Barren Heiress Returns With Quadruplet

Kamille’s POV

I stepped out of the car, glancing around for any sign of the lawyer. The park was quiet, the surrounding buildings casting long shadows in the fading afternoon light. I felt a sense of unease settle in the pit of my stomach as I scanned the area.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Zeke asked, his brow furrowed with concern as he joined me on the sidewalk.

“Yes, this is the address the lawyer gave me,” I replied, my voice tinged with uncertainty. “The mail was sent to my house, just like he said it would be.”

We waited in silence, the minutes stretching into what felt like an eternity. I checked my phone, hoping for some sign, some indication that we were in the right place. But there was nothing.

Just then, my phone buzzed. I looked down to see a new message. My heart skipped a beat as I read it:

Your mail was intercepted.

This is the real venue,

1457 Lexington Avenue, Lusborg.

I showed the message to Zeke, my hands trembling slightly. “They intercepted the mail. This is the real address.”

Zeke’s expression darkened as he read the message. “Let’s go. We need to get to Lexington Avenue.”

We hurried back to the car, my mind racing with questions and doubts. Who could have intercepted my mail? And why were they sending me to a different location? Was this another of the Manor’s dirty activities?

The drive to Lexington Avenue was tense, the city streets a blur as we made our way through the evening traffic. Zeke’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white with tension.

“Do you think this could be a trap?” I asked, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at me since we received the message.

“It’s possible,” Zeke admitted, his eyes never leaving the road. “But we can’t afford to ignore it. We need to find out what’s going on.”

We arrived at 1457 Lexington Avenue, a sleek, modern building that stood out among the older structures on the street. As we stepped out of the car, I felt a chill run down my spine. There was something off about this whole situation.

We entered the building, and a security guard directed us to the elevator. “Third floor, room 308,” he said, his expression neutral.

We rode the elevator in silence, the tension between us palpable. When the doors opened on the third floor, we stepped out into a dimly lit hallway. Room 308 was at the end of the corridor, and as we approached, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

My mind was racing, and then we arrived at the room. I felt a sense of dread settle over me. Something was wrong, and the feeling only intensified as we knocked on the door. My heart pounded in my chest as Zeke and I made our way toward the entrance.

Then, I saw him. A man was lying in a pool of his own blood just behind the door. I let out a scream, my voice raw with horror and disbelief. “No!”

Zeke quickly moved to cover my eyes, pulling me close to his chest. “Kamille, don’t look,” he said softly, his voice strained with tension. I buried my face in his shirt, tears streaming down my cheeks as I sobbed uncontrollably. The image of the lifeless man was burned into my mind, a haunting reminder of the brutality we were up against.

“This cannot be the end of it,” I thought desperately. “Reymond Manor and Ellen will pay for this.”

Zeke held me tightly, whispering words of comfort, but the tears wouldn’t stop. My whole body trembled with grief and rage. I felt so helpless, so lost in the face of such violence.

Zeke held me tightly but stared at the dead man on the floor. “That is not the lawyer,”

“What do you mean?” I asked in between sobs.

“The lawyer must have known that he would be followed and may have sent a proxy to replace him,” Zeke replied.

“But why?” I began to sob again.

Eventually, my sobs began to subside, and I pulled away from Zeke slightly, wiping my tears.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. “How did they know about this?” I asked, my voice shaky but determined.

Zeke guided me back to the car, his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders. As he started driving, he explained, “The lawyer is under their watchful gaze. It’s possible they tapped into his phone or intercepted his messages.”

I nodded, absorbing the information. It made sense, but it also meant that our enemies were more cunning and resourceful than I had realized. “What do we do now?” I asked, feeling a renewed sense of urgency.

He glanced over at me, his eyes filled with concern. “I’ll help you, Kamille. But you have to let me in. You have to trust me.”

I looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, I hesitated, the weight of our past hanging heavily between us. But I knew I had no choice. I needed his help. “Okay,” I said softly, nodding tiredly.

“I will message Rogers to take care of this and file a report at the station,” Zeke said, looking at me calmly.

“Thank you,” I mumbled. I watched him type away on his phone and when he was done, he ignited the car and we drove away.

We drove in silence, the events of the evening replaying in my mind. When we finally reached my apartment, I felt utterly drained. As I opened the car door to step out, I paused and turned back to Zeke. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to keep your kids away from you. I just hated you.”

He looked at me, his expression softening. “I understand,” he replied gently. “But do you still hate me?”

I looked down, my emotions a tangled mess. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I know we need to work together.”

He nodded, accepting my answer. “We’ll get through this, Kamille. I promise.”

I stepped out of the car and he watched as I walked into my apartment before he drove away.

Later that evening, as I sat in my small apartment, my mind kept replaying the conversation with Zeke. His revelations had stirred up so many old wounds, but they also brought a strange sense of relief. At least now, some things made sense.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen to see a message from Zeke. “I meant what I said, Kamille. I’m here for you and the kids, whenever you’re ready.”

I sighed, typing a quick reply before setting the phone down. “Thanks, Zeke. I just need some time.”

As I prepared breakfast, my phone buzzed again. Another message from Zeke. “Can we meet today? Just to talk.”Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

I lay my phone on the table and sighed.