CHAPTER 75: CHAPTER 75

The shrill ring of Jason’s encrypted phone cut through the stale air of the abandoned factory lot, its high-tech screen flashing with those familiar asterisks. He answered, his voice smooth but edged with menace. "Yeah?"

"The ransom’s been paid, you son of a bitch," Christine’s manager snapped, her tone a mix of fear and fury. "Keep your word and let Christine go, now!"

"Hold your horses," Jason said, his lips curling into a smug grin. He swiped open the system interface, the glowing holographic display hovering before him like a window into his twisted empire. The numbers confirmed it:

[Points: 100]

[Available Wealth: $100,000,000]

With a few mental commands, he converted the entire hundred million into points, watching the system’s counter jump to 10,100. He leaned back, satisfied, and spoke into the phone. "Alright, the money’s there. One hundred million, right on the fucking dot."

"Then release Christine, you bastard," The manager demanded, her voice trembling but firm. "We paid to avoid trouble, so don’t worry about us calling the cops."

Jason’s grin widened, his eyes flicking to Christine, who was slumped in the passenger seat, her body spent from their earlier clash and the heated, primal encounter that followed. Her chest rose and fell slowly, her face flushed, a faint smirk lingering on her lips despite her exhaustion. The hickeys on his neck burned under his collar, a reminder of her fierce claim. "Yeah, about that," He said, his voice dripping with mock regret. "There’s been a little... complication."

He leaned closer to Christine, his gaze locking onto her half-lidded eyes. "Miss Vineyard here’s taken a liking to our organization. She’s decided to join the crew."

The manager’s voice exploded through the line. "Bullshit! You’re breaking your fucking promise!"

"Nah, nah, nah," Jason said, chuckling darkly. "This ain’t on me. It’s Christine’s call. She wants in, and who am I to say no to such a talented recruit?"

The manager’s silence was heavy, her rage palpable even through the phone. She knew she’d been played, but Jason’s brazen audacity left her powerless. "Fine," She spat, her voice venomous. "You’ll fucking regret this, you piece of shit."

She hung up, and Jason could almost picture her, red-faced and seething, flipping through her contacts to call in the big guns. The California governor, the LAPD chief, the FBI’s Los Angeles bureau head—she’d pull every string to get Christine back. ’Stupid fucking kidnapper,’ She’d be thinking, ’You have no idea who you’re messing with.’ Jason smirked, unfazed. He’d danced with bigger devils than her.

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Meanwhile, chaos erupted at Avril’s family home, the sprawling mansion a stark contrast to the grim reality unfolding. Avril’s mother had spent the night frantically calling every relative and friend, summoning them to the estate. The dining room was packed, the long oval table surrounded by anxious faces, the air thick with tension and the faint scent of expensive wine left untouched.

Avril’s mother sat at the head, her face pale, her eyes red from sleepless worry. "I’m certain Avril’s been kidnapped," She said, her voice trembling but resolute.

The room erupted in gasps, a wave of shock rippling through the gathered relatives. "Kidnapped?" One blurted, his voice slurring from too much bourbon. "You fucking serious?"

"What makes you think that?" Avril’s husband demanded, his brow furrowed, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something darker—glee, maybe, or calculation.

Avril’s mother steadied herself, her hands gripping the table’s edge. "Her bodyguards found her car abandoned on a hillside in South LA. No sign of her, just traces of a struggle. Then, just hours ago, she called me, begging me to raise a hundred million dollars in three days. She said it’s a matter of life and death. I’m her mother—I could hear the terror in her voice. There’s no other explanation."

Her words landed like a bomb, the relatives buzzing with frantic whispers. Avril was their golden goose, the pop star whose fame had lined their pockets with lucrative deals and social clout. If she went down, their gravy train derailed. But Avril’s husband, sitting across the table, hid a faint smirk, his mind racing with possibilities. Their marriage was a sham, held together only to protect her career and public image. Divorce was inevitable, but he’d be damned if he let her walk away with the lion’s share of their wealth. Her kidnapping? A fucking godsend. If she died, he’d inherit everything—no messy legal battles, no negotiations.

He leaned forward, his face a mask of concern. "If what you’re saying is true, we need to call the police immediately."

"No!" Avril’s mother snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "If we involve the cops, the kidnappers will kill her. They’ll tear her apart to cover their tracks."

’Perfect,’ Her husband thought, his heart racing with twisted excitement. A dead Avril meant a clean sweep—no witnesses, no complications, just a fortune falling into his lap.

He pressed his advantage, his tone measured but insistent. "Without the police, where the hell are we supposed to get a hundred million? Even if we sell everything—the houses, cars, stocks—it won’t be enough."

Avril’s mother lifted her chin, her eyes scanning the room, pleading with the silent relatives. "I need you all to lend me money. If that’s not enough, I’ll reach out to Avril’s industry friends, her label, even banks. She’s America’s sweetheart—someone will come through with the cash."

The relatives shifted uncomfortably, their eyes dropping to the table, avoiding her gaze. Lending money? Out of the question. They’d milked Avril’s fame for years, but coughing up their own cash was a bridge too far. Her husband’s confidence grew, his lips twitching as he read the room. ’These cheap bastards won’t part with a dime.’

He doubled down, his voice dripping with calculated reason. "Even if we scrape together the money, what’s to say these fuckers will let her go? They could demand more, keep stringing us along. These are ruthless bastards, not fucking businessmen. And if they do release her, she’ll be buried under a hundred million in debt. How’s she supposed to claw her way out of that? The labels and banks will bleed her dry with their bullshit contracts, chaining her to a life of misery."

His words hit hard, each one a nail in the coffin of Avril’s mother’s resolve. She hesitated, her certainty wavering under the weight of his logic. The relatives nodded, murmuring agreement, their voices a chorus of self-interest.

"He’s right," One uncle said. "The police are our best shot."

"Yeah, let the pros handle it," Another chimed in. "No need to bankrupt ourselves."

Avril’s mother’s shoulders slumped, her fight draining away as the room turned against her. "Fine," She whispered, defeated. "Call the police."

Her husband’s face was a mask of urgency, but inside, he was dancing with glee. ’Checkmate, Avril. You’re fucked.’ He pulled out his phone and dialed the LAPD chief, laying out the kidnapping with practiced concern. The chief’s response, though, stopped him cold: Christine Vineyard, America’s hottest actress, had also been kidnapped.

The relatives gasped, the room buzzing with disbelief. "Both the pop queen and the movie star?" One muttered. "What, are these assholes shooting a fucking blockbuster in their hideout?"

The chief dropped another bombshell: the kidnappers had pocketed Christine’s hundred-million-dollar ransom and still hadn’t released her. The news was a gift to Avril’s husband, validating his every warning. The relatives showered him with praise, their sycophantic chatter filling the room as they dispersed, leaving him to savor his victory.

Back at his private condo, he locked the door and opened his laptop, his fingers flying over the keys as he crafted an anonymous email. He sent it to every major entertainment outlet in the country, leaking the news of Avril’s kidnapping and her family’s decision to involve the police. When the kidnappers found out, they’d be pissed—pissed enough to kill her. And when she was gone, every cent of her fortune would be his.

He leaned back, a predatory grin spreading across his face. ’Game over, Avril. It’s all mine now.’

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You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.

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