Jessica can’t lose her life without saving the Brown family from ruin," he muttered, his voice dark with resolve.
He left the room and headed straight to his bedroom to get himself ready for the trip to the Allen family.
~At the Allen family~
Elder Allen had remained in his bedroom since morning, not even stepping out for breakfast.
After the message last night, he had felt a sense of relief, but to protect Davis, he had to continue feigning his frailty.
As Alfred descended the grand staircase, Desmond approached him, his expression painted with concern—though deep inside, he was gloating.
"What about my father?" Desmond asked, his voice carrying just the right amount of worry.
Alfred, who had served Elder Allen for decades, knew better than to be deceived. What the Allen family never truly realized was that he wasn’t just a butler but a specially assigned guard. He had witnessed all the family’s internal drama firsthand.
The butler let out a deep sigh. "The Old Man hasn’t been in good condition since last night, and as of now, he hasn’t eaten anything."
Desmond’s gaze flickered toward the stairs leading to his father’s room before he returned his attention to Alfred. "What about his medication?" he probed.
"With how weak he is, he couldn’t handle any additional medication," Alfred replied, his voice carefully neutral.
Desmond gave a small nod before turning toward Elder Allen’s room. His steps were deliberate, his mind already calculative.
Slowly, he raised his hand and tapped lightly on the door, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead. A muffled response came through the door—a signal to enter.
With a slow exhale, Desmond twisted the doorknob and stepped inside.
Elder Allen lay on the bed, his frail hand resting on the sheets, his breathing shallow. Noticing Desmond’s presence, he slowly opened his eyes, a tired gaze settling on his son.
"Desmond, any news about their whereabouts?" he asked, his voice weak.
Desmond’s face was grim as he approached the bedside. "Dad, you haven’t had breakfast?" he asked, concern laced in his tone.
"I don’t have any appetite left for breakfast," Elder Allen murmured.
"Father, you need to eat something so you can take your medication," Desmond insisted.
"I know," the old man sighed. "I will eat after I get some rest."
Desmond hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "I’m heading to the police station. It’s been over 24 hours since their disappearance. I need to file a report and officially declare them missing."
Elder Allen’s gaze sharpened as he studied Desmond carefully. "Isn’t there anything you can do to search for them?" he asked, his piercing stare never wavering.
Desmond shook his head. "The police are the best option at this point," he said firmly.
After a brief conversation, Desmond finally exited the room, his expression complicated. He had made sure to keep his discussion minimal and his concerns to himself.
After Desmond exited, Elder Allen slowly sat up, resting his head against the headboard. His gaze remained fixed coldly on the shut door, his expression contemplative. It was becoming increasingly clear—Desmond would stop at nothing until Davis was out of the picture.
"Jessica... Jessica..." he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly before shutting his eyes.
Meanwhile, Desmond descended the stairs with measured strides. The moment he stepped into the sitting room, his steps faltered, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of George Brown. A wave of irritation surged through him as memories of Jessica resurfaced, twisting his stomach in anger.
George Brown, noticing his arrival, immediately stood up, his movements slightly hesitant. Yet, despite the situation, he forced a mock smile onto his face.
"In-law, how are you doing?" he greeted, his tone casual, as though they were merely discussing business.
Desmond’s disgust deepened. He had always known the Brown family to be opportunistic, clinging to power wherever and where evet they could. Still, seeing George wear a smile while supposedly searching for his missing daughter was baffling.
A bitter thought crossed Desmond’s mind. Jessica... She truly is pitiful.
"We are doing just fine. Seeing you at this time, I hope there’s no problem?" Desmond smirked, leaning back slightly as he observed George with narrowed eyes.
Whatever reason that had brought George Brown here, Desmond was certain it wasn’t a good one. The man’s uneasy demeanor only confirmed his suspicions.
"E...mm, there is a little problem. Concerning Jessica..." George hesitated, rubbing his palms together as if carefully weighing his words.
Desmond’s smirk widened, though his eyes remained devoid of warmth.
"Yes, we’re still working round the clock to find them. And if we do, that would be best for everyone, I will take this opportunity to ask you exercise patient while we do our best to locate tjem."
George’s heart skipped a beat. Something about the way Desmond phrased his words sent a chill down his spine. He swallowed hard. "And... if not?" His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes searching Desmond’s face for any indication of what he might say next.
Desmond’s expression darkened, the smirk slipping away, replaced by a glacial stare. The atmosphere between them grew heavy an its tension palpable.
"If not?" Desmond repeated, his tone carrying a mocking edge. He arched a brow, deliberately drawing out the silence before continuing. "If not... well, I suppose that would be quite the loss, wouldn’t it?"
George clenched his fists, his throat suddenly dry. He had always known Desmond to be ruthless, but now, standing before him, the weight of that reality pressed down on him.
Desmond leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laced with amusement. "Let’s not pretend, George. We both know why you’re here. Jessica was never more than a tool to you—a stepping stone to climb higher. And now that she’s missing, I believe you wouldn’t sit stood." Desmond smirked.
George’s face paled, but he quickly masked his panic with forced indignation. "That’s not true! She is my daughter—"
"Your pawn," Desmond cut in coldly. "Spare me the theatrics. You don’t care about Jessica. You care about what losing her means for the Brown family."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. George opened his mouth, but no words came. Desmond’s piercing gaze held him in place, stripping away every pretense he had arrived with.
"If you came here expecting sympathy," Desmond continued, rising to his feet and buttoning his suit jacket, "then you’ve wasted your time. I suggest you start praying for her safe return—because if she doesn’t, you’ll have nothing left to bargain with."
George’s breath hitched. He hadn’t anticipated such a direct dismissal, nor the sheer indifference in Desmond’s tone. It was clear—if Jessica was gone, she wouldn’t be the only one to lose everything.
Desmond turned away, already losing interest. "Now, if that’s all... you can see for yourself"