Chapter 360

Ethan Blackwood's fingers trembled as he studied the map.

The terrain matched perfectly with the entrance to the Blackwood family's ancestral tomb on Pinecrest Peak in Nordhaven.

The Blackwoods traced their lineage back to the Thame Dynasty.

Generals. Ministers. Power brokers. Their name carried weight through centuries.

Nordhaven had always been their stronghold. Their ancestors rested in Pinecrest Peak's sacred grounds—protected, secluded, blessed with the finest Fengshui.

Only during his great-grandfather's era had the family migrated south, establishing their empire in Harborview City.

Now, they rarely returned to Nordhaven except for solemn rituals.

"Why is the map to our ancestral tomb sewn into Vivian's bedsheet?" Ethan muttered.

Was there some ancient connection between the Blackwoods and the Lockharts? He'd have to ask his grandfather when the time was right.

Carefully, he stored both the sheet and the silk artifact in a lacquered box.

Then he grabbed Vivian's notebook and dialed Nathan Prescott.

——

Nathan sat on a cold hospital bench, eyes fixed on the ER doors.

He'd lost his damn mind.

Since when did he play Good Samaritan? He was the guy who stepped over trouble, not carried it to the emergency room. Yet here he was, skipping dinner for a stranger.

His phone buzzed. "Ethan. Talk."

Even as he answered, his attention stayed on the blinking ER light.

Each pulse meant they were still working on Cassandra Whitmore.

He barely knew her. So why did his chest tighten at the thought of that bright spirit snuffed out too soon?

"You saw the notebook in my car earlier," Ethan said. "Remember your promise?"

Nathan groaned. "Do I get a choice?"

This reeked of one of Ethan's traps. Like handing a shovel to a man and saying, You wanted to dig your own grave? Here, I'll hold your coat.

"Relax. It's mutually beneficial," Ethan said smoothly.

"Bullshit. If it's so profitable, do it yourself."

Nathan knew better. He, Ethan, and Dominic had been inseparable since childhood.

When Ethan called, trouble followed.

The smart move? Decline immediately.

"Since when does the Prescott heir turn down easy money?" Ethan's tone turned dangerous.

"Maybe it's time the Prescott Group faced some... financial turbulence."

"Jesus, just spit it out." Nathan surrendered.

If Nathan was a predator, Ethan was the apex hunter who'd always outmaneuvered him. Resistance was futile.

"What did you think of the novel's content?" Ethan asked abruptly.

"Genius. Best thing I've ever read." Nathan slapped his knee for emphasis.

Maybe he meant it. Maybe he just wanted to piss Ethan off.

"The male lead," Ethan said through gritted teeth, "is a walking disaster. A monster. The king of all scumbags."

Nathan smirked.

Ethan's frown deepened. Was Nathan mocking him? Hard to tell—because honestly, the protagonist was a dumpster fire of a human being.