The Tyrant's Stolen Bride-Chapter 118: The Mistake

Dante remained untouched by the chaos around him. Music roared, bass vibrating through the walls as bodies crowded the dance floor, driven by alcohol and the promise of the night.

His gaze remained fixed on the Glencairn glass in his hand until the phone on the table lit up, Griffin’s name glowing against the darkness.

The call connected automatically to the Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear.

"Speak," Dante said. One word was all he needed.

"Sir... help." Griffin’s voice was strained, cut short by a harsh cough. "Someone attacked me after I got the information about—"

Another violent cough followed, then a long, exhausted breath.

"Where are you?" Dante asked, already pushing his chair back.

"...H—home," he managed, the word breaking as it left him.

He grabbed his jacket and slipped it on as he moved, already dialing another number. By the time he stepped out, the car was already waiting at the entrance.

Stott sat in the driver’s seat and glanced back.

"Griffin’s house. Go," Dante urged.

The city lights blurred as the car tore down the street, and before long, Dante was in front of the door. It was half open when they arrived.

He rushed inside, searching for Griffin, and found him in a room, and another body lying on the floor.

"Stott!" Dante called.

At once, he stepped forward and helped Griffin out of the room.

Dante, however, remained inside the room. He edged closer to the body and crouched down.

The eyes were wide open, the face already tinged blue.

"We need to get him to the hospital," Stott shouted urgently as Griffin could no longer hold on.

"He’s lost a lot of blood," he added.

Dante rushed out and helped Stott carry Griffin into the car. They drove straight to the hospital’s emergency wing.

The doctors and nurses moved quickly to administer treatment. They stitched the wound and began a blood transfusion.

After Griffin’s condition stabilized, he was transferred to a ward.

Dante stood by the window and glanced inside the ward, where Griffin lay unconscious on the bed, his breathing steady but weak.

There was nothing more he could do tonight, as Griffin needed rest. It was better to come back in the morning.

"Find someone to stay with him," he instructed, and Stott immediately moved toward the end of the corridor, calling someone.

A few minutes later, his man arrived and took position outside the room, standing watch in silence.

Only then did they leave, heading back to Griffin’s house to attend to the body.

When they arrived back at the house, they noticed blood smeared across the floor.

"Clean it," Dante ordered.

Stott once again mobilized his men to come and wash away the bloodstains outside the house.

They moved in silence, aware that even small sounds would carry in the quiet night.

Under Stott’s supervision, the cleaning was done. They rested near the fence and lit up cigarettes.

They did not leave yet, as there was still work inside waiting for them.

Stott stepped into the house and stopped at the doorway. His eyes went straight to the coffee table, where an identity card and a phone lay side by side.

He then shifted his gaze to Dante, whose expression had hardened as he restrained his anger, smoke drifting from his lips.

"Who sent him?" Stott asked as he crossed the room and settled onto the nearby sofa.

"That bitch..." he muttered, smoke curling from his lips.

"Who?" Stott asked, puzzled. There were only two people Dante ever referred to as a bitch—Rosalba and Kiera. Camela was out of the question as she was in prison.

"She’s been under Volkhan’s protection for too long, and now she’s getting out of hand. She touched more than she deserved." Dante spat, his face twisted with hatred.

Stott caught the hint.

"Kiera? What does she want now? She never stops messing with your life," Stott huffed.

Just hearing the name brought her shameless, aging face to mind. If it weren’t for Old Volkhan, she would’ve been shot dead a long time ago.

"Maybe she found out about Camela?" Stott guessed.

Dante shrugged as he leaned back against the sofa.

"We’ll ask Griffin. Lay low until then. I don’t want to see that director’s face."

Stott nodded, understanding.

"Come on, let’s move. Make sure they clean all the evidence."

Dante stood up, followed by Stott. They stepped out of the house, and Stott called the men back to handle the work inside.

They moved quickly, efficient and precise. By dawn, it was as if nothing had ever happened inside the house.

That afternoon, Dante arrived wearing a cap and face mask. At the doorway, he brushed past a familiar staff nurse who usually stayed close to the director, and she failed to notice him.

She offered a polite smile before moving on.

Dante gave a brief nod and stepped inside, his attention settling on Griffin, who looked much better than the day before.

"Sir..." Griffin set the cutlery down and straightened his posture.

"Don’t stop," Dante said, his voice low and controlled as he pulled out the chair beside the bed. "I won’t take long."

Despite the permission, Griffin couldn’t bring himself to continue eating in front of his boss. He never had. Some habits were too deeply ingrained to break.

"How’s your injury?" Dante asked, his arms resting on his lap, appearing relaxed and steady.

"It’s getting better. The doctor said I might be able to go home tomorrow or the day after," Griffin said.

"Take leave until you recover. I’ll be unavailable for a while. I’ll contact you when I return."

Griffin breathed out, relieved. Dante himself had given him permission to rest.

As for now, he was unable to continue working.

He still couldn’t move his hand. The cut was long and deep, and he had to return every three days to have the wound cleaned.

"Now, tell me..." Dante leaned closer, his voice dropping low, edged with danger.

"What information did you get?"

Yesterday, Griffin might have hesitated. But after Dante had pulled him back from the brink, there was no reason to hold anything back.

Slowly, he parted his lips.

"One of the former maids came to my house yesterday. She asked for a photo of Dr. Ashford. It was in exchange for money."