Chapter 390

The training camp was alive with activity, the sounds of basketballs bouncing and sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

"Mr. Boucher, your little goddess has been gone for ages. Still pining for her?"

Felix Boucher wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles aching from the intense game. He shot his friends a glare as they laughed, tossing his water bottle at them half-heartedly. "Get lost. I don’t need your teasing today."

One of them vaulted over the bench and dropped beside him, snatching the bottle from the ground. He twisted the cap off and took a long swig. "You’ve been distracted ever since she left. Barely even show up for practice anymore."

Felix exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "My soul didn’t leave with her, idiot. I’m just trying to wrap things up here so I can get out of this place."

The man raised a brow. "And go back to what? Your parents breathing down your neck? At least here you’ve got freedom."

"For now," Felix muttered. "But how long can I keep running? I’m not cut out for top management. Might as well leave early and enjoy life while I can."

He pushed himself up, ignoring the protests from his aching limbs. "I’m hitting the showers. I smell like a locker room."

As he walked toward the dormitory, the dim hallway lights flickered overhead. At the far end, he spotted two figures—one with his back turned, the other standing too close, a hand gripping the instructor’s shoulder like a vice.

The stranger’s gaze flicked toward Felix, cold and calculating. He tugged his cap lower, hiding his face, then turned and strode away without a word.

Instructor Lancaster swayed slightly, his posture stiff.

Felix frowned, jogging forward just as the man collapsed. He barely caught him in time, his hands instantly slick with something warm and sticky.

Blood.

A dagger was buried deep in the instructor’s abdomen.

The car sped down the winding road, the engine roaring as the needle hovered at 100 mph.

The phone rang, and Shane tapped his earpiece. "Ms. Summers?"

Her voice was ice. "Are you driving back right now? At 100 miles per hour?"

His grip on the wheel tightened. "Yes… How did you—?"

Then he heard it.

The faint, rhythmic ticking beneath his seat.

His blood ran cold.

Rosalind’s voice turned lethal. "Shane, I’m sorry. But I can’t trust that you’ve never betrayed me. So don’t blame me for this."

"Ms. Summers—!"

The ticking grew louder.

Ahead, jeeps blocked the intersection.

He laughed, wild and unhinged. "You heartless witch!"

His foot slammed on the accelerator. "Fine. Let’s all burn together!"

The men in the jeeps scrambled, shouting into their radios. "Move! He’s taking us down with him!"

They dove into the trees just as the explosion ripped through the air.

The ground shook. Flames licked the sky.

And in the distance, Nathan Goldmann’s phone buzzed with an incoming call.

Harrison Lawson’s name flashed on the screen.