Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase Novel

Chapter 1207 Chapter 1209: When Chris founded The Mask, he had concealed his true identity. However, since most of the early members were people he already knew personally, he had been able to judge their character and secure their loyalty to the organization's interests-laying a crucial foundation of trust. Among all the early members, Chris trusted Raegan most-so much so that he elevated her to deputy leader, replacing the original second-in-command.

To shield The Mask from exposure, he had established a separate organization under his sole control, relinquishing leadership of The Mask to Raegan-a choice he now feared had been a grave mistake. Was Raegan acting for the organization's good, or pursuing her own ambitions? The Mask-his creation-had turned against him and Maia. Yet he couldn't reveal himself until the Cooper Group was dismantled. "What's your true plan, Raegan?" he murmured, resolve hardening. He lifted his phone and dialed a number. The call connected instantly, a man's voice crisp.

"What are your instructions, sir?" Chris's tone was firm. "I need you, Plague, War, Famine, and Death, to meet me in Wront." "Understood, sir." As he ended the call, a flicker of confusion crossed the man's face. What kind of crisis warranted summoning the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Despite his unease, he moved quickly. He notified Plague, War, Famine, and Death of Chris's orders, then shrugged into his coat and instructed his butler to book the earliest flight to Wront. Meanwhile, in Borealis, at Wildebell, a man hurried out from a training ground and flagged down a taxi with urgency.

"To the airport," he said, sliding into the back seat. In Aether, at a West Coast boxing league event, a contestant poised to enter the ring took a call-then abruptly forfeited the match, leaving the crowd in bewilderment. In Xenevia, a chef tore off his apron and hat and sprinted from the restaurant while diners stared, stunned by his sudden exit. ØЯE PĐΛTΞŞ IИ GΛŁИØVΞŁŞ.ᑕØᗰ Out on the Novaterra Ocean, a warship veered off course, its abrupt shift sending a ripple of confusion through the crew.

Outside the Marclif Hotel, Anti stepped out of a Rolls-Royce Phantom, lifting a hand in farewell as Kiley departed. Her thoughts lingered on their recent partnership talk-and on the black card Kiley had given her, loaded with five million. A gleeful smile curved Anti's lips. "Money is there for those bold enough to seize it," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with ambition. "I never imagined Ms. Cooper would be this generous.

City life really is another world," Anti murmured as she slipped into the elevator, gripping the black card so tightly it was as if it might disappear the moment she loosened her fingers. With every number that changed on the panel, her heartbeat grew louder, keeping pace with the ascent. Soon, the doors opened on the eighteenth floor-Room 1806. . . .