CHAPTER 213: CHAPTER 213 VENGEANCE AND RESCUE

Ryan’s POV

I stared at the monitor displaying Lance’s holding room, my knuckles white from gripping the edge of the desk. The security footage from last night played in my mind on repeat - Serena bound to that chair, that monster’s hands on her.

"Mr. Blackwood, what should we do with him?" Simon asked quietly beside me.

My jaw clenched so tight I could hear my teeth grinding. "Make him disappear."

"Sir?"

"You heard me." I turned to face my most trusted assistant. "Not dead. I want him alive and suffering. Find the most remote facility we own. Somewhere no one would think to look."

Simon nodded, understanding exactly what I meant. "The compound in northern Alaska?"

"Perfect. No phone service, no internet, complete isolation." I glanced back at the monitor where Lance was pacing his temporary cell. "And Simon? Make sure he never creates ’art’ again."

Simon’s eyes widened slightly before he nodded. We both knew what that meant.

"What about his public profile, sir? He’s a well-known artist with exhibitions scheduled."

"Cancel everything. Release a statement that he’s having a mental breakdown and has checked himself into an exclusive private treatment center in Europe. Indefinite hiatus." I picked up my phone, scrolling through contacts. "I’ll have our PR team handle the details."

I needed to ensure no one would look for him, at least not anywhere near where he’d actually be. The thought of what he’d planned to do to Serena made my blood boil all over again.

"What about the evidence, sir?" Simon gestured toward the bag containing the camera we’d found in that hellhole.

My stomach churned at the thought of what might be on it. "Destroy everything. Every recording device, every painting, every scrap of evidence from that place. I want it wiped from existence."

"Already underway, sir. Our team has secured the building. They’re removing everything as we speak."

I nodded, satisfied. "And the woman who drugged Serena’s coffee? The cafe worker?"

"She’s been dealt with. She claims Lance paid her five thousand dollars to put something in Ms. Quinn’s drink. She had no idea what would happen afterward."

"Five thousand for Serena’s life," I muttered bitterly. "Make sure she understands the consequences if she ever speaks of this to anyone."

Simon nodded. "Done, sir."

If I had arrived even minutes later...

I shook my head, refusing to follow that thought. "How is the media blackout holding?"

"Completely secure. No leaks. The hospital staff has been compensated generously for their discretion."

"Good." I checked my watch. "I need to see her."

Serena’s POV

I woke up in a sunlit hospital room, blinking against the afternoon light. My body felt sore, but I was wearing soft, comfortable clothes instead of the outfit from my nightmare. Fresh flowers brightened the bedside table, their sweet scent a stark contrast to the musty horror of Lance’s studio.

After taking a moment to convince myself I was truly safe, I heard the door push open. Maya rushed in, her face pinched with worry.

"Serena! You’re finally awake! How do you feel? Are you hurting anywhere?" She grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly.

I could tell she’d come straight from the airport. Her clothes were wrinkled, and travel exhaustion shadowed her eyes.

"Don’t worry about that psycho," she continued, dropping her bag onto a chair. "Ryan has taken care of everything. You won’t ever have to worry about Lance again."

I nodded slowly, wincing at the movement. My hands drifted protectively to my belly.

"The baby? " My voice came out raspy and scared.

Maya’s face softened immediately. "Prfectly fine. The doctors did thorough checks. Everything’s normal."

She pulled her chair closer. "But you need proper rest after the shock. This isn’t something small, Serena."

Relief washed over me, so powerful I felt tears spring to my eyes. Those terrifying moments with Lance flashed through my mind—his disturbing paintings, his cold fingers on my skin, the way he’d looked at me like I was just another canvas.

Maya continued ranting, blaming herself and the studio staff for not watching me more carefully. Her words blurred together as she went on and on about security measures and changes she’d implement.

"Maya, please," I finally interrupted, my head beginning to throb. "It’s over now. Let’s not keep talking about it."

I took a deep breath. "I’m just grateful the baby weren’t harmed."

Maya nodded, squeezing my hand again. "Ryan has kept everything completely quiet. Nobody knows what happened. You just focus on resting, okay? In a few days, I’ll come pick you up when you’re discharged."

After the doctors came for another check-up and confirmed I was recovering well, Maya reluctantly left to handle the mounting issues at Dreamland Studio. She’d flown straight from London without even stopping to rest.

Throughout the afternoon, I kept expecting Ryan to appear. Each time the door opened, my heart jumped, but it was always a nurse or doctor. Where was he? The last thing I remembered was being in his arms as consciousness slipped away.

Hours passed. The evening shadows lengthened across my hospital room. I dozed off, only to wake with a start when the door finally opened again.

Ryan stood there, framed in the doorway. His normally impeccable appearance showed subtle signs of strain—his hair slightly disheveled, the shadow of stubble on his jaw, tie loosened at his neck. His eyes locked with mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

"You’re awake," he finally said, his voice unusually soft as he approached the bed.

I nodded, suddenly feeling shy despite everything we’d been through. "You found me."

"I’ll always find you." His hand reached for mine, his touch gentle but firm. "How do you feel?"

"Better now." I hesitated before adding, "What happened to Lance?"

Ryan’s expression darkened momentarily. "You don’t need to worry about him. He’s being handled."

The cold, deadly tone reminded me of his final words before I’d passed out: "Destroy this place. I never want to see this man again."

"What does that mean exactly?" I pressed.

"It means he’ll never hurt you or anyone else again." Ryan’s jaw tightened. "The official story is that he’s accepted an overseas collaboration and moved into behind-the-scenes work."

I shivered, not wanting to know more details. My imagination filled in enough blanks.

"You saved me," I whispered, squeezing his hand.

Ryan’s eyes clouded with something that looked like guilt. "I should have been there sooner. When you didn’t answer my calls, I knew something was wrong."

"How did you find me?"

"The tracking device in your phone." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "When we couldn’t reach you, Simon activated it."

I remembered the strange drowsiness at the coffee shop, the disorientation afterward. "He drugged my coffee."

Ryan’s entire body tensed. For a moment, raw fury flashed across his face before he controlled it. "I know."

Silence stretched between us. I could feel his restraint, how carefully he was holding himself together.

"The camera," I suddenly remembered. "Lance had a video camera set up."

"It’s been destroyed," Ryan assured me quickly. "Along with everything else in that place."

"Ryan," I whispered, "I’m okay now. We’re okay." I guided his hand to my belly. "All three of us."

His composure cracked then, just slightly. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine.

"When I saw you tied up in that chair..." His voice was barely audible. "I’ve never been so afraid."

This admission from a man who showed fear at nothing struck me deeply. I reached up, touching his face.

"But you found me in time." I tried to smile. "My hero."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "I won’t let you out of my sight again."

"That might make bathroom trips awkward," I joked weakly.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips before fading. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek.

"Rest now," he said, straightening up. "I’ll be right here."