Chapter 98

Julian casually directed Patrick, "Tell them to concentrate on the championship and remember the prize money awaits."

He ended the call with a tap.

"Since when did you invest in an esports team, Julian?" Evelyn inquired, swirling her martini glass.

"Ever since I kept losing every single game," he admitted with a chuckle. "My teammates mocked me relentlessly. So out of sheer spite, I dropped two billion dollars to build my own dream team."

Leaning back in his ergonomic gaming chair, he added, "I refuse to believe money can't buy raw talent."

With a playful grin, he spun the chair toward her. "Consider this team yours from today onward. My gift to you."

"Well, aren't you generous?" Evelyn winked, clinking her glass against his.

Her phone buzzed with an unknown caller. She dismissed it instantly. The persistent caller tried again.

"Hello?"

"Evelyn, you know exactly who I am now." Alistair's voice dripped with condescension. "Return my diamond signet ring and publicly apologize to Isabella."

His tone turned mocking. "By the way, how does it feel being internet fodder?"

Evelyn's lips curled. "Is this really your best move?"

She continued, voice laced with amusement, "For someone who's ruled the corporate world for thirty years, I expected more creativity."

"All I see are cheap tricks."

"Rigged casino games, hired thugs, smear campaigns... You're nothing but a small-time gangster with a fancy title. Is this the fearsome Delaney patriarch?"

Alistair's laugh was icy. "My methods may be simple, but they'll ensure you never work in Kingsley Industries again."

"Here's your final chance. Return my ring, and perhaps I'll tell the press to go easy on you. Keep defying me, and—"

He left the threat hanging.

"What exactly will you do?" Evelyn challenged.

"In three days, Leonard Kingsley celebrates his seventieth birthday."

"Dominic might tolerate your scandals, but do you think his grandfather will? When I expose you at that party, let's see how long you keep that GM title."

Evelyn nearly laughed aloud. "Please do. I'll be front row waiting."

Her grandfather wouldn't spare a glance at some provincial businessman, much less entertain his nonsense.

"Mark my words!" Alistair spat.

"Wait," Evelyn interrupted. "This is your only warning."

"Make Isabella confess everything, and I might let you crawl away with some dignity."

"Over my dead body!"

The line went dead with a crash.

Julian shook his head. "The man's ego is his own worst enemy. Time to teach him humility, Evie."

"That ring deserves a better owner anyway." Her smile turned razor-sharp.

Days later at Darai International, emergency sirens wailed.

Wrapped in a thermal blanket, Evelyn couldn't stop trembling despite the tropical heat. Her gaze fixed on the wreckage—a commercial airliner torn apart by flames, rescue crews swarming like ants.

She'd survived her second plane crash.

At 60,000 feet, Engine Two had exploded. The pilots managed an emergency descent until—thirty feet from touchdown—hydraulics failed. The impact had been brutal.

In the terminal, Evelyn clenched her fists. Breathe. Just breathe. At least she'd walked away.

#15 BONUS

Disasters had a way of reducing humans to insignificance.

Paramedics rushed past with stretchers. Walkie-talkies crackled with updates:

"—still missing twelve passengers—"

"—fire spreading to Section C—"

"—need medevac now for critical injuries—"

The déjà vu was overwhelming.