Pain clouded her vision.

A shadowy figure emerged from the car.

His face twisted into a menacing smirk as he moved closer, each step deliberate and slow.

“Ethan is truly a fool,” he sneered, malice dripping from every word. “Did he honestly believe he could shield you?”

Isabella’s mind spun. Ethan? What did he have to do with this? She tried to speak, to demand answers, but blood filled her mouth. Her consciousness faded, darkness swallowing everything.

An ambulance siren screamed in the distance.

Sophia lay on a stretcher, clutching her chest. Her face was ghostly pale, twisted with pain.

Ethan stood beside the ambulance, his expression shadowed with deep concern as he watched the medics load her inside.

Confusion and frustration warred within him, mixed with something else—something he couldn’t name.

Her trembling fingers reached out, grasping his sleeve. “Ethan…” she whispered, her voice weak and fragile.

But Ethan didn’t respond. His gaze swept past her, scanning the hotel entrance. Where was Isabella?

Why had she disappeared?

A sharp unease twisted in his chest. He pulled away from Sophia’s grip and strode back toward the banquet hall, his movements swift and determined.

“Ethan! Wait!” Sophia’s desperate cries faded behind him as he pushed through the doors.

His face was grim, his mind racing through worst-case scenarios.

He grabbed a startled waiter, his voice cold and dangerous. “Where is Isabella?”

The waiter flinched. “I—I don’t know, Mr. Blackwood,” he stammered, trembling.

Ethan shoved him aside, dread coiling tightly in his gut.

He moved quickly, heading toward the back exit. The moment he stepped outside, the silence felt heavy and eerie—a stark contrast to the lively banquet inside.

Then he saw it. Beneath the flickering streetlight, a dark red stain smeared across the pavement.

Ethan’s breath caught. A suffocating weight dropped in his chest.

He crouched beside the blood, his fingertips brushing its chilling surface. A cold dread shot through him.

Isabella’s handbag lay nearby, its contents spilled across the ground like silent witnesses.

“Damn it!” he snarled, fury erupting inside him. He stood and slammed his fist against the wall. Pain shot through his hand as blood streaked the pale surface.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed with unsteady hands.

“Find Isabella. Now. I want her found—dead or alive,” he commanded, his voice rough with rage and fear.

A soft groan broke the silence.

Isabella’s eyelids fluttered open.

Harsh white light assaulted her senses, forcing her to squint.