Chapter 257

Chapter 257:

“What’s it going to be, Herod?” Rose asked, zipping her bag closed. “Are you in or out?”

The smart choice was to run. To get as far from Rose as possible. To try to save himself.

But where would he go? His accounts were frozen, his home was under surveillance, his face was on every news channel. And the thought of being alone, without Rose, created a hollow feeling in his chest that frightened him more than the prospect of prison. When had he become so dependent on her? When had she become his entire world?

“I’m in,” he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Rose’s smile was triumphant. “I knew you would be.” She tossed him his jacket. “Now let’s go. We have one more job to do.”

As they left the motel room, Herod felt like a man walking to his own execution. Rose had destroyed him, used him, set him up to take the fall for her crimes. Yet here he was, following her into the night, unable to break free from her pull.

He could still turn around, still go to the FBI and tell them everything. They might not believe him, but at least he’d have tried to do the right thing. Instead, he climbed into the passenger seat of the stolen car Rose had acquired, watching her start the engine.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Somewhere they won’t find us,” she answered, pulling onto the empty street. “Somewhere we can plan our final move.”

As the city lights blurred past, Herod realized the truth about himself. He wasn’t just Rose’s victim; he was her willing accomplice. Too weak to leave. Too broken to fight back. Too addicted to her presence to save himself. The realization should have shamed him, but instead, it brought only a dull acceptance.

Rose reached over and squeezed his hand, the gesture almost tender. “It’ll be over soon,” she promised. “One more job, and Victoria and Camille will pay for everything they’ve done.”

Herod nodded, unable to trust himself to speak. He knew what “over” meant for him. Prison, if he was lucky. Death, if he wasn’t.

But as the car sped through the night, taking them toward whatever end Rose had planned, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had given her everything—his money, his future, his freedom—and still, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

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Victoria Kane stared at the medical report on her desk, the words blurring as her eyes filled with unwanted tears. The cancer had spread faster than expected. Six months, maybe less—was all the time she had left. She pushed the papers aside and stood, looking out of her office window.

Her own reflection stared back at her, thinner now, her face pale from the treatments that weren’t working. The doctor had suggested stopping them, focusing instead on comfort measures. “Quality of life over quantity,” he’d said gently.

Victoria had walked out without answering. Quality wasn’t enough. She needed time. Time to secure Camille’s future. Time to make sure her daughter—by choice—would be protected when Victoria was gone.

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