The moment Ivan Harcourt walked out, Malcom felt as if he'd been plunged into an ice-cold lake.

He stood there, dazed, growing paler by the second.

He knew all too well what Ivan was capable of the man's ruthless methods at the company were legendary. Every shady deal Malcom had ever pulled, Ivan knew about. If Ivan decided to spill everything... there'd be no way out.

It wasn't just the law he had to worry about. Every business he'd ever screwed over would be out for blood.

His life-God, there were probably a dozen people eager to see him dead.

Ivan was going to destroy him. Not just ruin him—finish him off.

"Dad, what do we do now? What about Elodie Thorne? She can't just leave us out to dry, can she?" Reba Harcourt's teeth were chattering, her voice shaking as she stared after Ivan, eyes full of unwillingness and fear.

Malcom glanced down at his hand, the one Ivan had just crushed beneath his heel, and winced so hard his lips trembled. "It's over... Jarrod Silverstein was behind it all along. Ivan must have something nasty planned for us."

Those two-one in the shadows, one in the light-were both out for his throat.

Who could have guessed that the money he squeezed out of Jarrod that day would end with his own company in ruins? And then, with his assets scooped up for pennies on the dollar?

Malcom's eyes burned with terror and fury. "Go find your mother. Pack up now. We can't stay here another second!"

Jarrod's fever broke not long after.

Still feeling a bit weak,

finally made it downstairs, he found Cara bustling around

of steaming hot noodles sat waiting on the

room, searching

I heard you get up, so I made you some noodles. Would you like to try

bowl, breathing in the familiar aroma. It

Elodie leave?" he asked, picking up a fork and

smiled quietly, almost to himself. "She didn't make

disbelief. "You can tell? She walked me through every single step didn't skip a thing! By rights,

hadn't made it, he set the fork down. He couldn't force himself to eat

tastes the same, but...

he knew what was

Elodiez always made him a bowl. It was never just about the food; it

that

I

Ove

Silverstein know you're up?

himself to exhaustion these past few weeks,

ragged with worry. Even

heard whispers about Elodie's illness from the old house, but as a

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