The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 975

The masked man reached out and took the bottle.

For a split second, their fingers brushed. Fitch felt a distinct, icy chill.

However, the man didn't take a sip. He simply held the bottle, turning his gaze out the window to watch the neon-lit city skyline blur past. His body language was a flawless, impenetrable wall, shutting down any further conversation.

Fitch swallowed the progress reports that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Taking the hint, he clamped his mouth shut and slowly leaned back into his plush seat.

Silence reclaimed the car.

The city lights streaked backward across the glass, casting faint, blurry reflections of the two men in the cabin—two allies bound by dark secrets, yet completely alienated from one another, speeding off into the pitch-black night.

...

After personally settling the masked man at the secure villa, Fitch had his driver take him back to the family estate.

The mansion was dark and hollow. Ever since Gloria had demanded a divorce, she hadn't set foot in the house.

At first, Fitch assumed she was just throwing a tantrum, but it was slowly dawning on him that she might actually be serious.

Without a woman's touch, the massive house felt overwhelmingly cold and lonely.

Fitch sat behind his massive desk, booting up his computer. He pulled up the complex equity structure chart for the Sloan Group. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, forming a grin of absolute triumph.

Under the warm study lights, the colored blocks representing the Sloan family's scattered shares were steadily being swallowed up by the color designated for Sherwood Capital. Everything was progressing exactly as planned.

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