The Contract With Her Father's Billionaire Rival-Chapter 89. A Black Rolls-Royce.

As soon as Nicolette entered her room, she immediately started plotting.

She had had enough. She was tired of everyone thinking she was a fool.

Dropping her bag on the table, she began pacing the room. Her heart was racing with too many emotions, and she couldn’t stay still.

Her thoughts drifted to Rachel. She reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, and placed it beside her on the bed.

Just in case.

Anxiety gnawed at her from inside, along with eagerness and a burning curiosity. She couldn’t wait for Detective Hector to invite her back to the station.

She was desperate to hear Rachel’s bloody excuse. She couldn’t wait for her to be arrested and for the truth to come out.

She tapped her foot against the marble floor, her anxiety peaking.

She couldn’t handle the waiting.

It was driving her nuts.

What could she do?

She stood and resumed pacing. Her heart pounded, her mind raced, her fists clenched as she started plotting again.

Ronald had to pay. And Rachel too—even if Detective Hector said she wasn’t guilty.

Rachel was guilty of stealing her mother’s sketches whether Ronald forced her or not. She had taken it, and no sweet excuse could change that.

And then it clicked.

She could start from her mother’s drawings! She had the original sketches, all thanks to Hillary, and she could use them to make her point.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, excitement coursing through her.

Her father was in for it now. There was no hiding, and she was done playing nice.

But how would she begin?

Before she could delve deeper into her thoughts, her phone rang. She rushed to it, heart racing, hoping it was Detective Hector, only to see it was Alaric calling.

She tensed up, her body reacting before she even spoke to him. She exhaled deeply, then answered.

"Hello."

"Hi, Nicolette," Alaric said, his voice gentle.

She sank into the bed, her heart pounding. Her forehead was damp with sweat. "Hi," she replied, trying not to sound too eager.

"How have you been?" he asked casually—too casually, like he hadn’t screamed at her and ignored her calls.

She crossed her legs and pursed her lips. "Good."

She wasn’t going to ask how he was. She wasn’t giving him that satisfaction.

"How is home?"

She could hear the fatigue in his tone, and guilt rippled through her.

"Home is good. How are you?" she asked, giving in a little.

She couldn’t deny, it felt good to speak to him again. It felt like he had been gone for weeks.

"I’m tired," he admitted with a light chuckle. "But I’m getting better."

She swayed her feet back and forth on the bed. "Nice."

Silence settled between them, and she could only hear his breathing—steady, heavy. She scratched her neck, allowing the quiet linger.

"What have you been up to?" Alaric finally asked.

She hesitated. "Nothing much. Just... stuff."

Truthfully, she didn’t even know where to begin. So much had happened and even for her, it was still surreal.

"Okay..." he said, his tone hinting that he knew she was avoiding the topic.

"Yeah."

Another silence followed before she heard him sigh. "Nicolette..."

The way he said her name—soft, certain—it made her heart skip. Her cheeks flushed, and her legs tensed with emotion.

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice thick with sincerity. "I’m sorry I didn’t pick up your calls or let you explain. I was just... mad."

Nicolette’s stomach knotted with annoyance. She jumped to her feet and paced again.

He had probably read the news or talked to Richard, that had to be why he was apologizing. Her chest squeezed, frustration building.

"Say something," he said softly. "Please."

"What am I supposed to say?" she shot back, her voice sharp. "What do you want me to say, Mr. Allens?"

He groaned. "Oh, Nicolette, please. I know I messed up by not listening, but—"

"And also messed up by calling me now," she cut him off. "I tried to explain. You didn’t care. It took a news headline—"

"What news?" he interrupted, genuinely confused.

"What?" she paused. The confusion in his voice was so real, it broke through her anger. "The news about me and Lucian. The truth?"

"The truth?" he echoed. "I haven’t seen any news. What are they saying?"

The confusion deepened in his tone, and it was enough to make her sit back down on the bed.

Could it... be that he really hadn’t seen it? Could he really be sorry?

Guilt swirled inside her, and she exhaled slowly.

"I’m sorry," she said softly. "I thought you were calling because you saw the news."

"No. I called because I realized I was stupid," he replied. "I’m sorry."

Her heart fluttered at his tone, tender and honest, and she let herself feel it.

"How’s Australia?" she asked after a pause.

"Good. I wish you were here," he said with a laugh. "How was the meeting? Do you like any design?"

Her mind briefly shifted to the meeting with the designers. "Yes. Work starts tomorrow."

"Ah, great."

She hesitated, wondering whether to tell him everything that had happened.

He was definitely going through so much already in Australia. There was no point adding to that.

They fell quiet again, listening to each other breathe. She did wish he were there, right next to her.

She missed him. Her body missed him too.

But she wouldn’t admit that. Not yet. Not unless he did.

He coughed, and static crackled through the phone before a soft thud sounded.

"I’m going to publicly embarrass my dad," she blurted.

"What?" Alaric laughed. "Why?"

She briefly explained everything, the drawings, Rachel, Ronald, her plan to go public. Alaric replied with quiet hums as she spoke.

When she finished, he said, "I’ll call my P.A., Tom. He’ll meet you tomorrow and help with whatever you need."

She should’ve been thrilled to get help from him. But she knew that him referring her to his PA meant he wasn’t coming home soon.

And she didn’t want to ask when he was coming. She didn’t want to break her heart so she said quietly, "Thanks."

"You’re welcome. I’ll call you back?"

Her heart shattered a little more. "Yeah. Bye."

"Bye."

She collapsed on the bed, pain and longing battling inside her. She sighed and pushed it all down.

"Time to act. Stay strong," she whispered, standing up.

The rest of her day passed in focused preparation. She spent hours reviewing her mother’s drawings and planning her next moves.

The next morning, she started her day with a call from Detective Hector.

"Good morning, Ms. Allens. How do you do, ma’am?"

"Very well, Detective. And you?"

"Great," he replied. "Would you be available to come down to the station? I have the video recordings for Miss R.J."

Oh, it was happening.

"Yes, I’m available," she said, excitement flooding her. "Thank you so much, Detective. I’ll be on my way shortly."

"Alright, ma’am." He ended the call.

The day was already off to an exciting start. She showered and got dressed quickly.

"Things to do today," she said aloud as she put on her shoes. "Meet Detective Hector, talk to Tom, visit the new building to check the work in progress. Let’s go."

She gave the room one last glance before stepping out. But as she entered the living room, she saw Wex waiting.

He stood as soon as he saw her, his eyes downcast. "Good morning, ma’am."

She narrowed her eyes. "Good morning, Wex. What’s wrong?"

He hesitated. "There’s someone outside the gate. He won’t move his car, and I need your permission before I act."

Her brow furrowed. "You’re a trained and experienced guard, Wex. Why do you need my permission before you do your job?"

He looked uneasy. "Because it’s Lucian Crawford, ma’am. I don’t know what to do."

Rage ignited in her chest. Without another word, she stormed outside.

How dare he block her path?

She stormed out of the building and four other bodyguards followed her. Just as Wex said, a black Rolls-Royce was parked in front of the gate.

"Get your fucking car out of the road, Lucian!" she yelled at the top of her voice. "You are fucking outnumbered here, just leave!"

Instead of leaving, the back door opened. The guards stiffened behind her.

"I come in peace," Lucian said, stepping out with his hands raised. "I mean no harm."

Nicolette’s stomach twisted at his audacity.

"You are unbelievable!"

"I know," he said with a smirk. "And I don’t apologize for it."

"Get out!" she growled. "This isn’t going to be like that time in your event. So leave while you still can!"

He raised an eyebrow. "About that... I’m sorry for how that went. Your father was—"

"I don’t care! Just go!"

"I will, after you hear me," he said, pulling out a small envelope. "I brought you something. An apology gift."

She glared at him, not caring what it was. "Go."

"Please," Lucian pleaded, his eyes soft, almost believable. "I heard you’re starting a new building. See," he said, stretching out the envelope. "I got you a furnished one. All set, same street as your mother’s gallery. Just say yes."

Nicolette froze.

Disbelief and astonishment rippled through her.