Page 42 of His Obsession

“Padraig,” he said quietly, his voice cold and calm. “Shut it down.”

“You sure?” Padraig asked, hesitation flickering over the line.

“Do it.”

The monitors flickered as the security feeds went dark, the room plunging into silence. Callum stood, his movements fluid, lethal, as he checked his gun and adjusted his jacket.

“I’m going in,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He didn’t wait for a response. As he stepped out of the SUV into the rain-slicked street, one thought consumed him: nothing would keep him from reaching her. Not Bradford, not Lynch, not the entire world.

Not when she was his to protect. His to claim.

The storm was coming. And Callum was ready to bring hell with him.

ISOLDE

The air in the room felt thin, stifling, as Isolde stood between Lynch and Bradford, their gazes predatory, circling her like wolves toying with their prey. The dim light cast shadows across the lavish office, but there was no mistaking the menace in their postures. Her heart pounded in her chest, a relentless drumbeat of fear and defiance.

Lynch’s voice was like gravel, low and cutting. “You have a choice, love. Save your father and his precious foundation or save Kavanagh.” He stepped closer, his cold eyes boring into hers. “But you can’t have both.”

Isolde’s breath caught, the gravity of his ultimatum crashing down on her. Her gaze darted to Bradford, whose smug smile only deepened her dread. This was a game to them, a cruel spectacle where her agony was their entertainment.

“I—” Her voice wavered, but she swallowed hard, forcing herself to stand tall. “You’re asking me to choose between the people I care about. That’s not a choice. That’s extortion.”

Bradford chuckled, sipping his whiskey as if they were discussing the weather. “Call it what you like, Ms. Fitzwilliam. But we both know the foundation is the only thing your father has left. Without it, he’s nothing. Just another rich man in disgrace.”

Lynch leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “And Kavanagh? He’s already a dead man walking. You just have to decide if he falls now or later.”

The mention of Callum made her chest tighten. At some point, without her even realizing it, he had become more than the dark and dangerous man who’d upended her life. He had become someone she needed, someone she couldn’t bear to lose. The realization hit her like a lethal knife wound—sharp and unforgiving.

Her mind raced, searching for a way to buy time. “What if I give you the foundation?” she said, her voice steadier now. “All of its assets, all of its influence. It’s worth more than my father’s reputation or Callum’s life. Surely, that’s enough for whatever vendetta you’re nursing.”

Lynch and Bradford exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. She caught the flicker of uncertainty in Bradford’s eyes, the way his jaw tightened as he considered her offer.

“And what about your father?” Bradford asked, his tone calculating. “You’d sell him out so easily?”

“I’m bargaining for his life,” Isolde snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “You leave him alive, even if his name is tarnished. That’s the deal.”

Lynch smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the desk. “And Kavanagh?”

Isolde’s stomach twisted, but she held her ground. “He walks free. Both of them do. That’s the deal, or you get nothing.”

Her ears caught the faintest sound then—a soft pop, like champagne corks in the distance. Silenced gunfire. Therealization sent a shiver down her spine, but she kept her face neutral, refusing to let them see the flicker of hope that she felt ignite in her chest. Callum’s team was here.

She pushed forward, keeping their attention on her. “This isn’t a negotiation where you hold all the cards,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “The foundation’s resources could ruin you both. Take my offer, or risk me walking out of here and exposing everything.”

Bradford’s smile faltered, but before he could respond, Lynch’s icy laugh rang out. “Bold of you, love. But boldness won’t save you.”

Isolde’s pulse thundered as she watched him, waiting, calculating. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the faintest movement near the doorway. Deirdre Lynch stood there, her expression unreadable, but her subtle nod sent a jolt through Isolde’s veins. She wasn’t alone.

Lynch took a step closer, his hand brushing against her arm as his voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t have the stomach for this game, Fitzwilliam. You’re prey, not predator.”

His words hung in the air, but Isolde’s mind snapped into focus. She thought of Callum, of the lessons he had tried to teach her. Survival sometimes requires becoming the monster others fear.

She straightened, squaring her shoulders as her gaze locked with Lynch’s. “You’re wrong,” she said, her voice low but deadly. “I’m both.”

There was a strained silence before the door burst open, and chaos erupted. Gunfire rang out, sharp and violent, as Callum’s men stormed the room. Isolde ducked instinctively, her heart racing as she felt the heat of bodies and the crack of bullets.

---