Davis stared at her pale face with concern. She had kept her composure intact while interrogating the culprit, but now he could finally see how exhausted she truly was. Gently, he pulled her into his embrace.
"Baby, are you okay?" he asked, worried.
Jessica shook her head. It had taken every ounce of strength to remain in that room for so long. But she didn’t want him to have any regrets—she wanted this Chapter of their lives to be over.
She longed for her life to return to a time when she had nothing to worry about. The sooner she solved this riddle, the more relieved she would feel.
"Deborah prepared your favourite snacks for you before we left the house, do you mind having any?" He asked with concern, his gaze everly gently.
"Alright." She muttered. "What’s the time?" She asked.
Davis was busy arranging the snacks for her when Ethan quickly responded, "19:38 hours."
Jessica nodded. "The secret dungeon in Country Y is 120 kilometers from here. I think we need to head over and take a look. If possible, we’ll find Marcus Grant."
Davis’s hand froze, and Ethan’s breath hitched at her words, while her face remained expressionless.
"Babe, no. Let’s go back home. You need rest and you’re already stressed," Davis protested.
How could she be planning to invade a dungeon tonight without any preplanning? Wasn’t that a death wish?
Jessica smiled faintly. Returning home without achieving her goal would be troublesome—too many people were watching.
Raising her phone to her ear, she called the shadow guards. "Connect Team 2 for backup. Bring me my gear. The mission is infiltration," she said coldly.
Davis, sitting close to her, heard the cold gasp of the person on the other end of the call. But just when he thought the person would protest, they said the unthinkable: "Follow your orders."
Davis didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He couldn’t help but blame himself for being soft-hearted and allowing her to come with him.
Now he was afraid—afraid he might lose her tonight, afraid he might lose the unborn child growing within her.
Given the choice, he didn’t want to proceed with the investigation—not now, not anymore. He sighed lightly and handed the snack over to her.
Sensing his worry, Jessica reached for his hand. "Calm down. Nobody knows we’re coming, and it’s just for three hours," she explained quietly.
Davis pressed his throbbing brow, frustration etched on his face as he wrestled with the decision to move forward or return home.
The hum of the car engine filled the silence as Jessica sat beside Davis, her hand gently resting on his.
The heavily tinted windows made it difficult to see the world outside, but inside the armored SUV, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken emotion.
Davis had changed into a dark, simply tailored suit, while Jessica, now in jeans and an off-white polo, looked calm but alert.
Yet the subtle tremble in her hand didn’t escape Davis’s notice. He turned to her, his eyes softening.
"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.
Jessica nodded, her gaze fixed ahead. "I need to see him. To understand why everything happened."
The vehicle slowed as they reached the outskirts of the old district—a part of the city few dared to enter without cause.
An iron gate loomed ahead, half-swallowed by creeping vines and the decay of time.
Guards, fully armed and alert, checked credentials before waving the car through.
Jessica’s expression grew tense as the car descended into the hidden underground facility.
Cold air began to seep through the vehicle’s ventilation, making her shiver involuntarily.
Davis noticed and reached for the blanket folded beside him, draping it gently over her lap. "Thanks," she whispered.
After an hour and thirty minutes of driving, the group pulled up at the front gate of the dungeon.
With Jessica’s guidance and instruction, the car parked in the camera’s blind spot.
Davis gave a nod, but his jaw tightened as the vehicle came to a stop. The dungeon wasn’t a place of rehabilitation—it was where secrets were buried and kept under lock and key.
Inside, the stone corridors echoed with every step. Moisture dripped from the ceilings, and a faint metallic scent filled the air.
Jessica slowed, placing a hand over her lower stomach as they passed the cells. She didn’t complain, but Davis motioned for her to pause.
"If it gets too much—"
"I’ll step back. I promise," she said.
A guard escorted them to one of the cells, where the lights flickered ominously.
Behind the reinforced bars sat three men—aged, worn, and covered in the grime of forgotten years.
They straightened slightly at the sight of Davis and Jessica. One of them, a wiry man with scars along his jaw, stood.
"Didn’t think we’d see your face again, Davis Allen."
"I could say the same for you, Thorn," Davis replied coldly.
Jessica studied each of the prisoners carefully, memorizing their faces. She had read the files, but nothing compared to seeing them in person—the ones responsible for Davis’s past suffering.
"I want the names of the others involved," Davis said. "We know the attempt on my parents’ lives wasn’t orchestrated by mere thieves. Who gave you the order?"
Thorn smirked. "And what makes you think we’d talk now?"
Davis leaned forward slightly in his wheelchair, eyes steely. "Because you’ve rotted here for years. And I can make sure you disappear completely—or I can make your existence just tolerable enough, if you cooperate."
Another man, older with milky eyes, coughed. "The old man—he said no visitors. That no one would come. Said the deal was over."
Jessica stepped closer. "What deal?"
The man coughed again, looking at her with renewed interest. "You’re her, aren’t you? Brown’s daughter. Hah, just like your mother... fiery eyes."
Jessica’s heart skipped. "You knew my mother?"
"Everyone did. She was the fire that scorched the ones trying to smother the truth. She died for it—painfully—through the one man she tried to protect. Because of you."
Davis felt Jessica’s hand tighten around the handle of his chair.
"Enough riddles. Who. Gave. You. The orders?" Davis snapped.
A pause. Then the milky-eyed man mumbled, "It wasn’t just one person. There were three names—Desmond... someone called Louis... and... someone inside the Allen family. A woman."
Jessica and Davis exchanged a look.
"Desmond," Davis growled. "I knew it."
"But a woman?" Jessica asked, voice taut.
The man shook his head lightly. "She knew everything. Planned it like a game of chess. Even had someone inside the Brown household feeding her information."
Jessica took a step back, her mind whirling. Could it be someone close to her? Or someone long thought dead?
"But what’s the relationship between my mother and his?" she asked, her voice contemplative.
"Best friends," he smirked.
The word dropped like a bomb, leaving them stunned. The three men chuckled darkly.
In that moment, Jessica and Davis realized there were missing pieces—facts between their families that had never been spoken.
Davis reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll uncover the rest," he said. "But this... this is enough to act."
The guard signaled it was time. As they turned to leave, Thorn called out:
"You think this ends with us, Davis? You’ve barely scratched the surface."
Davis didn’t turn back. "Then I’ll keep digging."
As they walked out of the cell, Jessica stopped the guard. "I would like to see the prisoner in Room 14," she said.
The guard shook his head. "That’s a special cell. It requires an authority pass. No one’s allowed to visit."
Having served in the dungeon for some time, he had never once handled a visit to that inmate—if there even was one. The records barely mentioned Room 14.
"You don’t have to worry about us. Just go your way while I pay him a visit. But if you dare try to stop me..." Jessica said with a cold smirk.
The guard sighed. He couldn’t just let them through—but the look in her eyes made him reach for his whistle. In a flash, he lost consciousness.
He was carried into the guard’s room, laid down as though asleep. Then they proceeded to Room 14.
The corridor leading there was colder. Quieter.
As they approached, one of the subordinates stood waiting. "Room 14 was sealed. We didn’t realize there was a live inmate still inside. Records listed it as storage."
"Storage?" Davis echoed, wheeling himself forward.
Inside, they found a glass cell reinforced with hydraulic locks.
Within, a man sat cross-legged—not chained. He lifted his head slowly, eyes gleaming like a predator just waking from slumber. He was tall, mid-fifties, with streaks of white in his hair. Exceptionally calm.
Jessica frowned. "Marcus Grant?"