Chapter 258
Isabella’s gaze remained fixed on the black sedan ahead, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel. The digital map on the dashboard flickered as she tapped it urgently.
“We’re losing them,” she muttered, her voice edged with tension.
If they made it past the winding suburban roads and reached the docks, Amelia would be gone—vanished onto a ship bound for international waters. And once that happened, finding her would be like chasing shadows in the dark.
Her thoughts raced.
Amelia was just a child—innocent, fragile, with no enemies of her own. This wasn’t the work of the Kingsley family’s usual rivals. If it were, they wouldn’t have hesitated to harm her right there in the lounge. A child that small wouldn’t stand a chance against trained mercenaries.
No, this was something else.
They weren’t after Amelia.
They were after him.
Alexander.
This was a game—one designed to break him, piece by agonizing piece.
Isabella’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know what grudge they’re holding against you,” she said, her voice low but sharp. “But they’re not hiding their hand. They want you to suffer. To feel the weight of losing her.”
She glanced at him, her eyes hard. “So, Mr. Kingsley, if we’re going to outplay them, you can’t afford to fall apart now. That’s exactly what they want.”
“I know,” Alexander replied, his voice like ice. His eyes, though shadowed, burned with a cold, lethal focus. “They’re clever, but they’ve made one mistake.”
A pause.
“They think they’ve already won.”
A shiver ran down Isabella’s spine.
No—maybe they hadn’t forgotten. Maybe they knew they wouldn’t walk away from this. Alive or otherwise.
With a quick flick of her fingers, she sent a message to Julian.
Hurry. Amelia’s running out of time.
The night air was thick with salt and tension as they finally closed in on the coast. Seven vehicles boxed in the black sedan, headlights cutting through the darkness like blades.
The kidnappers were cornered.
One of them—a man in a dark cap—dragged Amelia toward the edge of the pier, his grip tight around her small frame.
“You Kingsleys really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he sneered. “But here’s some free advice—if you want the kid to live, back off.” His voice turned sharp. “Send Alexander over. Now. Everyone else stays where they are.”
Alexander’s expression darkened. He shoved the car door open, but when Isabella moved to follow, his hand shot out, pressing her back into her seat.
“Ms. Sinclair,” he said, his voice low. “You’ve done enough.”
Moonlight carved harsh lines across his face, highlighting the ruthless determination in his eyes.
“These men? They’re not amateurs. They’re killers. Fast. Reckless. Deadly.” His grip on her wrist tightened briefly before he let go. “I won’t let you walk into that.”
Isabella opened her mouth to argue—but then something cold and heavy pressed into her palm.
A gun.
The same silver pistol he’d carried the night they first met. The one that had bound their fates together.
“If this goes wrong,” Alexander said, his voice barely above a whisper, “use it. Protect yourself. And don’t look back. Drive. Forget the rest.”
Isabella’s fingers curled around the weapon. “Do you really think I’d just leave you here?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I know you’re strong. Stronger than most. You survive. That’s what makes you different.”
“Then why—”
“Because I can’t lose you too,” he said, the words rough with something raw beneath the steel.
And before she could respond, he was gone—vanishing into the night like a shadow.
