Page 72 of Fallen Heir

Bruce had her.

And this time… this time I wasn’t sure I’d get her back.

Don’t think that way. Don’t fucking think that way.

My phone rang, vibrating against my thigh.

Without a second thought, I answered it on a prayer. “Savannah?”

“It’s Millie.” Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp with fear. “Why are you asking if it’s Savannah? What did you do, Jaxson Earl Westbrook?”

My stomach turned. I hadn’t even looked at the caller ID—and now…I didn’t have time for this.

“You’ve been dodging me all damn day, Jaxson. Her phone’s off, and you won’t return my calls. You can either tell me where she is, or I’ll find her myself.”

“Millie—” I tried to speak, but she cut me off.

“No. Don’t youMillieme. She’s not just some girl, Jaxson!” Her voice broke—just for a second—but it hit harder than any scream.

“Damn it, Millicent, I know that,” I snapped, louder than I meant to. Rage poured out of me, and I took it out on the one person I couldn’t afford to lose.

She went quiet.

And then, softer—cutting through all of it—“What’s wrong, Jax?”

“It’s a long story,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face, “and it’s not mine to tell. We’ll come over when we’re done at the office.”

I heard her voice again—worried, questioning—but I hung up anyway.

She didn’t deserve that. Not her. But if I stopped to explain, I’d break.

Nic was already at the office when we arrived, eyes locked on the wall of monitors that flickered like a living, breathing control center. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up footage like she was directing a damn movie.

“You’re both idiots,” she muttered without looking up—unbothered by the fact she was talking to two of the wealthiest men in Manhattan. Then again, Nic had built her own empire behind the scenes. And right now? We absolutelywereidiots.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Running research behind my back? If you’d told me, I could’ve stopped this. I could’ve prevented it.”

She wasn’t wrong. Not even a little.

But it wasn’t just frustration in her voice—it was something heavier. Guilt. Rage. The kind of fury that came from knowing you could’ve stopped a disaster if someone had just let you. I saw it in the way her jaw tightened, in the way her fingers hit the keyboard like the keys themselves were responsible.

Nic had only met Savannah once. But she liked her. I could tell. And Nic didn’t justlikepeople—she scanned them, analyzed them, and decided if they were worth a damn. Savannah had passed whatever silent test Nic gave everyone.

And now? This wasn’t just about a failed mission. It was personal.

She was pissed—because she’d been kept in the dark. And because someone she actually gave a damn about was paying the price.

Nic could track circles around anyone—Ben included—but I hadn’t wanted too many people involved. Not until I knew it was necessary.

Now it was.

“Cut the bitch-out session,” I snapped, stepping forward. “Just tell me if you can find her.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t waste time arguing. Instead, she pointed to the first monitor. “There,” she said. “He got out of that car.”

My gaze followed her finger. A sleek black Mercedes sat parked a few blocks from our building—windows tinted, engine still humming on the footage.

“And there,” she pointed to a second screen. “He’s on foot. I’m stitching the video together, swapping camera views so we can follow him block by block.”