CHAPTER 95: CHAPTER 95: HE DOESN’T DARE TO GAMBLE

Keegan Lindsey, standing to the side, was scared out of his wits, so anxious he nearly jumped up.

Is the boss insane? How could he say something so cruel?!

"Embryo?"

Stella repeated these two words, then suddenly started to laugh low and bitterly, the sound harsh, full of despair.

As she laughed and laughed, fat tears rolled down her cheeks without warning.

It felt as if he had sliced her heart out with his own hands, the pain beyond compare, then, in front of everyone, slashed it a thousand times more.

Aiden Fordham watched her agony, and an indescribable pain twisted in his chest.

He wanted so badly to tell her it wasn’t like this; he wished he could tear Helen Warren apart, limb by limb.

But right now, he had no choice but to protect Helen Warren.

Inside, he screamed wildly: Stella, please, stop crying, I’m begging you, please stop...

Uncontrollably, he reached out a hand, wanting to wipe her tears away.

The next second, Stella grabbed his big hand in a sudden grip,

then she opened her mouth and bit down hard!

She used every bit of strength in her body!

She stared at him, wide-eyed and wet with tears, burning with an insane hatred.

Aiden’s body went rigid, and he made a low, muffled groan, but didn’t push her away.

He simply stood there, letting her vent however she needed.

Blood quickly oozed from the corner of her mouth, trickling downward, bright red and shocking.

Her eyes were filled with murderously unfiltered hatred.

"Aiden!" Corinne Kensington screamed, her face twisted with worry and horror.

"Push her off! She’s lost her mind!"

Stella finally loosened her bite.

Her lips were smeared with his blood, like she wore the boldest lipstick.

She lifted her eyes, glaring at him coldly, and spoke each word slowly and clearly:

"Aiden Fordham."

"I will never forgive you."

"Never!"

The words had just left her mouth when everything went black, and her body slumped backward.

"Stella!"

Andy Lockwood reacted instantly, catching her and pulling her tightly into his arms.

Looking at Stella’s pale face and barely-there breath in his embrace, his eyes brimmed with anxiety and pain.

He carefully picked her up, holding her in his arms, then turned to glare at Aiden with icy eyes.

"Aiden Fordham, anyone The Lockwood Group wants, you won’t be able to keep!"

"We’ll see about that."

With that, he strode off toward a car parked not far away, Stella in his arms.

Six bodyguards quickly fell in behind, and the group withdrew from the scene in no time.

Everyone was gone, but Aiden was still rooted, frozen, where he stood.

Deep bite marks on his wrist kept oozing blood, the wound searing with pain.

But what hurt most was inside his chest.

There it was hollow, as if a great hole had been punched through, or something had been mercilessly crushed within—pain so deep it might kill him.

"Aiden, you’re bleeding, let me wrap it for you..."

Corinne Kensington approached timidly, trying to get close, her face full of worry.

"Get lost!"

Aiden suddenly shoved her away, the force sending her stumbling back several steps, almost falling.

The Kensington Family—Now, he hated them more than anything.

He didn’t spare a glance for Helen Warren, still slumped on the ground, only coldly ordered the bodyguards nearby.

"Keep watch here!"

"Without my permission, Helen Warren isn’t allowed to leave—anywhere!"

Saying that, he whirled abruptly and strode toward his car.

The sports car revved with a roar; the tires shrieked against the ground as he sped away, vanishing quickly at the end of the road.

Corinne Kensington stood where she was, watching him disappear, the worry and fear slowly fading from her face.

Slowly, she curled her lips into a smile.

That smile was openly, unmistakably triumphant!

...

The Fordham Group CEO’s office.

Aiden Fordham radiated a pressure so cold and dense he was like an ice sculpture, ready to shatter at any moment.

Quentin Lockwood’s fingers trembled as he scrolled through photos and messages on Aiden’s phone, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Impossible!"

He jerked his head up, his voice cracking.

"Absolutely impossible!"

"Stella Grant, Bruno Duvall’s mistress? What kind of sick joke is that!"

"That Bruno is an absolute psycho! He tortured seven wives to death—seven!"

"You really believe such crap?"

Aiden’s face was so dark it looked like it might drip water, his jaw clenched tight.

He spoke with a voice hoarse with pain.

"I don’t believe it either. But I can’t risk it."

On the phone screen was the video from her last kidnapping, but the camera angle was clearly different. There was also a childish photo of a little girl—the features matched Stella Grant as a child exactly.

The message itself was a dagger to the heart:

[Stella Grant was once Bruno Duvall’s mistress. There are countless explicit films in my collection. If you don’t protect Helen Warren, the world will get to enjoy them all at once.]

"The video is real. The photo is real, too."

Aiden squeezed his eyes shut, veins throbbing at his temples.

"I can’t risk it!"

He knew full well how lethal that message was—if it got out, Stella Grant’s life would be ruined forever.

Quentin Lockwood frowned deeply, drumming his fingers on the desk, lost in thought.

"There are two years missing from Stella Grant’s records. Not a trace..."

"Could it be... those two years she was held captive by that psycho?"

The suspicion struck Aiden like a sledgehammer straight to the heart.

His breathing turned rough; his teeth ground together audibly.

Imprisoned? For two years?

He didn’t dare go further; the image was too savage, too dark.

He was afraid he might go insane.

Right then, there came a sharp knock at the door—the office was pushed open.

Keegan Lindsey hurried in, holding a file.

"President Fordham, we’ve got something! Bruno Duvall arrived in Meritopia half a month ago."

"The timing... exactly the day before madam was kidnapped."

"At present, there’s no record of him leaving the country."

Aiden shot his gaze up, pupils contracting sharply.

Could it be...

Was Stella’s kidnapping really Bruno Duvall’s doing? The thought sent a chill through him.

Suddenly, a crucial point struck Aiden.

"No, something’s off."

His eyes went razor sharp.

"If a woman had suffered that kind of trauma, psychologically she’d have deep scars."

"She could never... accept intimacy with a man so easily."

He remembered his first time with Stella.

Though he hadn’t been fully conscious, he remembered her shyness and nerves clearly.

And... the stain of red on his bedsheet.

She was clearly a virgin.

This story of ’Bruno Duvall’s mistress,’ ’countless videos’—none of it matched!

"Since Bruno’s still in the country, I’ll turn over every stone if I have to, but I will find him!"

Quentin Lockwood’s expression turned fierce, too.

With that, he turned and strode out, exuding a killer vibe.

The only ones left in the office were Aiden and Keegan Lindsey.

Keegan hesitated for a moment, then spoke quietly.

"President Fordham, madam... is at the Sterling Family’s house now."

Aiden wearily rubbed his brow. "Have Seraphina keep watch there."

He didn’t dare go to her right now. She was furious; if he went now, it’d only pour oil on the fire—he’d only hurt her more.

Let her calm down a little...

Then he’d go... to beg for forgiveness.

Keegan watched him like that, feeling a bit of respect!

So, all along, he’d gone against his own conscience to protect Helen Warren—for the sake of protecting madam!

But this time, madam really had her heart torn to pieces!

...

Elsewhere.

In a dark, damp chamber, a nauseating stench of rust and blood filled the air.

A man was bound with thick iron chains to a custom-built torture rack.

His head drooped, hair glued to his skull with sweat and blood, the face unrecognizable.

What had once been a strong frame was now emaciated, reduced to skin and bone.

His body was covered in crisscrossing wounds, old and new, some still oozing bright beads of blood.

"Crack! Crack!"

The sharp snap of the whip echoed around the sealed chamber.

The man groaned, his body convulsing violently.

The heavy iron door was pushed open from outside, and a woman in a tailored suit and flawless makeup strode in.

In the dim light, her red lips curled into a chilly arc.

That smile held no warmth, only a chilling, pervasive coldness.

She stared at the man for a few seconds, then turned and gave instructions to the servant holding the whip.

Her tone was calm, but contained an absolute, unquestionable command.

"Give him some nutrients. Keep that life dangling—do not let him die yet."

"That... would be far too easy for him."

...