The Debt Bride

Chapter Thirteen

  Gilbert sat in a cold metal chair, his hands bound behind him, the harsh light of a single overhead bulb illuminating his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his eyes darted nervously around the dimly lit room. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the distant hum of machinery from the Archer Innova Tech building.

  Rhysand entered the room, his presence as commanding as ever, the sharp click of his polished shoes echoing off the concrete walls. He moved with the deliberate grace of a predator, his eyes fixed on Gilbert with an intensity that made the man squirm in his seat. Rhysand's suit, immaculate as always, contrasted starkly with the grim setting.

"Who told you to do this to my father?" Rhysand's voice was low and dangerous, each word a blade aimed at the truth.

He leaned forward, his gaze boring into Gilbert's soul.

Gilbert's breath hitched, his throat dry.

"I-I didn't have a choice," he stammered, his voice trembling. "I was threatened. Someone called me and said they would harm my family if I didn't comply."

Rhysand's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "Who was it? Did you recognize the voice?"

  Gilbert shook his head frantically. "No, I didn't. But I swear, I had no intention of hurting your father. They forced me to change his medication. I never wanted this to happen. Please, you have to believe me."

  Rhysand straightened, considering the man's words. The desperation in Gilbert's eyes was genuine, his fear palpable. He wasn't the mastermind behind his father's condition, merely a pawn in a larger, more sinister game.

"Can you identify the voice if you hear it again?" Rhysand asked, his tone measured, searching for a glimmer of hope.

Gilbert nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, I think so. If I hear it again, I can tell you if it's the same person."

Rhysand studied him for a moment longer, then stepped back, signaling his men to release Gilbert.

"Go home," he said, his voice softer now, but no less authoritative. "I need you find the bastard."

Relief flooded Gilbert's features as the restraints were removed. He stood, rubbing his wrists, and glanced at Rhysand with gratitude.

"Thank you," he whispered, before hurrying out of the room, the weight of his ordeal still heavy on his shoulders.

  As the door closed behind Gilbert, Rhysand's thoughts turned inward. The revelation changed everything. His father's condition was not a mere accident or negligence; it was a deliberate act of malice orchestrated by an unknown enemy. Rhysand's resolve hardened. Whoever was behind this would pay dearly. The hunt had only just begun.