Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase Novel

Chapter 1143 Chapter 1145: Now that his true face had been revealed, Austen decided that Maia's survival would be far too risky. "Calm down," he said in a voice as cold as steel. "I've got this. I won't ruin what you've worked for." Raegan opened her mouth to argue, but Austen had already slipped away. Amid the bustling crowd, he vanished into the group as if he belonged there. "He's getting harder to control now." Raegan let out a weary sigh. At times, she wondered if some of The Mask's members had completely lost their minds. "I need to keep an eye on him.

If something happens before the charity gala, I'll never forgive myself." Raegan paused, her thoughts warring before she made her choice. She faced the driver and said, "Start the car and trail Maia. I have to make sure Faceless doesn't take things too far." The driver acknowledged her with a quick nod. "Yes, ma'am." At that very moment, Chris' car was cutting through the road on his way to Wront Prison. Before long, he had tasked his men with tracking Maia's location, yet the effort was interrupted by a call from his aunt, Zoey. On the other end, her voice carried an edge of blame.

Zoey wasted no time and pressed him with sharp words. "Chris, why are you dragging your feet with Maia? She's such a fine woman. If you keep neglecting her, I'll make sure you regret it the moment I'm free from this place. You'll see!" Pulling himself together, Chris pressed harder on the gas, forcing the car to surge forward. Discover your next read at gⱯlnσνs﹒com As the city blurred past, his eyes caught sight of a figure near Harmony Plaza. Could it be Maia? Why would she show up in this place?

Chris saw her stepping into a taxi, and without a second thought, he jerked the wheel to give chase. Not far behind, a different taxi kept pace, carrying a rough-looking man in the passenger seat. That man turned out to be none other than Austen, the fourth in rank within The Mask, known as Faceless. At the Marclif Hotel. Inside the grand presidential suite on the twenty-second floor, Pattie sat stiffly on the sofa. Her arms were folded, her back pressed straight against the cushion, and her fingers tapped against her elbow in a restless beat.

Her gaze stayed locked on the man across from her, irritation sharp in her eyes. "Roland, do you plan on giving me an explanation or not?" A short while earlier, she had exhausted every effort to stop Roland from running, but nothing had worked. Only when she mentioned Maia's words did he hesitate, falling into an unsettling silence. Now he lounged opposite her with his jacket tossed over the armrest and the first button of his shirt undone. Roland's fingers were laced together so tightly that the blood had drained from his knuckles. . . .