Chapter 374
No.1
Besides, she had plans to execute later. But everyone needed to be asleep first.
Nathaniel turned over without another word, though his eyes still traced her profile. She looked ethereal in the silver moonlight.
Then suddenly…
His hand moved, his fingers brushing against her collarbone. Isabella’s eyes flew open in alarm.
“What are you doing?!”
Not a single word was spoken.
Nathaniel’s hand came down firmly on her shoulder. He gave a sharp, sudden tug.
A single strand of hair slid free from her shirt.
It was the middle of the night. Why was Nathaniel plucking a hair from her clothing in the dark? And how had he even seen it? The strand seemed to grow longer as he pulled.
Realization hit Isabella. “Stop!” she whispered urgently.
But it was too late.
With that one motion, the stitching on her pajama sleeve gave way. The fabric—whatever it was made of—ripped easily. A section over her chest tore open, exposing her bralette.
Nathaniel’s large hand stilled. He hadn’t expected this. “My apologies,” he murmured, his voice low. “Shall I get you another shirt?”
“No.”
She’d have to get up. It was too much trouble. She pulled the blanket up to cover herself. “Turn over. Face the other way.”
Nathaniel’s brow furrowed, but he acquiesced. “Alright.”
He never refused her. He rolled onto his side, turning his back to her.
No.2
Isabella thought she could finally rest. But the sight of his bare back made her heart stutter again.
Moonlight outlined the powerful lines of his shoulders, tapering down to a narrow waist. Nathaniel had the build of a perfect male specimen. His muscular form was practically an invitation—to reach out, to hold him, to lose herself.
This man… Even his silhouette was dangerously suggestive. Isabella squeezed her eyes shut. She forced her thoughts away. He’s just a pretty picture. It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head…
Time passed. Thankfully, Nathaniel kept his word and didn’t turn. His breathing eventually evened out into sleep.
Thoughts of her plan and the Blackthorn Syndicate swirled in her mind. Once she was certain both Oliver and Nathaniel were asleep, Isabella slipped from the bed. The torn shirt gaped open as she sat up. Luckily, Nathaniel was asleep and didn’t see. She ignored it and moved to the dressing room.
From her luggage, she selected dark, practical clothing. She dressed quickly and silently left the room.
The moment the door clicked shut, Nathaniel’s eyes opened. He had not moved.
Isabella noticed nothing. She used the key Nathaniel had given her earlier. In the garage, she chose the most discreet car and drove away from the Blackwood Estate.
The black sedan headed for a mountain range five miles outside the city. The peaks stretched over ten kilometers. Rumors said wild animals roamed there, keeping people away. Most saw it as just a dangerous, uninhabited place. But Isabella knew the truth. This was the heart of the Blackthorn Syndicate’s operations.
Victoria had hired them to set the trap five years ago. The Syndicate was old, disciplined, and secretive. Their strict codes meant they never talked. That was why Isabella had found nothing all this time.
Now, the truth was close. She had to find out who was responsible.
Isabella parked the car and moved swiftly into the mountains. The night was pitch black, but her vision was keen. She climbed over fallen logs, swung from thick vines, and leaped across gullies. Dressed in black, she moved like a creature of the night—silent and sure.
In the darkness behind her, Nathaniel followed. His eyes, shadowed and intense, tracked her every agile move.
This woman never ceased to amaze him.
But what was she doing inside the Blackthorn Syndicate’s headquarters?
After clearing several obstacles, Isabella Montgomery finally reached the main compound.
High walls surrounded the base, with patrol dogs circling nearby.
No.3
A faint, knowing smile touched her crimson lips.
She tossed a small medicinal pellet into the air.
The hounds collapsed almost instantly, sound asleep.
Her agile form scaled the tall fence with practiced ease.
She dropped silently into a wide, five-thousand-square-foot training yard.
To the public, the Blackthorn Syndicate posed as a martial arts academy.
Only a select few knew the truth—membership required insider connections.
Trainees who proved worthy were eventually absorbed into the syndicate’s inner circle.
Armed guards were posted every hundred meters throughout the manor.
Yet Isabella moved like a shadow, slipping past them undetected.
As she crossed a moonlit courtyard, her foot caught on a loose ceramic pot.
It tipped and shattered loudly against the cobblestones.
She reacted instantly, leaping onto a thick tree branch and melting into the shadows.
A man sat beside an ornamental pond, dressed in deep burgundy silk pajamas.
One knee was bent; the other dipped lazily into the water.
His robe hung open, loosely tied, revealing pale skin that glowed under the moonlight.
He looked like something from a Gothic novel—elegant and dangerous.
No.4
Isabella’s brow furrowed.
According to Maxwell’s intel, this was Sebastian Blackwood, patriarch of the syndicate.
Photographs hadn’t done him justice.
He was strikingly handsome, almost unnervingly so.
How could a man be more captivating than most women?
He didn’t look older than thirty, yet he commanded one of the most powerful underground organizations…?
Sebastian reclined against a smooth stone, drinking straight from a bottle of wine.
A stream of dark liquid poured into his mouth.
Some of it escaped, tracing a path down his jaw, over his throat, and across his chest.
The image was raw and indecently alluring.
Isabella released a quiet breath.
At least he was only drinking.
She dropped silently from the tree and continued her mission.
Nathaniel Blackwood watched from a nearby oak, concealed by dense foliage.
He’d seen the way Isabella stared at Sebastian.
A hot, possessive displeasure coiled in his chest.
She had looked at that man for over five minutes.
No.5
Was this her type?
But now wasn’t the time for jealousy.
His priority was keeping her safe.
The Blackthorn Syndicate was ruthless.
There were at least a hundred armed men on the premises.
How could she be so reckless?
He followed her silently, staying just far enough to avoid detection.
To his shock, she’d already broken into the syndicate’s secure records room.
The door required triple-layer biometric authentication—fingerprint, facial recognition, and retinal scan.
Even his best company hacker would need half an hour to bypass it.
And even then, an alarm was almost inevitable.
Yet she’d done it in under a minute.
Without triggering a single alert.
Before he could process what he’d seen, she emerged with a thick ledger in hand.
She scanned the area quickly, then slipped away into the darkness.
Nathaniel’s eyes darkened.
She’d risked everything tonight just to steal a ledger?
No.6
Why did she need the Blackthorn Syndicate’s records?
The question burned in his mind.
He retreated swiftly, returning to the estate before she did.
He slid back into bed just moments before she re-entered the room.
Isabella paused inside the doorway, listening.
Both Nathaniel and Oliver were still asleep.
Relief washed over her.
She hadn’t been discovered.
She shed her dark clothing, then carried the ledger into the ensuite bathroom.
Inside were transaction records from five years earlier—the syndicate’s complete order history.
If she could find entries from around July of that year, she might identify the man Victoria had hired.
The man who’d ruined her.
And when she found him, she would make him pay.
Page by page, she began her search.
The ledger contained records spanning January through December from five years ago. Some entries detailed debt collection. Others involved revenge missions. A few were labeled as 'teaching lessons'. Several concerned information gathering. The Walkers clearly had diverse criminal operations.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached the July entries. A cold dread settled in her stomach. Her eyes scanned the page anxiously until they locked on one specific line:
February 13th. Client: Gabriella Martinez. Hired: Vincent Moreau. Target: Isabella Montgomery. Commission: $50,000.
No.7
Isabella's breath hitched. Vincent Moreau?
That was the man who had violated her?
She immediately accessed a global database on her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen with urgent precision. Within moments, a profile appeared.
The photo showed a coarse-faced man with dull, leathery skin and rotting yellow teeth.
Nausea twisted Isabella's stomach. This disgusting creature was the one Tiffany had hired? Her own sister had paid fifty thousand dollars for this subhuman filth to destroy her?
The paper crumpled in her white-knuckled grip. Her nails dug crescent moons into her palms.
She had expected some lowlife scum, but seeing his actual face made her physically ill. This repulsive monster had stolen her innocence? This vile animal had shattered her entire life?
She had trusted Victoria completely. Treated her like a real sister. Never once imagined harming her. Yet all along, Victoria had been plotting this unspeakable betrayal.
Isabella wanted to storm into Victoria's room and beat her to a pulp right now. But she forced herself to breathe. Not yet. The timing wasn't right. She needed to wait just one more month. Then she would destroy Victoria completely.
Taking several steadying breaths, she locked the ledger in her secure case. She stormed out of the room. The mansion stood silent, all staff asleep.
She grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the kitchen. The gaming room welcomed her with its familiar hum. She booted up the system and took a long swallow of whiskey. Since she couldn't unleash her rage physically, the digital world would suffer her wrath instead.
Her headphones muffled the outside world. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. The mouse clicked rapidly under her control. Her expression remained frozen in icy fury.
Nathaniel watched silently from the doorway. He observed her violent keyboard strikes. He saw the aggressive mouse movements. He noted the frequent, deep drinks of alcohol. Even from behind, her rage radiated like heat from a furnace.
What could have provoked such fury?