I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father
Chapter 253: Hurry And Get This Done

Chapter 253: Hurry And Get This Done

When Levi came to, the acrid stench of ammonia clung to his nostrils as he stirred from unconsciousness. His mouth was dry, his tongue thick, and each breath scraped his throat like sandpaper. His limbs felt like lead, deadweight shackled to a body that barely responded. His vision swam with disjointed images—Ken Stuart, blurred faces, a car door slamming, and finally, Anya’s face: a halo of dark hair, crimson lips curled into a triumphant smile.

As if from a distance he heard voices.

"Why is he awake? Isn’t he supposed to be out for a whole hour at least?"

"I sprayed it directly in his face, I don’t know what happened but we have to hurry and get this done."

"Welcome back to the land of the living, darling," came her voice, soft and mocking, as if she were welcoming him to some twisted dreamscape.

Levi’s eyelids lifted slowly, every blink a fight. A dingy yellow light flickered overhead, its hum loud in the silence. The room swam into view—a motel room, grime embedded in the peeling wallpaper, the carpet blotched with years of spills, and the air thick with stale cigarette smoke and something more pungent, something chemical.

He was sprawled awkwardly on a sagging bed, his blazer missing, shirt partially unbuttoned, belt loosened. A slow, crawling sense of dread began to bloom in his gut.

"Where... am I?" he rasped, but the words came out slurred, half-choked. "What the f**k have you done to me?"

Anya leaned in, her silhouette haloed by the weak light, the scent of her perfume nauseatingly sweet. "Somewhere private," she whispered, her fingers brushing his jaw with calculated intimacy. "Just you and me... and it’s not like we’ve never been alone together."

He tried to sit up, but the room tilted violently. His limbs refused to cooperate—numb, sluggish, as if underwater. His mind screamed at him to move, but the connection between thought and action was frayed, delayed. Panic flared.

"Relax," she cooed, straddling him, the mattress creaking beneath her weight. "This will be over soon and I promise it won’t hurt."

From the corner of his eye, Levi caught movement—a dark figure shifting near the wall-mounted TV. A man, thin and wiry, loomed in the shadows. The glint of a camera lens caught the flickering light as he adjusted it on a tripod. Levi blinked rapidly, trying to focus.

"Stop wasting time and take off the rest of his clothes so we can get this shot and be over with," the man said, voice gravelly and impatient.

Something inside Levi snapped.

He might have been drugged. He might even be weak. But there was one thing he was not, helpless.

Summoning every last shred of energy, Levi surged upward with a guttural yell, catching Anya off balance. She let out a startled cry as she toppled sideways, hitting the floor hard.

"Stop him!" she shrieked, scrambling to her feet.

The cameraman lunged, but Levi’s hand closed around the ceramic base of the bedside lamp. He wrenched it free and swung blindly. The lamp connected with a sickening crunch against the man’s temple. The photographer staggered, dropping the camera, and collapsed beside the bed, his head bleeding profusely onto the threadbare carpet.

Chest heaving, Levi dropped the shattered lamp and stumbled to his feet. The floor pitched beneath him, and the walls pulsed like a heartbeat, but he focused on one thing: the door.

He staggered toward it, but Anya was there again, grabbing at his arm, her nails digging into his skin. "You idiot! You will ruin everything!"

"Let go of me," Levi snarled, his voice raw with fury and the afterburn of chemicals she had sprayed in his face.

She tried to block his path, eyes wide with panic and fear now that her accomplice lay groaning behind her. But Levi wasn’t playing her game anymore. He shoved her aside with enough force to send her sprawling onto the motel room table, scattering a purse, a bottle of pills, and a phone that lit up with a flash of Brandon’s name.

Levi paused.

Brandon.

Pieces slammed together in his mind with cold, horrifying clarity. This was not just some wild stunt. It was deliberate. Coordinated. And it had a purpose—destroy him. Probably to have Lyse all to himself.

"Of course," Levi muttered bitterly. "He sent you."

Anya glared up at him, rage and humiliation twisting her face. "You were supposed to be mine! It could have all been so simple."

A sharp pain lanced through Levi’s skull, but he forced his body forward, yanking the door open. The dim hallway stretched out before him, empty, silent, as if holding its breath.

He stumbled down the corridor, hand dragging along the stained wallpaper for balance. His vision doubled and the walls pressed in, but adrenaline carried him down the stairwell two flights at a time. His mind screamed for speed—if Anya called for help, if Brandon sent someone else, he would not get another chance.

The motel lobby was bathed in flickering neon from the buzzing sign outside. A teenage clerk behind the counter glanced up from his phone, eyes widening at the sight of Levi—shirt disheveled, bruised, blood on his sleeve.

"Hey, you okay?" the kid asked, half-rising.

Levi didn’t stop to answer. He burst through the double doors, the icy night air hitting him like a slap. The cold bit at his damp skin, clarity returning in fragmented bursts. The world outside was quiet, but not safe. He didn’t know where he was—some forgotten part of the city with boarded-up storefronts and rusting signs—but the important part was: he was out.

His chest heaved as he stumbled down the sidewalk, the cracked pavement blurring underfoot.

Somewhere nearby, a train roared past, the distant whistle echoing in the night. His head pounded. His stomach twisted.

He ducked into a narrow alley and leaned against a wall, sucking in breaths, every rib protesting. His phone—gone. His wallet—gone. He had no ID, no money, no way to call for help. But he was free.

The sharp buzz of tires over pavement made him jerk upright. A black SUV rolled slowly past the alley entrance, its headlights sweeping over the brick walls like searchlights. Levi’s heart leapt into his throat. He pressed himself into the shadows, barely breathing. The car didn’t stop. It kept moving.

When the coast was clear, he staggered out and turned down a side street, his eyes darting, his thoughts racing. He could not go home. Not yet. If this was Brandon’s doing, then who knew how far it went? His apartment, his office—none of it was safe.

Levi wondered briefly if his driver has also been part of the plan to have him kidnapped. In the distance he saw a phone kiosk and tried to quickly walk to it.