The Heiress Spoiled by Four Brothers and One Devilish CEO-Chapter 121 Who The Heck Is He?

Footsteps echoed louder, and three dark figures suddenly appeared around the stairwell corner.

The moment they spotted the two standing by the emergency door, they raised their crossbows without hesitation.

Cameron didn’t wait—he fired instantly. Before the men in black could release a single bolt, bullets tore into their arms.

Blood splattered onto the stairs. As two of them tried to flee, Cameron fired again, hitting them in the legs.

The last one bolted upstairs towards the rooftop.

Just as Cameron stepped forward to go after him, Tristan’s eyes narrowed coldly. He yanked Cameron back by his collar and darted outside the emergency exit with sharp precision.

Two deafening explosions rang out. The steel door behind them rattled violently... then everything went silent.

Cameron nudged the door open slightly, gun raised first.

The sharp, metallic scent of blood hit him hard, making him frown instinctively.

Tristan swung the door open. The once-pristine white walls were now drenched in red, chunks of flesh scattered like sick decorations.

Cameron felt like he’d just dodged death. "Boss... how’d you know they’d try to blow themselves up?"

Tristan replied flatly, "Those guys at the abandoned parking lot last time? The ones in suits who blew themselves up? They had embedded detonation chips. These three reached for their jackets the same way—must have been looking for the switch."

Cameron couldn’t help but admire how sharp Tristan’s instincts were.

"Go check the floors below."

Cameron glanced over. "Sir, what about you—"

But that icy look from Tristan shut him up. Without another word, Cameron stepped over the gore and sprinted down the stairs.

Tristan gave the blood-soaked floor a quick glance, then casually took a cigarette case from his suit pocket.

He flicked open a silver lighter. Fire flared. He lit a cigarette, letting it dangle from his lips without taking a drag, the smoke curling gently around his expressionless face.

Then he turned and started up the stairs.

Bloody footprints trailed upward in messy, uneven patterns. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

He could hear the sound of someone scrambling away in panic, footsteps mixed with soft gasps.

Following the blood drops, Tristan made it to the rooftop entry.

He paused, ears twitching.

A faint, rhythmic beeping.

His pupils shrank.

In a flash, he pressed himself against the wall beside the door.

A thunderous blast erupted—the metal rooftop door was ripped from its hinges, slamming into the opposite wall.

Dust stormed into the stairwell as Tristan shielded his head briefly, then stepped out onto the roof.

The rotor blades above roared—an attack helicopter lifted off from the helipad into the sky.

Tristan stood there calmly, pulled a silver pistol from his waist, and aimed at the auxiliary fuel tank.

Boom.

Flames erupted. The chopper turned into a giant fireball and crashed down in a blazing inferno.

Then—another explosion. Must’ve been the guy inside blowing himself up.

No doubt, this whole thing was tied to the same person behind that last incident at the parking lot.

Tristan immediately tried calling Megan.

No answer.

That made his face darken. Without wasting a second, he turned and raced back down the stairs.

At the same time, the building’s security team stormed into the stairwell—then froze at the carnage that greeted them.

The security captain caught sight of Tristan, face tight. "Mr. Reid, what the hell happened here?"

Tristan replied coolly, "We’ve got a serious breach. Someone just pulled a terror op in this building. Call the police—now."He said that and brushed past the security guard, rushing down the stairs.

At the same time, Megan slipped out through the emergency exit on the seventh floor and ducked into a storage room.

The place was pitch black, the only sound was her heart pounding like crazy.

She got chased yesterday, and now someone was actually trying to kill her today.

Just how much hatred has Landon Haynes’ face stirred up? Sure, the name had pissed off plenty of business folks, but very few had actually seen his face.

So the moment he showed up yesterday, someone must’ve marked him.

Maybe they just wanted to block the Haynes-Lewis deal. Big players teaming up? Definitely bad news for the competition.

Or... Megan frowned slightly. Could it be they truly had zero clue about the land?

Or maybe they purposely started a bidding war to mess with both companies and make them bleed?

During the bidding today, both the Bennette and Channing families backed off halfway. But Cloud ? The guy just kept raising his paddle like he was burning cash for fun. Real amateur move.

Seriously, how does a clown like that become a CEO?

And what’s up with those curly locks by his ear?

Was he wearing a disguise too?

If he’s not Cloud, then who the heck is he? And where’s the real one?

While she ran downstairs, gunshots and explosions suddenly rang out from above.

What the hell was going on now?

Just as she was sorting through that mess, someone grabbed the doorknob of the storage room. Megan, hiding behind a cabinet, shrank back even further into the shadows.

A man stepped in, holding a crossbow.

He closed the door behind him and locked it with a loud click.

Megan’s breath hitched. Yup, the guy clearly came to make sure she wouldn’t leave here alive.

His footsteps drew closer. Megan clenched her fists—who said she was done for yet?

Next second—bang bang bang!

Loud knocking came from the door.

The man paused, then cautiously edged along the wall, ending up directly across from her.

Megan mentally cursed, wondering what kind of sick game this was.

If Nova Tech were here, this guy would’ve been planted headfirst in a flowerpot by now.

The two locked eyes in the dim, cramped room.

Megan made the first move, yanking his arm and twisting it inward, forcing the arrowhead toward his own chest.

But let’s be real—muscle matters in a fight, and close-quarter combat was a whole different beast. She could barely hold her ground.

The guy started overpowering her, the arrow turning inch by inch toward her instead.

Without thinking, Megan stomped hard on his foot and jammed her finger between his, pulling the trigger.

The arrow shot off and slammed into the wooden door with a dull thud.

Then—bang!

The lock exploded with a gunshot. The door blasted open, hitting the wall with a boom.

A tall figure stood framed by the light.

Megan’s eyes lit up. It was Tristan—her man.

Sensing the sudden shift, the black-clad man immediately dropped the crossbow and bolted for the door.

But he ran straight into the muzzle of a gun, hot and black, pressed right against his forehead. "Don’t move," Tristan warned coldly.

But the guy clearly thought Tristan wouldn’t actually shoot. Having an unregistered firearm? Definitely sketchy.

He tilted his head and crouched a bit, about to make a break for it—until Tristan grabbed him by the throat, cutting his escape short.

More cops swarmed in from the hallway.

Realizing he was cornered, the man gritted his teeth and reached for his chest.

Tristan didn’t hesitate—he kicked the guy square in the ribs.

The force sent the man stumbling forward toward the door.

"Get down!" Tristan suddenly yelled.

Then he turned and dove, tackling Megan to the floor.