Sweet Mischief’s Rollercoaster Romance novel Chapter 584

Mia's voice was firm, unwavering. "No, it's not him."

Right from the start, Tom had been the first suspect to come to her mind. When she’d first scanned the room with suspicion, she had specifically looked for any sign of Tom. Finding none, she recalled his general build.

"Even if Tom had changed his appearance, his voice and demeanor wouldn't. That guy, it’s not Tom!" If it had been him, Mia wouldn’t have wasted time with questions; she would've gone straight for the kill.

Andre believed her. If it had been Tom, he doubted the man would have the self-control to refrain from attacking them.

"Honey, I've got to head to the university soon," Mia shared her concerns. "If they're after me, I’m not worried. But if it’s our son, I fear for his safety when I’m not around to protect him."

Their little one was sound asleep in her arms, his peaceful face making her heart ache with worry. What if her precious boy encountered danger?

Andre sat silently for a moment in the car, cranking the heat to its fullest before driving his family straight home.

After seeing his wife safely inside, Andre left without a word.

Hansen, leaning on his cane at the doorway, watched his busy younger son. "Even the President isn’t as busy as he is."

Mia cut straight to the chase. "Lost all your jellybeans in the game, have you? Got time to criticize my husband now?"

Hansen’s face soured. "Mia, living with Andre has rubbed off on you—the wrong way."

"Oh, so you did lose then." If he hadn’t, Hansen would be jumping three feet high, waving his phone to prove he didn’t lose. His subdued tone now, lacking vigor, was a dead giveaway.

Hansen gritted his teeth. "...Can you top me up?"

Mia was adamant. "No way!"

With that, she carried her waking child upstairs.

That evening, the Cedillo household suddenly filled with new faces, enough to even alarm someone as unguarded as Naomi.

She was puzzled. "Mia, there’s a dozen new faces around, even the security's been switched up. What’s going on? They say it’s all on Andre's orders."

Mia stepped outside, noting the increased presence, and immediately thought of the earlier conversation about the snooping photographer.

"It’s nothing, Naomi. It won’t affect our lives."

Hansen knew his son's temperament. Andre preferred to keep a low profile, valuing privacy above all. He hated having a trail of "tails" behind him or a house full of watchful eyes.

Something about this situation didn’t sit right with Hansen, prompting him to call Andre. "Son, what’s going on?"

Andre's low voice revealed his unease. "These guys are here to protect Mia and the kid. If it's too much, I'll take them back to Maplewood Estates tonight."

"What’s wrong with the kids?" Hansen pressed.

"They’ve been photographed," Andre replied curtly.

Ending the call, Andre stood in a warehouse, a place far beneath his stature.

Cigarette butts littered the ground, surrounded by stacks of miscellaneous items.

His suit seemed out of place here, gathering the dust of the surroundings. He turned, the shine of his shoes snuffing out smoldering cigarette stubs as he walked, phone in hand, toward a figure tied to a chair.

Andre, seeing his son enjoying the toy he’d bought him, texted back, "Let him play then. You get some rest, I’ll put him to bed when I get back."

The room filled with the familiar stench of blood as the screams continued.

Blood, an easy trigger for the rage within.

Andre took another drag, dispelling the foul scent.

"It’s the Walker family."

Before the cigarette was even finished, Andre got the answer he wanted.

He texted Mia back, "Darling, I’m off to handle some business."

She sent him a cute emoji in reply, "You don’t love me anymore, huh? Always busy with excuses."

Andre took a long drag from his cigarette, the last wisps of smoke curling up into the evening air before he dropped it to the ground. With the toe of his boot, he snuffed out the smoldering ember and turned around, a fond, indulgent smile playing on his lips as he made his way back, thumbing a reply on his phone.

"Boss?" The word was tinged with disbelief, his crew looking on in shock at their leader's unusual display of tenderness.

Having placated the person on the other end of the line, Andre slipped his phone into his pocket and settled back into the chair opposite the man with a bloodied face.

"Your real identity," he said, his tone now all business.

"A mere passerby in the dark corners of the web, a photographer by trade," the man responded, wiping the blood from his cheek as he met Andre’s gaze.