Olivia’s POV
I ran.
Down the hallway, my feet barely touching the floor, my heart hamring against my ribs.
Gabriel’s room. I needed to get to Gabriel’s room.
I pounded on the door. "Gabriel! GABRIEL!"
He opened it looking concerned, still in his sleep clothes. "Olivia? What’s wrong? Is Maxwell..."
"We need to leave. Now. Pack your things."
"What? Why? What happened?"
"It’s my best friend and Damien. They were kidnapped in New Delhi. Damien was shot. He’s in surgery." The words tumbled out in a rush. "We’re going there now, and we’re using Maxwell’sjet."
Gabriel’s face went pale. "Damien! Jesus Christ. Is he..."
"I don’t know. Kira could barely talk when she called Kennedy. We just need to go." I was already backing away. "Ten minutes. et us in the lobby."
"Olivia, wait..."
"Ten minutes!"
I ran back to my room, grabbing my suitcase and throwing things in haphazardly. Clothes, toiletries, phone charger - nothing mattered except getting there. Getting to Kira.
My hands were shaking as I zipped the suitcase.
Kira had been kidnapped. Traumatized. And I hadn’t been there. Hadn’t even known because I’d been too caught up in my own drama with Maxwell to answer my phone.
So best friend I was.
I changed quickly into travel clothes - jeans and sweater - and was out the door in eight minutes.
Maxwell was already in the lobby when I arrived, dressed in dark jeans and a black button-down shirt that hid his bandages. He looked pale but serious, moving carefully to avoid straining his stitches.
Kennedy was beside him, phone pressed to his ear, speaking rapid-fire to soone about flight clearances.
"Car’s waiting outside," Maxwell said when he saw . "We’re going straight to the airport."
"Gabriel’s coming too."
"I figured." Sothing flickered across his face - was that jealousy? - but it was gone before I could be sure.
Gabriel appeared monts later, his dical bag slung over his shoulder, a small carry-on in his hand. "I’m ready."
Kennedy ended his call. "Jet’s fueled and ready. Pilot’s doing pre-flight now. We can take off as soon as we’re on board."
We piled into the waiting car - a sleek black rcedes that scread money and urgency. Sohow, I found myself sitting with Maxwell in the back, while Kennedy and Gabriel sat in the middle row.
The driver didn’t waste ti. We pulled away from the hotel, driving through Tokyo traffic with the kind of aggressiveness that showed he’d been well-paid for speed.
"How long is the flight?" I asked, my leg bouncing with nervous energy.
"Six hours, give or take," Maxwell replied. "We’ll land around midnight local ti."
Six hours. Six hours of not knowing if Damien was alive. Six hours of imagining what Kira had gone through.
I pulled out my phone and tried calling her again.
Straight to voicemail.
"She’s probably still at the hospital," Gabriel said gently. "They make you turn your phone off in certain areas."
"I know. I just..." I swallowed hard. "I should have been there. She tried calling and I didn’t answer."
"This isn’t your fault, Liv," Kennedy said from the front.
But it felt like it was.
We reached the private airport in record ti. Security waved us through - apparently when you’re a Wellington, normal procedures don’t apply.
The jet was sleek and beautiful. The sa jet we’d ridden to Chicago last ti.
The pilot - a professional-looking woman in her forties - greeted us at the stairs. "Mr. Wellington. Everything’s ready. We’re cleared for imdiate takeoff."
"Thank you, Rebecca." Maxwell’s voice was strained. "Let’s not waste any ti."
We boarded, and I tried not to gape at the interior again. It looked even more beautiful than the last ti.
"Sit wherever you’re comfortable," Maxwell said, already claiming his usual seat and wincing as he lowered himself down.
I sat across from him. Kennedy took the seat beside Maxwell. Gabriel settled next to , near the window, already pulling out his laptop.
The engines humd to life.
"Seatbelts, please," Rebecca’s voice ca through the intercom. "We’ll be in the air in five minutes."
I buckled in and stared out the window, watching Tokyo’s lights blur past as we taxied to the runway.
The takeoff was smooth, and within minutes, we were above the clouds, the city disappearing below us.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Kennedy was typing furiously on his phone. Gabriel was researching sothing on his laptop. Maxwell sat with his eyes closed, one hand pressed lightly to his side.
And I just stared at nothing, my mind spiraling.
"She’ll be okay," Maxwell said quietly, without opening his eyes. "Kira’s strong. She’ll be okay."
"You don’t know that."
"I do." He opened his eyes and looked at . "She’ll be okay. And so will Damien."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because my brother is too stubborn to die. Trust ."
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to feel that certainty.
But all I could imagine right now was Kira’s voice on that call to Kennedy - panicked, crying, barely coherent.
Once we reached cruising altitude and the seatbelt sign dinged off, Kennedy stood and moved to the bar, pouring himself a whiskey.
"Anyone else want a drink?"
"I’ll take one," Maxwell said.
"Make it two," Gabriel added.
Kennedy poured three glasses and brought them over, handing them out before returning for his own.
"This is insane," Gabriel said, taking a long sip. "All of this happening at once. You get stabbed in Tokyo, Damien gets shot in New Delhi..."
"Is it a coincidence?" Kennedy asked. "Or is soone targeting the Wellington family?"
Maxwell’s expression darkened. "I don’t know."
"Do you have enemies?" Gabriel asked. "Soone who’d want to hurt you and your brother?"
"I run a law firm. I’ve made enemies. But no one who’d do sothing like this. Nothing this coordinated." Maxwell shook his head. "My attack was a random robbery. Wrong place, wrong ti."
"And Damien’s kidnapping?" Kennedy pressed.
"Sounds quite organized. They were after ransom money." Maxwell’s jaw tightened. "But they weren’t after him specifically. They saw an Arican businessman and took their shot."
"Still." Kennedy leaned forward. "Two brothers, two separate attacks in two different countries, on the sa night? That’s one hell of a coincidence."
"What are you suggesting?" Maxwell’s voice had an edge now.
"I’m suggesting we consider the possibility that soone is targeting your family. Soone with reach. With resources."
Silence fell, heavy and uncomfortable.
"Do you have any other relatives?" Gabriel asked. "Anyone who might have information? Anyone who might be involved?"
Maxwell was quiet for a long mont, his fingers tapping against his glass.
"I have an uncle," he said finally. "Bernard. My father’s brother."
"I’ve never heard you ntion him," Gabriel said.
"That’s because we haven’t heard from him in years. Ten, maybe fifteen years." Maxwell took a drink. "He married a Chinese woman - fell completely in love with her. They moved to Asia together, and he just... disappeared. Stopped responding to calls. Stopped coming to family events. We don’t even know what country he’s in now. China, maybe. Singapore. Thailand. Sowhere in that region."
"That’s strange," Gabriel said. "To just cut off all contact like that."
"Yeah. We thought so too. So we sent investigators to find him at one point, but Bernard made it clear he wanted to be left alone. So we respected his wishes." Maxwell’s expression was unreadable. "For all we know, he’s dead. Or maybe he’s just living his best life away from the Wellington na and all the complications that co with it."
"Could he be involved in this?" Kennedy asked carefully.
"Bernard?" Maxwell actually laughed, but it was bitter. "No. He was the gentlest person I’ve ever known. Wouldn’t hurt a fly."
"People change," Kennedy said.
"Not that much."
The conversation drifted after that. We talked about where we’d go when we landed, what hospital Damien was at, how long we’d stay in New Delhi.
But I could tell everyone was thinking the sa thing.
Too many coincidences. Too many attacks.
Sothing wasn’t right.
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