The roar of high-powered engines echoed through the valley just as Amelia finished speaking. A dozen motorcycles tore down the road, flanked by a fleet of black SUVs closing in like a predatory pack.

"Mr. Spencer, they’ve blocked the pass. Orders?" the lead bodyguard’s voice crackled over the intercom.

In a foreign land, they were outnumbered and operating in the shadow of local powers. The stakes were no longer just business; they were life and death.

"Break through," Chris commanded, his voice as cold as the wind whipping past the windows.

The drivers floored their gas pedals, the heavy vehicles vibrating with raw power as they forced their way through the initial line of obstacles. Tires screeched and metal groaned as the SUVs swerved and collided in a desperate dance of tactical maneuvering. The air was thick with the smell of burnt rubber and the underlying tension of an imminent clash.

Amelia had witnessed high-stakes situations with Lucius before, but she had always been a spectator. Now, caught in the eye of the storm, the reality was paralyzing. Beside her, Chris remained unnervingly calm, his features set in a mask of iron.

"Amelia, listen to me," Chris said, turning to her. "I’m moving you to the lead car. They’ll cover your exit while I handle the situation here."

Amelia’s eyes widened. "No! I’m not leaving you behind."

"This isn't a request," Chris’s voice dropped to a lethal frequency. "This isn't our territory, and I won't have you caught in the crossfire because you were too stubborn to move. You’re the target they want; without you here, I can move freely."

Amelia stared at him, her heart skipping a beat. In the flickering shadows of the car, he looked like a man prepared for any sacrifice. "Please," he added, the word carrying a rare weight of genuine concern.

Amelia finally nodded. She had children waiting at home; she couldn't let her emotions dictate a fatal mistake.

Chris opened the door and pushed her toward the waiting driver of the reinforced Bentley. "Get her out of here. Do not stop for anything," he ordered. The driver, the most skilled combatant in their detail, didn't hesitate. The car roared to life, speeding away into the night.

As the distance grew, Amelia watched Chris’s figure shrink in the rearview mirror. Her heart felt as though it were being torn from her chest. The terrorist leader had called her Molly—the name of Larry’s lost lover. Was this entire nightmare simply because she shared a face with a ghost?

She watched as the dark SUVs completely surrounded Chris’s position. A cold dread washed over her. He had used himself as the ultimate distraction to ensure her safety. The farther she got, the more the images of him standing alone against an army haunted her.

"Stop the car," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

The driver kept his eyes on the road. "Ms. White, we have to keep moving. Mr. Spencer’s plan only works if you’re safe."

"I said, stop the car!" Amelia’s voice was suddenly sharp, echoing with an authority that matched Chris’s.

The driver glanced at her in the mirror and felt a sudden chill. This wasn't the timid woman he had seen before. Her gaze was cold, her presence radiating a chilling, lethal resolve.

"Stop now, or I will take control of this vehicle myself," she declared, her hand moving with purpose.

The driver slammed on the brakes, the tires screaming against the asphalt. Before he could react, Amelia was out of the door and pulling him from the driver’s seat.

"Ms. White, this is suicide! You’re walking straight back into a trap!" the driver cried out, reaching for the door.

"Stand aside," Amelia commanded, her aura so powerful it forced the man to recoil. "I am not watching him die while I run."

She floored the gas, and the Bentley roared as it performed a high-speed U-turn. Her mind was a whirlwind of fear and adrenaline, but one thought was crystal clear: she was going back for Chris.

As she approached the site, she saw the dark clouds of men in black suits advancing. They had surrounded Chris’s remaining cars with effortless precision. Chris and his handful of men stood no chance against such overwhelming numbers.

Amelia pulled over at a vantage point and grabbed the night-vision binoculars from the glove box. In the eerie green light, she saw a white-haired man in a formal tailcoat stepping out of a vehicle, walking toward Chris with the poise of a gentleman attending a gala.

Chris sat on the hood of his car, casually watching the approach as if he were bored.

"Mr. Spencer, it’s been too long," the white-haired man said, his voice smooth and elegant despite the murderous intent of the armed men flanking him.

Chris didn't even look up. "What’s the matter, Larry? Did you run out of people to harass at home, or are you here to collect a toll?"

The man laughed, a sound that sent shivers down Amelia’s spine. "In this territory, Mr. Spencer, I collect everything."