Miss Elizabeth and her son, Ryland, were under increasing scrutiny after their public claims about Maxwell's death. It was clear to all that they had their own version of events, but the silence surrounding the matter left room for doubt and suspicion. Every time someone so much as glanced in their direction, Elizabeth could feel their eyes digging into her. The truth had to be buried, but it would not be easy.
As she passed by Ryland, she noticed him moving toward the storage room and quickly intercepted him, her voice sharp but low enough to keep from drawing attention.
"Wait!" she called, her hand on his arm as she stopped him. "You don't understand. It's not us who will finish the job."
Ryland stopped, confusion crossing his face. "What do you mean he's a step ahead of us? What are you thinking?"
Elizabeth gave him a calm, almost amused look, shaking her head. "You really think it's us who will deal with him? Not a chance. We're already under a microscope. If we're seen anywhere near Maxwell, they'll have the proof they need. Trust me. This will be done soon, but not by us."
Ryland's frustration flared. "And just who is going to do it, Mother?"
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile, a look that promised she knew exactly what she was doing. But before Ryland could press her further, the door to the storage room creaked open, and Jolie entered with her assistant in tow. Instantly, Elizabeth's demeanor shifted. Her smile was replaced with one of forced warmth, but a flicker of nervousness lingered in her eyes.
"Thank you for your cooperation," Elizabeth said, her voice like velvet. She barely glanced at Jolie's assistant as she motioned to Ryland to follow her. "It's time for us to go."
As the car sped away from the estate, Elizabeth's voice, dripping with sweet insistence, cut through the tense air. "Jolie, dear," she began, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror where Jolie sat. "I need one more favor. Perhaps we can count on a few members from the South Park to handle this little… Maxwell problem. After all, family helps family, doesn't it?" She reached over, taking Jolie's hand in hers with a smile that barely veiled her intent.
Jolie hesitated, her instincts warning her against this further entanglement, but Elizabeth's grip held fast, forcing her to give in.
"Of course," Jolie replied, her voice calm, but the uncertainty was unmistakable. "I'll take care of it."
Ryland, who had been silent in the front seat, couldn't suppress his admiration for his mother's manipulation. His gaze flicked over to her as he mused aloud. "Bravo, Mother," he said dryly, clapping his hands slowly. "Your talents never cease to amaze me."
Elizabeth smiled at him, clearly pleased with herself. "A leader must always know when to push and when to pull back," she replied smoothly, her tone serene.
The rest of the day passed in tense silence. The house was quiet, everyone waiting, anticipating the phone call that would confirm Maxwell's fate. Finally, the shrill ring of the phone broke the silence, and Elizabeth snatched it up without hesitation, her voice almost frantic with excitement.
"Hello, future mother-in-law," Jolie greeted, her tone light but guarded. "As promised, it's done. Where would you like us to send him?"
Elizabeth's breath caught in her chest, a victorious smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She looked over at Ryland, who met her gaze with a dark glimmer of approval. "Excellent," she said, steadying her voice. "But as I've mentioned, we cannot afford to be seen with him. That's why I'm entrusting you with the final task. Take him to the shelter behind the clinic. He won't trouble anyone after tonight."
With that, she hung up, her hands shaking with suppressed excitement. She poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Ryland.
"A toast," she said, lifting her glass high. "To the future leader of the Jones pack."
Ryland mirrored her action, his lips curling into a smirk. "And to the true mastermind behind it all." They clinked glasses, savoring the small victory that only a moment like this could bring.
Meanwhile, at the clinic, Maxwell began to stir, groggy and disoriented. His head throbbed with pain, and his limbs felt heavy, as if he were being held in place by unseen chains. Though the drugs had clouded his senses, his instincts never faltered. He remained still, listening carefully to the voices of two South Park members standing nearby.
"You think he's as dangerous as Ryland?" one of them muttered nervously, glancing over at Maxwell's still form.
The other one scoffed dismissively. "He's just a crippled cousin. He's no match for us."
Maxwell's heart raced, his body on high alert. His muscles tensed, preparing to act. He had no time to waste. He couldn't afford to stay here, not with them talking like that. When one of the men moved closer, Maxwell sprang into action, surprising both of them with his unexpected strength. He fought back with everything he had, his speed and agility catching the South Park members off guard. Within moments, they were both unconscious on the ground, and Maxwell stood over them, panting with exertion.
His heart still pounding, Maxwell grabbed a cloak lying nearby and draped it over himself, the fabric concealing his identity. He didn't waste any time. He had to escape. As quietly as he could, he made his way out of the clinic and into the night, his breath sharp in the cold air. He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to keep running.
Deep in the forest, Maxwell finally slowed, crouching low behind some underbrush. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his mind was already working. He had to find Zoelle—she was the only one who could help him now. With a resolve that burned bright within him, Maxwell rose to his feet and began to move, pushing deeper into the woods.
"I'm not done yet," he murmured to himself, the words a promise. "They'll regret underestimating me."
Back at the clinic, Zoelle's frustration had been building all day. She had sensed that something was wrong, but it wasn't until she reached the reception desk that she learned the truth. Greg, sitting with his usual smug demeanor, shuffled through papers without so much as looking up.
"How's the wolf?" Zoelle asked, her tone casual but laden with suspicion. "Did he eat?"
Greg's hesitation made Zoelle's hackles rise. She narrowed her eyes, sensing something was off. "Greg," she pressed, her voice turning sharp, "What's going on?"
Greg finally looked up, a smirk curling on his lips. "He's gone," he said with a shrug. "Taken to the shelter. Boss's orders."
Zoelle's fists clenched at her sides. "What did you do?" she demanded, her voice rising with fury.
Greg jerked his arm free when Zoelle grabbed him, shoving her away. "Listen, it's not my problem!" he snapped. "You and your soft heart don't belong here. Besides, you're not in charge anymore."
The words hit Zoelle hard, and she took a step back, eyes flashing with disbelief. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice colder than before.
Greg leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "That's right. I'm the new head now. Unless you want me to report you, I suggest you leave quietly."
Zoelle's lips curled into a tight smile. "Enjoy your stolen position while it lasts," she spat, her voice laced with venom. "A house built on betrayal never stands for long."
Without another word, Zoelle turned and walked away, the weight of her next move already consuming her thoughts.
Maxwell moved through the forest like a shadow, his resolve firming with every step. He would find Zoelle. He had to. It was the only way out.
As he pressed deeper into the darkness, he knew one thing for certain: the hunt was far from over.