Chapter 167
Isabella’s gaze swept across the dimly lit room, absorbing every grim detail.
Thick cobwebs draped from the ceiling like forgotten curtains, evidence that this place had been abandoned for years. The windows were boarded up, sealing them in with no hope of escape. The only exit was a narrow door, guarded by armed men—attempting to flee unarmed would be suicide.
But then she spotted it—shards of broken glass scattered across the floor.
No one had bothered to clean them up.
Moving with painstaking precision, Isabella inched forward, her bound hands making every motion agonizingly slow. Her fingers barely managed to grasp a sharp fragment, the effort nearly impossible.
Just as she pressed the jagged edge against the ropes binding her wrists, the door burst open with a violent crash.
She swiftly tucked the shard into her sleeve, hiding it from view.
Vincent shoved another figure into the room.
“You thought you could play the hero?” Vincent sneered. “Rescue the damsel in distress? Pathetic.”
Isabella squinted against the sudden flood of harsh light, barely making out the newcomer’s silhouette. All she could see was his broad frame before she heard his voice.
“Don’t touch me.”
Alexander.
Her pulse spiked. What was he doing here? He should have known better than to walk straight into a death trap.
He didn’t resist as they roughly tied him up.
Vincent scoffed, unimpressed. “Look at you. Thinking you can save anyone with those weak arms. Pathetic.”
Their eyes met, and Isabella understood immediately—he was playing weak to deceive them.
Feigning indifference, she chimed in, “This guy’s from a wealthy family in Ontdale. He’s sick—coughs up blood half the time. If you handle him right, his family might pay a hefty ransom.”
Vincent paused mid-swing, his fist hovering. Suspicion flickered in his gaze as he studied Alexander. Then he spotted the expensive Patek Philippe on Alexander’s wrist and greedily tore it off.
“Lucky for you, rich boy,” Vincent muttered, shoving Alexander into a chair opposite Isabella. “If your family pays up, maybe I’ll let you live.”
With one last threatening glare, Vincent swaggered out, no doubt already imagining the fortune he’d make selling the watch on the black market.
The door slammed shut, plunging them back into darkness.
Isabella frowned at Alexander the moment they were alone.
“What’s your game, Mr. Kingsley? Why come here alone?”
The sickly facade melted away, replaced by the sharp, calculating man she knew.
“I’m the decoy,” he said quietly. “The police are tracking us, but they need time to set up a full operation.”
The explanation was brief but clear—the tracker on him was their lifeline.
She exhaled. “So we’re on our own until then.”
Her gaze locked onto his. “But you could’ve sent anyone. Why risk yourself?”
“Because you’re worth the risk.”
The way he said it made her breath catch. She could see her own reflection in his eyes—fear, determination, something deeper.
“You saved me,” he continued softly, breaking eye contact. “And Amelia. And maybe… just maybe, you can help my grandmother.”
His tone was calm, but she knew the truth beneath his words. He was here because he cared.
She held his gaze a moment longer before exhaling. “These guys are small-time. The real boss won’t show for three days. If nothing goes wrong, we’ll be fine until the police arrive.”
But fate had other plans.
Muffled voices filtered through the door.
“Lucas, listen. Mr. Vega doesn’t care what happens to her. Why let her rot when we could have some fun? Seems like a waste.”
Isabella’s blood turned to ice.
Vincent.
Alexander’s expression darkened, fury tightening his jaw as the implication sank in. They weren’t just planning to kill her—they wanted something far worse.
The thought of them touching Isabella made his hands clench into fists.
“Fine,” Lucas muttered reluctantly. “But don’t go too far. If she dies, the boss will have our heads.”
It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. These men had no self-control—and with a beautiful woman at their mercy, temptation was too strong to resist.
