Sign the paper, Callaway, or this pregnant maid won't survive the night!" — When my ruthless rival used Cordelia's vicious assault to trap me

Victor Thorne strolled through the ruined, glass-strewn lobby as if he were taking a casual Sunday walk in Central Park. He adjusted his silk pocket square, stepping right over a bleeding security guard without looking down.

"Royce!" Victor's booming, cultured voice echoed through the hotel intercom system, piped directly into the security room. "I know you're watching me on those little screens of yours! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

I stood up, checking the magazine of my weapon. Full. Fifteen rounds. But outside were at least fifteen heavily armed mercenaries. A frontal assault with a pregnant woman in tow was suicide.

Beside me, Dela grabbed my sleeve. "Mr. Callaway... who is that man? Why is he looking for me?"

"He's Victor Thorne," I replied, my jaw set like iron. "He controls the illicit shipping networks in the tri-state area. But I don't understand why he's hunting an Ashworth employee."

Dela’s face paled even further. She looked down at her swollen stomach, her hands wrapping around it in a protective instinct so fierce it took my breath away. "It's... it's not me he wants, Mr. Callaway. It's... it's the baby."

My blood ran cold. "What?"

"The father..." Dela whimpered, tears pouring down her cheeks. "The man who took advantage of me six months ago... he was Victor Thorne's late son, Julian. Julian died in a car crash four months ago. Victor doesn't have an heir. He found out I was pregnant three weeks ago... he's been tracking me ever since."

The final piece of the terrifying puzzle slammed into place.

Dela wasn't just my secret savior from six years ago. She was carrying the last living bloodline of the Thorne crime family—and Victor Thorne was here to harvest his heir, regardless of whether the mother survived the process.

On the security screen, Victor approached Harlon and Cordelia. Cordelia was on her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, her designer dress ruined by dust and blood.

"Please! Don't hurt us!" Harlon begged, groveling at Victor's feet. "We don't know the maid! We hate her! Royce Callaway is protecting her! Take him! Take the hotel! Just let us go!"

Victor smiled—a cold, reptilian expression. He casually lifted his cane, which was tipped with a heavy silver skull, and struck Harlon across the face. Harlon collapsed, groaning in pain.

"You pathetic worm," Victor sneered. "Your father owes me forty million dollars in unpaid shipping tariffs, Vance. Your entire family empire belongs to me now."

Victor then looked directly up at the main security camera mounted in the lobby ceiling.

"Royce!" Victor shouted into the room. "I know you're listening! Sign over the Ashworth shipping docks to me, and hand over the girl! If you do, I let these two high-society parasites live! If you don't... I kill Cordelia Vance on live security feed, then I burn this hotel to the ground with you and the girl inside!"

Dela gasped, clutching my arm. "Mr. Callaway... please don't let them die because of me! I'll go out there! I'll give myself up!"

"Are you insane?" I turned to her, grabbing her shoulders firmly. "You saved my life six years ago, Dela. You bled for me. Do you really think I'm going to let that monster take you and your child?"

"But he will kill those people!" she cried.

"Cordelia Vance assaulted you five minutes ago and left you bleeding on glass," I said coldly. "She deserves whatever fate she gets. But I am Royce Callaway. Nobody dies in my house unless I order it."

I leaned over the master control console, flipped the switch to activate the hotel’s defensive protocols, and hit the master override button.

Deep in the subterranean levels of the Ashworth Grand, the backup emergency generators roared to life.

Suddenly, every lights in the lobby went pitch black. The heavy steel fire shutters slammed down over every window and door, locking the entire lobby into an impenetrable, blacked-out steel cage.

"Initiate Lockdown Alpha," I whispered into the master mic.

"What is happening?!" Victor’s angry voice echoed through the intercom as automatic defense sprinklers began spraying cold water from the ceiling, blinding his men in the pitch darkness.

I turned to Dela, picking up a heavy tactical flashlight and a spare security vest. "Dela, listen to me. There is a secret elevator behind this console that leads directly to my private underground garage. You get inside, hit the button for Sub-Level 3, and lock yourself in my armored Maybach. Do you understand me?"