The Contracted Ever After novel Chapter 604

"Blood bag? When was that?" Ronan asked Adrian, piecing together some kind of connection.

"About a month ago," Adrian responded, a hint of admiration in his tone. "Cordelia was dressed to kill that day: white silk blouse, cream-colored wide-leg pants, coffee-colored coat, and flats. Honestly, Cordelia looks fantastic in anything. She told me Daisy was trouble, always mixed up with different guys. Why would I agree to meet her here? And even if I did, she'd have to show up, right? I got a call today from some guy claiming to be from Birchwood. He wanted to discuss a business deal and mentioned a half-million-dollar payoff. That’s the only reason I'm here. Don’t believe me? Check my phone." Adrian handed his phone over to Ronan.

Ronan glanced at the unfamiliar number. He knew there wouldn’t be much to find; this was a job for the cops. It looked like someone had set up Adrian.

But the blood bag...

A sudden memory hit Ronan—Cordelia bleeding heavily.

Her outfit that day matched Adrian's description perfectly. Clearly, Adrian had seen her.

From then on, Cordelia had Ronan wrapped around her little finger.

Clever move, he thought with a wry smile. He wasn’t about to hold it against her. After all, he had been impulsive.

He had argued it was impossible for her to have a miscarriage and still crave crab, and she had insisted on seeing Victoria for a check-up. The only mystery left was the source of the blood, which now seemed to be clear.

Emerson got out of the car, hurrying over to Ronan.

Ronan’s temples throbbed, but he said nothing.

The police approached. “Mr. Evans, the victim is a student from Millstone College named Daisy. Seems she was here on a trip. Adrian’s our prime suspect, and we need to take him in for questioning.”

With that, the officers escorted Adrian away.

Peter was shivering nearby. “Mr. Evans, this isn't going to be a problem, is it? It won’t affect our property values, right? I was spooked enough by that Petra incident.”

“It won’t,” Ronan assured him as he lit a cigarette, cupping his hands against the wind.

Emerson sensed what had happened. “Looks like work’s off for a few days. Every day we’re delayed costs a fortune. Who the hell was the target here?”

Ronan’s hand stilled as he held the cigarette. So, who was the real target? But having the target come to him had its perks. It had certainly sent the perpetrator straight to hell.