CHAPTER 233: A FATHER’S DESPERATION

"Look who’s worried about the consequences now. Shouldn’t you worry about your own skin first? Didn’t Father prepare the divorce papers? After Jean humiliated you in front of the media?"

Darla flinched, swallowing hard. The reminder burned deeper than any wound. Alex’s smirk widened, cruel and sharp.

"So instead of lecturing me, Mother... maybe start thinking about how you’re going to survive." Alex spat his words at Darla, his own mother; and left the house.

The silence that settled was thick, venomous... Mother and son bound by shared guilt, yet drowning in separate fears.

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Outside, the wind howled against the windows, as if the very walls of the Adams estate whispered of all the sins buried within.

Darla stood frozen, Alex’s cruel words still echoing in her head. The bitter taste of fear and humiliation tightened around her throat. Slowly, she turned toward Derek, her husband, her partner in ambition and secrets.

"Is it true, Derek?" Her voice was low, cracking under restrained rage. "What Alex said... Have you already prepared divorce papers?"

Derek didn’t look away, his eyes cold, jaw clenched.

"Yes," he replied, his voice rough. "After Jean’s stunt on exposing you in front of the cameras... our company’s shares have plummeted. The board blames you, Darla. You’ve become a liability."

For a heartbeat, Darla felt as if the ground had vanished beneath her feet. But rage surged stronger than despair, burning behind her eyes.

"If you dare go through with it..." She hissed, stepping closer, her face pale but with a fierce look on her face. "I swear I will drag every filthy secret of this family into the light. Everything we’ve buried. The board, the press... they will all know what the great Adams family really is!"

Derek’s expression darkened, but before he could answer, Darla spun around sharply. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she stormed out, fury radiating from her every step.

Left behind in the echoing silence, Derek’s face twisted, veins standing out on his neck.

"Damn you, Darla!" He spat, his hand sweeping across the table, sending crystal glasses and a vase crashing to the floor. Shards scattered, reflecting the fractured ruin of the empire they had built together... now teetering on the edge of collapse.

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The late afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of Jean’s office. Stacks of reports, design drafts, and financial statements cluttered Jean’s desk as she stood beside Hannah, deep in discussion.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a violent crack against the wall. Hannah jolted, her eyes wide with fright.

"Uncle Morris?" Jean’s voice caught in her throat.

Morris Adams stumbled in, his eyes bloodshot, the stench of alcohol clinging to him like a shadow. His suit jacket hung unevenly, tie half loosened, hair disheveled. Yet what chilled Jean most wasn’t his disarray but the wild, desperate fire in his gaze.

"Morris, what..."

Before she could finish, Morris lunged forward. His large hands clamped down hard on her shoulders, his grip painfully tight.

"Where is she, Jean?!" He roared, his breath hot and heavy with whiskey. "Where did you take my daughter? Tell me... WHERE IS MY EMMA?!"

Jean’s mind raced.

Emma?

She felt the heat of his grip sinking into her skin, the sting of his nails digging through her blouse.

"Uncle Morris, I don’t understand," Jean gasped, voice shaking yet steady. "What do you mean... Emma? Wasn’t she in the hospital? I haven’t seen her..."

Behind her, Hannah froze, panic flickering across her face. Jean instinctively stepped back, placing herself firmly between Morris and Hannah.

"Please... listen to me," Jean urged, her own heart hammering against her ribs. "I don’t know where Emma is. What happened? Why do you think I..."

Morris’s breathing grew ragged, chest heaving as if each breath was a battle. His eyes searched hers wildly, as if begging for an answer she couldn’t give.

"They told me..." His voice cracked, his fury melting into raw, aching fear. "She was gone... her bed empty... and you... YOU had a reason..."

"Uncle Morris!" Jean’s voice rose, trembling with restrained emotion. "I would never harm Emma! Never!"

For a moment, silence hung in the room, the only sound the rapid beats of three frantic hearts. Jean felt Morris’s grip slacken, confusion shadowing the grief in his eyes.

"I would never hurt Emma," Jean whispered again, softer this time. "Please, let me help you find her..."

Morris’s grip trembled, the rage in his eyes clashing with raw desperation. Jean swallowed, her voice gentle but firm.

"Uncle Morris... please... listen to me. I don’t know where Emma is, but let me help..."

But Morris, lost in panic, didn’t hear her. His hands tightened again on Jean’s shoulders, his breath ragged. Hannah, standing just behind, felt her heart seize.

"Jean..." She whispered, her voice shaking.

Jean glanced at her, silently pleading not to intervene but Hannah couldn’t watch any longer. With trembling fingers, she reached into her pocket, dialing the emergency extension.

"Security... come to Mrs. Kingsley’s office. Quickly," Hannah murmured, almost inaudible.

Seconds later, heavy footsteps thundered outside. Two uniformed guards rushed in, their eyes widening at the sight. The CEO cornered by a frantic Morris Adams.

"Sir, please step back!" One guard commanded.

Morris’s head snapped toward them, his expression wild.

"Don’t touch me!" He barked, voice cracking under the strain.

But the guards advanced, firm yet calm. Jean raised a hand, voice soft. "Uncle Morris, please. Let go... please..."

For a heartbeat, something in Morris’s gaze faltered... the mask of anger slipping to reveal a father’s terror. But the guards were already beside him. One gently but firmly pulled his hands away from Jean, while the other positioned himself protectively in front of her.

"Sir, you need to calm down," the guard said quietly. "Let’s step outside."

Morris’s chest heaved. His shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him. Hannah stood frozen, relief and guilt clashing in her eyes.

As they guided Morris toward the door, he turned back, his voice raw. "Jean... if you know anything... anything... please... She’s my daughter," He whispered, his voice broken in agony.

Jean’s heart clenched painfully.

"I swear, Uncle," she whispered back, her own eyes glistening. "I’ll find her too."