Donald jumped back into his car after seeing Grace's battered notebook on the sidewalk. He knew something was off. He knew she was in danger. He hoped he wasn't too late.
He drove down the narrow path of the road. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Grace's phone was still not reachable.
"I need to find her." He said to himself.
Suddenly, his eyes fell on a black van that was out of place. The vehicle was parked by the side of the quiet road. The van rocked gently as if someone alive struggled inside. At first glance, it could have been kids fooling around or men unloading cargo. Donald didn't want to take chances.
He came down from the car as he walked to the vehicle. The windows were too dark. He could barely see a thing. He came closer and heard a sound. Muffled, Desperate like a woman's cry had pressed down a gag. His blood boiled.
Donald broke the windows with his elbow, and he opened the door from the inside. The men inside all turned to look at him. In their middle was Grace. Her blouse was torn, her wrist was tied to her back, and her mouth was gagged. Her face was damp with sweat and tears.
One of the men already had their trousers open, grinning with filthy hunger. Donald dragged the first man out as he landed him a blow. He slammed his face against the edge of the Van door.
Another tried to stab Donald, but he dodged. Donald caught his wrist, twisted it until the bones cracked. He hit the man on his stomach with his knee.
The third barely had time to zip his trousers before Donald dragged him by his collar and hit his head against the street light pole.
Donald wasn't just angry, he was possessed. Every punch carried the weight of his rage. He beat them until they were too weak to stand or run. Only then did he turn.
Grace knelt as she cried. Her dress was tattered, and her hair was messy. Donald removed her gag.
"Grace." He said with so much fear in his eyes. "Are you okay?"
She didn't answer. She moved back when he attempted to carry her. Donald could see she was terrified.
"It's me, Donald." He said, touching his chest. Grace stared at him like she didn't recognize him. Donald took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. He lifted her into his arms in bridal style and carried her out of that cursed van.
The car ride was silent except for her soft, broken sobs. She sat almost pressed against the window. She didn't want to look at him. Donald felt so helpless. He swore to find those men and kill them himself. He swore to make them suffer before killing them.
When they reached the mansion, he parked in the driveway and turned to her. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Grace turned to him, her eyes were blood red. She snapped. A slap landed before Donald could process what was going on.
Donald felt hurt not because of the slap but because of the pain she was going through. He couldn't do anything but look at her.
"You bastard," Grace spat angrily. "Do you think I am stupid? You send those men after me, then come play hero? To confuse me? To get close to me so I'll tell you what I know? How low can the Coles stoop? You disgust me. You want to kill me just like your parents did, Bernard. I hate you, Donald Cole." Her voice broke at the end, trembling with pain and fury.
Her words cut through the air. Donald stared at her, the weight behind her words made his heart ache.
"If I sent them," he said slowly. "Why would I save you?'
"Because it's all a game to you." She cried. "A rich man's game. Do you know how many threats I have had since I started chasing this story? It always comes back to you, your family. Don't lie to me, Donald. I know how far your people will go."
He leaned closer, "Did they touch you?" his voice dropped, darker than she had ever heard. "Tell me. Did they?"
Grace froze. She shook her head.
"Good," Donald replied. "Because if they had, I would kill them with my bare hands slowly."
Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she saw not the billionaire son or the Cole heir but a man caught between fury and something else. Something dangerous but not aimed at her.
Donald leaned back in his seat. "Why, Grace?" he asked calmly, his face puzzled. "If you know your life is at risk, if you know they are after you, why do you keep pushing? Is all of this worth your life?"
Her chest rose and fell. Then she burst out all her feelings, her pain.
"My father died when I was three," she said, "He worked at one of your oil sites. They never told us what happened. One day, he just didn't come home."
Donald's face changed from fury to something else; guilt. But she didn't stop.
"The oil spills into the river. That's the water we drank. That's what gave my mother cancer. She fought for two years. I was just five when she died in front of me. Alone, no one came, no money, no compensation, nothing."
Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she kept speaking. The words bled out.
"I've struggled all my life. Worked, starved, crawled my way up here. And for what? To see your family sit on billions, throwing parties while the poor rot? The same family that ruined my life. Do you know what that feels like? To have nothing? To lose everything? And then watch the people who caused it live like they are gods?"
She stressed the last word as tears rolled down her cheek.
"I have nothing to lose, that is why I'll expose you even though it kills me." Silence filled the car. Grace sobs quietly.
Donald is short of words. His chest tightened, he couldn't breathe or utter anything in his family's defense. For the first time, he saw things from the poor's point of view. He felt guilty and ashamed. But he saw her differently now. He respected the fire in her.
He steps out of the car, made his way to Grace's door. He opened the door. He reached out to her as if approaching a wounded bird. His hands brushed her shoulder, she didn't resist this time. He carried her in his arms as he entered the mansion.
He got to his room and placed her on his bed. He stares at her, his eyes were different this time. He held her closer to his chest as he gently stroked her hair.
"Grace," He whispered. "I'm not one of them, I'm not."
He tried to stand, but Grace held on to him.
"Please stay, don't go." She said in a very soft yet shaky voice.
The tension between them shifts, although still sharp and dangerous, but alive in a new energy. Her tears dampen his chest, his heart hammering against hers. In this vulnerable moment, something undefined sparked between them.
*****************************
In the East wing of the mansion, Collins stood in Mrs. Cole's study, his hands folded tightly.
'We couldn't finish it," he said, his voice was shaky and carried fear. "Donald came, and he destroyed everything. Grace is alive, and he brought her to the mansion."
The room was calm. Only the cracking sound of the fireplace was heard. Mrs. Cole sat by the fireplace, backing Collins. She swirled the glass of red wine in her hand. Her face remained calm, but her eyes burned with anger.
"Then finish it properly," she finally said. "Kill them all, leave no traces, no witnesses." She continued as she turned to look at Collins. "Kill every last one of those filthy men. I know my son, he will start digging, and he won't stop until he finds who ordered the attack. We cannot leave a trail, do you understand?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am." He said sharply. "And Grace?"
Mrs. Cole's lips curved, then she let out her smile. "Leave her to me. But for now, we have to kill whatever Donald feels for her. It is time he stops chasing shadows and settles down." She said as she lifted the cup to her lips. "It is time he got married. Find out everything you know about Nicole Williams."
Her gaze shifted back to the flames.
"Yes, ma'am." Collins said as he left the study.
******************************
Back in Donald's room, Grace cried herself to sleep. She curled under the blanket. Donald sat on the couch across her, a glass of untouched whiskey in his hands. He stared at Grace as he played everything that happened in his head.
He should feel relieved that she was alive, but instead, he felt torn.
She hated him, and she had every reason to. Yet, he couldn't get her out of his mind. Donald leaned back, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in years, Donald felt powerless. Not in business or politics but in his heart.
As the night deepened, he realized that he didn't only need Grace. He had fallen in love with her, and that scared him. He had fallen for someone who swore to destroy his family legacy.
He wanted her, but couldn't let her destroy what his father had built.
He wasn't sure if he could ever let her go.