuck to the shadows, crouched low until she found what she needed an old floor–to–ceiling window cracked slightly open for ventilation..

Grace crouched near it, ready to slip inside when a voice broke the silence.

“Miss?”

One of Bartholomew’s men stood near the hedge, brow furrowed in confusion. He wasn’t afraid—just startled. He didn’t understand what he was looking at.

But Grace did not offer him a second glance.

Her hand snapped out, and the silver flash of her throwing knife buried deep into the man’s forehead with a sickening thud. His body collapsed to the ground with a lifeless thump–fast, brutal, and quiet.

But not quiet enough.

The sound caught the attention of two nearby guards. They turned–just in time to see her rise from the bushes with the rifle already raised.

“There!” one of them shouted.

Grace had no choice but to pull the trigger.

The rifle roared in her hands, echoing through the estate like thunder. The guards barely had time to react before they dropped–one struck through the chest, the other through the neck. Their bodies hit the stone path hard, blood smearing into the marble.

Alarms blared a second later and chaos immediately erupted.

“Assault! Assault! We are under attack!” someone screamed over the radio.

Lights flared across the property. Footsteps thundered from every direction.

But Grace didn’t run.

She stepped through the open window, rifle in hand, eyes locked forward like a woman possessed.

She was in the lion’s den now.

And she came to tear it down.

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