Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO Chapter 89: Set a Trap

VANESSA BELMONT JANG

My hands were shaking.

I clenched them into fists, nails biting into my palms, and forced a smirk as I leaned against Nathan in the back of the SUV.

My bare feet left muddy streaks on the leather seats, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not when my pulse was still jackhamring from avoiding gunfire, jumping into the river, the running for our lives part of this disaster.

Mrs. King—Ollie’s terrifying mother—flicked a glance at in the rearview mirror, her lips pursed. "Vanessa," she said, voice crisp, "why are you only in a man’s button-up shirt?"

I looked down at myself. Nathan’s borrowed dress shirt was soaked through, clinging in ways that would’ve been sexy if I weren’t two seconds from hyperventilating. I forced a laugh. "Honeymoon ergency."

Nathan’s arm tightened around , his thumb brushing my shoulder in slow, grounding circles. His voice was low, just for . "Breathe."

I hadn’t even realized I wasn’t.

Another bullet pinged off the rear bumper.

I flinched.

Nathan’s grip on shifted, his hand sliding down to lace our fingers together. His palm was warm, unlike mine which were colder than an iceberg. "Look at ," he murmured.

I did. His dark eyes were steady, calm. The sa way they’d been when he’d pulled from the river, when he’d shielded from gunfire, when he’d married two weeks ago. This whole situation was insane, but probably not as insane as multiple rebirths and killing Fiona Grand.

"We’re okay," he said, quiet.

I swallowed hard. "Obviously. I just hate ruining a good pedicure over sothing as cliché as a gunfight."

Nathan’s lips twitched. He lifted my hand, pressed a kiss to my scraped knuckles. "Next ti, we’ll schedule the assassins around your spa appointnts."

I choked out a laugh.

Mrs. King said, "We’re here."

The SUV screeched to a halt in front of a decaying warehouse. The second the doors opened, the sll of rust and damp concrete hit , thick and suffocating.

Ollie grabbed my arm as we ran inside. "Why are we always running? I hate cardio."

Nathan caught before I could trip, his hands firm on my waist. For a second, he just held , his forehead pressed to mine. "You’re doing great," he whispered.

I wasn’t. My lungs burned. My legs felt like jelly. I was terrified.

But Nathan knew. Of course he knew.

I gripped his jacket. "If I die, bury in a Belladonna original and those drop diamond earrings you just bought for ."

"Oh, you should totally wear that ruby necklace he snagged for you at auction," added Ollie.

"I should. Don’t forget the necklace, babe. I want to be the most beautiful corpse in that cetery."

He kissed , quick and fierce. "I won’t let you die."

Mrs. King’s heels clicked on the concrete. Who wears heels to rescue sons and shoot up bad guys?

"Ti to set a trap," said Mrs. King. She turned, her smile sharp. "Let’s give them exactly what they want."

Ollie paled. "?"

"Not him," said Leo forcefully. "."

"They don’t want you," said Mrs. King.

"But I do," said Ollie, patting Leo on the shoulder.

Leo flashed a rare grin.

Nathan’s shoulder brushed mine, solid, unshakable. He leaned in and whispered, "Stay close to ."

"I will be a barnacle on your butt," I promised.

The warehouse was a graveyard of rusted machinery and broken crates, the air thick with the scent of mildew and sothing tallic. Shadows stretched long across the concrete, swallowing the dim beams of dull streetlights filtering through shattered windows.

I swallowed hard, my pulse still racing. Nathan’s hand found mine again, squeezing once.

Mrs. King strode ahead like she owned the place—and knowing her, she probably did. She stopped beside a rusted shipping container and opened it.

Guns. A lot of guns.

"Mom," Ollie muttered. "Why do you have so many weapons?"

"It’s my hobby," she answered, plucking a revolver off the wall. "Vanessa."

I stiffened. "Yeah?"

She handed a small revolver. "You know how to use that?" she asked.

I glanced at Nathan, who gave a slow nod. "Yeah," I said, forcing confidence into my voice. "Point and shoot at the bad guys, right?"

"Good girl."

"Revolvers don’t have safeties, and you need to cock it before it will fire. Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot."

"Got it."

Mrs. King turned to Ollie. "Ready to be bait."

Ollie’s eyes widened. "You were serious?"

"Your uncle wants you," she said. "So we let him think he’s got you."

"And then?" Ollie squeaked.

"I don’t agree," said Leo, putting his arm around Ollie. "I won’t risk him."

"I’m his mother, Leo," said Mrs. King. "You think I’d really put him in harm’s way?"

Nathan pulled aside, his voice barely above a whisper. "If things go south—"

"They already are south," I interrupted. "We’re in a murder warehouse, Nathan."

His thumb brushed my cheek. "Then let’s make sure we walk out of it."

I exhaled shakily. "Deal."

Mrs. King clapped her hands. "Positions. Now."

The plan was simple: Ollie would stand in the open, looking vulnerable (which, to be fair, wasn’t hard for him). The rest of us would be hidden, ready to strike the second our enemies took the bait.

I crouched behind a stack of crates beside Nathan, my fingers white-knuckled around the revolver’s grip. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure even people in Ash City could hear it.

"Hey," Nathan murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

I turned.

He kissed —soft, lingering, like we had all the ti in the world. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with promise. "For luck."

I managed a shaky grin.

Then, from the shadows, a voice called out—cold, mocking.

"Hello, nephew."

The voice echoed through the warehouse, dripping with venom. I didn’t recognize it, but the way Ollie stiffened told everything I needed to know about the man speaking.

A figure stepped into the light, flanked by ard n. Tall, impeccably dressed, slicked back hair, dark suit he probably purchased at Villains R Us. His smile made my skin crawl.

"Uncle Phillip," Ollie said, voice strained. "What do you want?"

Phillip King chuckled. "The King empire. Oh, and you dead."

Nathan’s grip on my arm tightened. "Stay down," he breathed.

Phillip’s gaze flickered past Ollie—toward our hiding spot.

My breath hitched.

Mrs. King moved first. A single gunshot cracked through the air, and one of Phillip’s n crumpled.

Chaos erupted.

Bullets tore through the warehouse, ricocheting off tal and piercing wood. I ducked, my heart in my throat, as Nathan shoved lower behind the crates.

"Vanessa," he growled, "if I tell you to run—"

"I’m not leaving you."

His jaw clenched, but there was no ti to argue. Leo lunged from the shadows, tackling one of Phillip’s n to the ground. Mrs. King fired again, precise and ruthless.

"Enough!" Phillip grinned. "Let’s make this interesting."

The warehouse doors slamd shut.

Trapped.