Chapter 600

Vincent's gaze contracted at the headline, shock rippling across his features. His grandmother-celebrating her eightieth birthday? Impossible. In the recesses of his recollections, she had only reached seventy-two.Eight years still stood between her and that milestone.

Then,his attention shifted to a picture-his grandmother arm in arm with a younger woman, her laughter frozen in the captured moment. That woman was Hannah. The two looked inseparable, their smiles radiating an almost familial intimacy.

Vincent's grip tightened imperceptibly around the phone, the expression on his face flickering through unsteady shades of emotion. The warmth between his grandmother and Hannah forced him to reckon with the bodyguard's statement-it might actually be true. And yet, his mind held no trace of it. There was only one possible conclusion. He had lost an entire eight years of memory.

In those vanished years, not only had he married Hannah and severed the bond, but here he was again,chasing after his former wife, recklessly enough to put his life on the line. The absurdity of it struck him as nearly comical, though no laughter escaped.

But Vincent's trained instincts, sharpened through years of ruthless business, quickly snapped back into place, steadying him as he sifted through the chaos. Eight years erased meant the landscape around him-alliances, enemies, personal ties-had turned into uncharted ground, bristling with danger.

Then,he caught sight of a formation of sleek black vehicles approaching. "Whose men are those outside?"he asked icily, his voice edged with readiness for confrontation.

The bodyguard glanced over, his demeanor instantly taut. "Mr. Jones, those men belong to Hudson Chadwick. He's been targeting the trade rights to the Agosphia port under your control. Ever since your injuries and hospitalization, they've been circling, waiting for you to wake up."

Vincent searched through the fragments of his intact memories. Eight years ago, the Agosphia port had barely reached the initial stages of development, negotiations still distant. Clearly, the project had expanded enormously in the interim, its stakes high enough to attract wolves. His expression hardened, sharp and glacial. No one would strip him of what was his.

Just then, the vehicles slowed to a stop before the entrance.

A figure emerged, surrounded by his entourage-it was Hudson. He ordered staff and customers out of the luxury boutique with ruthless efficiency, until only Vincent, his bodyguard, and Hudson's subordinates remained in the echoing space.

Vincent's bodyguard's hand lingered discreetly near his holster, his entire framerigid with vigilance.

Though memory loss clouded his mind, Vincent's authority in moments of peril remained untarnished,his presence commanding the air. With the faintest flick of his hand, he signaled the bodyguard.

Catching the meaning instantly, the bodyguard retreated a step, angling himself behind Vincent as he transmitted their coordinates to Nate using a specialized communicator.

Hudson feigned obliviousness, plastering on a smile too practiced to be genuine. "Mr. Jones, what a relief to see you awake! I've hardly slept these past days, worrying over you."

Vincent ignored Hudson, adjusting his suit cuffs with deliberate leisure, though there was nothing to smooth. Only after a long silence did he raise his head, eyes sweeping coldly over Hudson and the men flanking him. "Worried about me? You have a peculiar way of expressing concern. Gathering this crowd-do you fear I'll strike you, or intend to strike me yourself?"

Hudson's mask slipped briefly before he covered it with an easy laugh."Ah, Mr. Jones, you still have a sense of humor. More company, more energy, yes? It shows how seriously I take this."

He shifted to the main point. "We had an arrangement, didn't we? I help you deal with Brixton, and you promised to fulfill a condition for me afterward. A promise is a promise."

Vincent's mind held no memory of such terms, yet outwardly, he betrayed nothing, reclining slightly as his tone cooled. "Don't beat around the bush."

He meant to prompt Hudson to speak plainly.

Hudson chuckled stiffly, attempting to ease the edge. "Straightforward as ever-far less roundabout than your girlfriend, Ms. Scott."

Vincent's stare grew cold, ice radiating from the warning in his voice. "Leave irrelevant names out of this.Just state your demand."

Hudson dropped the polite veil, hunger in his eyes. "Very well. I want exclusive trading rights and a share of the profits from the deep-water port in my country-the one you command."

Vincent's lips curved in the faintest, disdainful smile. Even robbed of eight years of memory, he grasped the sheer weight of what Hudson sought. But he met the greed with calm precision, his tone smooth and cutting. "Mr. Chadwick, you certainly have a keen eye. Yet, what you ask for is far from modest."