Davis unconsciously backed away toward the door, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. His mind was a haze as panic clouded his logic, and fear drove his instinct.
He paid no attention to where he was going and no clue where he was heading, nor did he care; only one action gripped his thoughts, consuming him whole was the fact that he needed to go home. Nothing else in this hospital mattered anymore.
As he reached the corridor, Ethan appeared, his strides urgent. He appeared at the hallway just in time to see Davis step out of the ward, his silhouette sharp and unnerved. Inside, the other subordinates were already handling the aftermath of the scene, trying to bring order to the shattered room.
"She’s not safe," Davis muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of a thousand storms.
Ethan’s brows creased with concern as he caught up to him. "What did you say, sir?"
But he got no other response as he walked towards the hospital elevator, his strides long and urgent, his gaze ahead. Ethan’s brows furrowed as he followed him out.
Outside the hospital, flashing red and blue lights cut through the night as the blaring sound of police sirens echoed through the air. Several police vehicles pulled up at the entrance, their lights casting an eerie swirl across the hospital compound—rhythmic and urgent.
Officers moved with precision, announcing lockdown procedures with calm but firm voices and immediately they began sealing the exits. All these announcements and warnings didn’t affect Davis in the bit.
"Sir, what exactly happened?" Ethan asked again as he quickly opened the car door for him.
"She said... Jessica is under attack," Davis responded, his voice clipped and cold, eyes blank with disbelief. His posture was tense, yet his words were calm—too calm. It was the kind of calm that heralded a storm.
Ethan took in the meaning behind those words. His military-trained instincts kicked in, filtering information as rapidly as possible.
From Davis’s expression and the tension straining his voice, he quickly pieced together fragments of what must have transpired and situations, drawing a tentative conclusion.
"Are you sure about the authenticity of that information?"
"Are you certain of her words?"
"What if it’s another trap?" Ethan pressed cautiously.
The past few days had been chaotic, like walking blindfolded through a minefield. Each move had to be calculated, each decision measured. One wrong move could lead to total destruction.
Davis turned toward him, his jaw tightened in restrained fury with pain and resolve burning in his eyes. "With her last breath... Coupled with the pain and agony of rejection, do you think she would lie..to me? Or set me up?"
Ethan didn’t need a second longer to respond. He shook his head. "No, sir. It’s not possible."
"Then get the car going," Davis ordered sharply.
Sliding into the backseat, Davis closed his eyes briefly and drew in a deep breath, steadying himself willing his frayed nerves to obey. Now was not the time to be rash. He had to maintain control, every decision made now mattered and panic would only lead to poor decisions.
He dialed Jessica’s number. First ring... But the ring buzzed in his ear, his stomach twisted into a knot. An unsettling sense of dread gripped his chest.
Second... The call failed.
He tried again. Still no connection.
With each failed attempt, his gut twisted tighter. A dark foreboding clawed at his chest. It was like staring into the mouth of a beast and not knowing when it would lunge.
"Impossible," he muttered, trying to deny the dread swelling within him and also to still his thudding heart.
"Ethan, speed up," Davis instructed, his tone steely.
Ethan looked at him briefly through the rearview "Sir, you know we changed the car. This model isn’t as high-performing as your customized one," Ethan tried to explain.
Davis scoffed lightly. "You’re wrong." He smirked coldly, his eyes sharp. "There’s no such thing as a low-performance car in that garage. All of them are customized."
His gaze drifting to the window, he continued. "This one, in particular, is high-end purposefully designed for camouflage. Don’t underestimate it because the features will surprise you."
Ethan blinked, his ears tingling at the revelation leaving him momentarily stunned. He had misjudged the car based on its modest exterior and had often wondered why Jessica would keep such a seemingly basic model.
But now the truth dawned on him he understood why it had seemed so out of place among the others—and it was terrifyingly brilliant.
Feeling the weight of Davis’s tension fill the car’s interior, Ethan slammed his foot on the gas.
The car roared to life, accelerating with astonishing speed, the vehicle shot forward like an unleashed arrow, slicing through the night air with mechanical precision covering miles in mere minutes.
The steering, which initially felt stiff and reluctant, became remarkably fluid, agile and light, as if gliding on air. The performance was nothing short of elite.
But Davis barely noticed the awe written on Ethan’s face as he marveled at the car’s hidden power.
He was immersed in his own storm. Again and again, he tried every contact line connected to Jessica—her direct line, house phone, assistants, guards. Nothing. None of the calls connecte, It was as if she and everyone around her had vanished into thin air.
Each dead tone felt like a punch to the chest. His heart pounded harder, his mind conjuring every possible worst-case scenario, each more brutal and deeper than the last.
"Push this car faster," he ordered. His voice, though even, held a deadly edge.
Ethan’s jaw clenched, his grip on the wheel tightened. He was already pushing the car beyond legal limits and being asked to go faster unsettled him. "Something’s wrong," he thought grimly.
Davis had never felt this level of fear and helplessness in all his twenty-six years. Not even when the accident had left him crippled.
"You must be alright." He continuously murmured under his breath as the car glided through the night sky. His fist clenched on his thigh.
===============================
The night sky hung above like a solemn witness, glowing faintly under the full moon. The compound bathed in pale light had a ghostly glow over it.
Shadows danced across the darkened lawn, while the outer estate lay in calm darkness, the interior of the mansion was a war zone illuminated by bright lights.
Jessica sat calmly on one of the couches in the living room. Her posture straight, her expression unreadable. Her breathing is steady but shallow. Blood stained her clothes. Bruises marred her arms and neck, some already beginning to darken.
Deborah knelt beside her, gently disinfecting a bleeding wound on her arm.
The butler and maids stood in silence at a respectful distance, some frozen in shock, others in awe.
Their eyes, usually trained to look down, were fixed on her with unrestrained reverence.They had witnessed the battle, seen the unexpected strength behind their young mistress’s fragile exterior.
The living room was in disarray shattered glass littered the floor, it’s shards glittered like deadly snow, antique vases and artworks lay shattered, wooden furniture overturned, the floor stained crimson.
The air still reeked with the smell of blood spoke volumes about the chaos that had unfolded minutes ago.
Groans echoed from the staircase, her eyes lifted and glanced at them before retracting again.
At the base of the staircase, five men lay writhing in pain. Their groans echoed faintly. Each had visible bruises and welts on their exposed skin—faces swollen, arms limp, some clutched their ribs. A few attempted to move, but their muscles failed them. They weren’t dead, but they were certainly defeated.
Their posture looked more like broken dolls than the trained assassins they had once claimed to be.
Deborah finished the first aid and straightened. "Madam, please... you need to go upstairs and change your clothes. Let me tend to the deeper bruises properly." She bowed slightly.
Jessica shook her head. "I’m fine." She replied curtly. Her voice was calm, but her eyes had turned glacial. Her gaze never left the men sprawled on the floor.
She approached the intruders with slow, deliberate steps like a predator stalking wounded prey. Despite their injuries, the men instinctively flinched away from her. There was nowhere to run.
She pulled out a thick barbed wire with thorn-like protrusions. Thorny, sharp, glinting. It was stained faintly red—from the scuffle, or from prior use, no one could say.
The sight of it made them pale. The men tried to back away, fear replacing whatever bravado they had arrived with.
"Now," she said coldly. "Do you want to talk? Or do I have to get creative?"
The men flinched at the coldness in her voice.
"Who sent you?" she asked coldly.
The men looked at one another—hesitant, nervous. Still silent. It was clear they were making a silent pact.
Jessica reached for their black masks and pulled them off their faces. One by one, their features emerged—sharply defined, handsome even. But that wasn’t what caught her attention. Her gaze flicked over their features, searching.
At the back of one man’s ear, her eyes locked on the small tattoo inked behind the ear of one of them—a crescent moon with a dagger slashed across it.
Her eyes narrowed as she murmured quietly "Night merchant?"