Chapter 308: No Rest For The Wicked

Back in the hospital, Dorian woke again, completely unaware of the countless times his body had slipped toward death and been dragged back.

Machines beeped around him, monitors flashing steadily beside the bed while the sterile smell of antiseptic filled his lungs. His entire body felt as though it had been beaten apart.

He tried to move his hand, but he couldn’t. Then he saw the handcuff.

His eyes widened. “What the hell is this?”

He yanked at his wrist, panic and fury surging through him. The movement sent a bolt of pain through his abdomen, but Dorian barely noticed it.

“Get this off me! How dare you treat me like a criminal! Unhand me, right now!”

The door opened almost immediately as nurses rushed in.

“Sir, please lie back—”

“Get away from me!”

Dorian lashed out, trying to strike the nearest nurse. She stumbled backward as another nurse hurried to restrain him, calling for assistance.

“Mr. Blackwood, you’re in a hospital. Please calm down!”

Dorian fought against them until exhaustion overwhelmed him. Then everything went black.

When he woke again, the room was quiet.

For a moment, Dorian simply stared at the ceiling, trying to remember where he was. Then the memories returned—the stabbing, the police, the ambulance.

His hand moved instinctively toward his pocket. “My phone.”

An older nurse standing nearby looked at him with patient disapproval.

“You need to rest, Mr. Blackwood.”

“My phone. Give it to me.”

“You’re not in any condition to be making calls.”

Dorian’s jaw tightened. He wanted to argue, to demand, to threaten her with everything his name still carried. But his body betrayed him. Every movement hurt.

Eventually, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

It should have been impossible for a man like him to feel so helpless.

His body was covered in wounds, and despite the medication, the pain refused to disappear. He shifted restlessly beneath the sheets, gritting his teeth as another wave of agony spread through his abdomen.

“Damn it…”

He pressed the button for more medication. Yet even after the dose was increased, the pain remained.

Dorian frowned.

Something was wrong. Why did it hurt this much?

Then he heard voices outside.

The nurses had lowered their voices, but the hospital room was quiet enough for every word to reach him.

“He’s the chairman of BioQuant, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I heard he’s killed people.”

Another nurse gave a quiet gasp.

“Really?”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

There was a pause.

“But he is handsome.”

Dorian’s eyes snapped open. Even now, strangers were discussing him. He almost smiled. At least they knew who he was.

Then another nurse joined the conversation, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Have you heard what happened with BioQuant?”

“What?”

“Another CEO has taken charge.”

Dorian’s expression changed.

“He announced that he’s willing to cooperate fully with the FBI’s investigation. He’s giving them access to BioQuant’s financial records, research data, internal communications—everything.”

Dorian stopped breathing for a moment.

“What?”

The nurses continued.

“He said the company would provide full assistance to the federal investigation and comply with every lawful request for documents and evidence.”

Dorian sat upright despite the pain. “What happened?”

The nurses fell silent.

Dorian’s voice rose. “What happened?!”

His monitors began beeping wildly. The nurses rushed inside, but Dorian was already shouting.

“Show me the news!”

“Mr. Blackwood, you need to lie down.”

“Show me!”

They could not calm him. Finally, one of the nurses pulled up the report and turned the screen toward him.

Dorian stared. William Rathbourne stood behind a podium, composed and dignified as reporters crowded around him.

“We have assumed temporary leadership of BioQuant in order to ensure the company’s continued operations and protect its employees, shareholders, and research assets,” William said. “BioQuant will cooperate fully with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and all other relevant authorities. We have instructed our legal and compliance teams to provide investigators with unrestricted access to company records and materials as required by law.”

Dorian’s eyes widened.

William continued calmly.

“Our priority is transparency. We have nothing to hide, and we will assist the investigation in determining the truth.”

Dorian’s fingers curled around the sheets.

Then he noticed the man standing beside William. Fitzgerald. He stood there with a plain, unreadable expression, his hands loosely folded before him.

Dorian stared at him.

He understood immediately. This wasn’t merely a press conference. It was a message.

William had taken BioQuant only to end it. And Fitzgerald had come to watch.

“Traitor…”

The word escaped Dorian’s mouth like a hiss.

He had trusted William Rathbourne.

He had believed money was enough to keep William on his side. Even after Fitzgerald returned, Dorian had thought William would choose power, wealth, and BioQuant over everything else.

He had been certain William would never betray him. But he had.

Dorian’s breathing became ragged as he stared at the screen. Everyone was leaving him.

The politicians… The investors… His allies… And now… William Rathbourne.

“Traitor!”

His scream tore through the hospital room.

The monitors erupted into frantic beeping as Dorian thrashed against the restraints, his face twisted with fury.

For the first time in his life, Dorian Blackwood understood what it meant to have no one left standing behind him.

Visiting hours came around in the afternoon, and Dorian was almost relieved when his assistant finally walked into the room.

“Did you bring me a lawyer?” Dorian asked immediately.

His assistant closed the door behind him. “No.”

Dorian’s expression darkened.

“Your accounts are frozen, Sire,” the man continued. “All of them. Personal accounts, company accounts, offshore accounts. The authorities have locked everything down.”

Dorian cursed under his breath. “And the secret accounts?”

The assistant paused. “Empty.”

Dorian stared at him. “What?”

“Someone got to them before the freeze. Every reserve you had hidden away has already been transferred.”

“Damn it!”

The nurses exchanged glances before quietly leaving the room. Dorian seemed to have calmed down, and they were content to give him some privacy.

The door clicked shut.

For several seconds, neither man spoke.

The only sounds were the steady beeping of the machines and the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead. Occasionally, the light flickered, casting the room in brief, uneven shadows.

Then Dorian noticed his assistant pull a stool toward the bed. The man sat down directly in front of him. He crossed one leg over the other.

And smirked.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed.

His assistant had spent years standing behind him with his head bowed, answering every order with a respectful, “Sire.”

He had never looked at Dorian like this. “Why are you smirking?” Dorian demanded.

The assistant said nothing. Dorian’s irritation grew. “Do you think this is funny?”

For the first time, Dorian found himself wishing Catherine were there. She would have found a way out of this. Or, at the very least, she would have been less annoying than this silence.

“Hey, Dorian.”

Dorian slowly lifted his eyes. Something was wrong. The way his assistant had said his name made the back of his neck prickle.

Not Sire. Dorian.

His assistant reached into his coat pocket. Dorian watched carefully as he pulled out a small glass jar.

Something black glittered inside.

“What is that?”

The assistant held it up between them. “I don’t know what this is,” he said. His smirk widened.

“But Maximilian sends his regards.”

Dorian’s face went pale. The assistant twisted open the lid. Then he slowly tipped the jar over Dorian.

A fine stream of glittering black powder spilled across his chest and wounds.

Dorian screamed.

“Why?!”

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