CHAPTER 199: CHAPTER 198: CASE SOLVED

Rex didn’t move.

He just held Arabella closer, shifting slightly to make sure she was behind the safest part of his body. His arms wrapped her like armor.

Her small body trembled against his chest, her hands gripping his shirt like she never wanted to let go. He could feel her heartbeat—rapid, terrified, confused. And still, she didn’t cry.

She just buried herself into him.

His expression didn’t change—calm, but not passive. Calculating.

He turned slightly, eyes locked on the black-suited men, scanning for insignias, badges, any clue as to who the hell they were or why they were pointing weapons at him.

Nothing.

No logos. No names. Just cold professionalism.

Who were they?

Why now?

Why are they aiming at him?

Did he offend someone again?

...

The standoff dragged on, heavy and breathless.

Seconds passed. Tension hung so thick in the air, it felt like even the wind had stopped to watch. Neither side moved, but every muscle was coiled. Every finger twitch felt like a trigger.

Rex didn’t blink. Arabella stayed tucked against him, her face buried in his chest, too still. Too quiet.

The distant wail of sirens finally reached the block, rising above the low hum of engines and the distant chaos of scattering civilians. First responders were arriving—flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the glossy black of the armored SUVs.

But none of them approached.

The police cruiser stopped a full block away, lights still spinning. Two officers stepped out slowly, hands on their holsters, eyes darting to the deadlock in front of them. Paramedics from the ambulance peered out cautiously, gurney untouched, debating whether it was worth the risk.

They didn’t wade in. They didn’t even try.

Instead, they radioed frantically for backup.

No one wanted to be the one to step into that powder keg.

Because this was LA. And LA had its own rules.

This city might be the land of stars and sunshine, but it was also the gang capital of the United States. A place where turf lines blurred with politics and power, and where heavily armed men in black showing up without a badge didn’t exactly raise eyebrows—it raised survival instincts.

They knew better than to intervene without knowing exactly who they were dealing with. Feds? Private security? Cartel? Corporate enforcers? In LA, there were too many possibilities, and none of them ended well.

So they waited.

The standoff continued, poised on the edge of eruption. Stillness stretched like a wire pulled taut, daring someone—anyone—to be the first to snap it.

Until,

A figure emerged from the fringe, stepping out from the direction of the sidewalk like she hadn’t just walked into a war zone.

A woman.

Tall, graceful, dressed in what could only be described as exquisite fashion. Elegant heels clicked against the pavement. Her coat, some impossibly expensive designer cut, fluttered slightly with her hurried steps.

She didn’t slow. She didn’t hesitate.

The police officers shouted at her to stop, but didn’t move forward. They knew better. The paramedics ducked back behind their doors. But the suited gunmen—those same cold professionals who hadn’t flinched all this time—suddenly tensed, visibly. Their postures stiffened. Their fingers curled tighter around their triggers.

Because they recognized her.

She wasn’t just another civilian stumbling into the scene. She was their master. And her presence here—unexpected, emotional—threw their ranks into disarray.

Several of them exchanged panicked glances, voices sharp and urgent.

"Madam, please step back! It’s dangerous!" one of them barked, louder and more frantic now, the polished control in his voice cracking just slightly. He wanted to rush forward, to pull her away, to protect her from the storm she’d just walked into—but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not with Victor and Kaelan’s barrels trained on them like silent threats. He didn’t even dare to blink, let alone move. The danger wasn’t just to her—it was to all of them, and her presence had only poured gasoline on the fire.

But the woman didn’t even blink.

Her eyes locked onto Rex—more specifically, the small bundle in his arms—and a wave of emotion surged across her face.

Relief. Tears.

A silent exhale escaped her lips like a dam cracking open.

Without slowing, she broke into a run toward him.

Victor and Kaelan tensed, their fingers ghosting the triggers. Another breath and they would’ve fired.

But Rex didn’t react right away.

He looked at the woman—truly looked. Judging from her appearance, she seemed to be in her late twenties, maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Even with tears streaming down her face and panic written across her features, she radiated a kind of mature elegance, a refined grace that couldn’t be taught. Calling her beautiful felt inadequate. No, she eclipsed even the top-tier actresses he remembered from his past life. Regal. Arresting. Alive with emotion.

And more importantly—familiar.

Something about her face tugged at a memory. He glanced down at Arabella, then back at the woman. Their expressions, the shape of their eyes, the quiet strength in their features.

It clicked.

In that instant, everything fell into place.

He raised a hand. Subtle. Controlled. Just enough to signal calm.

They froze—caught mid-breath, mid-blink, weapons steady but fingers leaving the trigger.

Arabella, who had been pressed tightly against his chest for so long, suddenly stirred. Rex had intentionally loosened his grip—not out of distraction, but to test a suspicion that had begun to form. He wanted to see her response, to know for sure.

Her head lifted slowly, cautious but curious, and she peeked out through her tangled curls. Rex loosened his hold slightly, giving her the room to move.

She scanned the scene—nervous, uncertain—until her gaze landed on the woman. And in that moment, something clicked. Her entire body stiffened, tiny hands frozen mid-clutch. Her body stiffened first in disbelief, then lit up with joy as her gaze locked on the approaching figure.

Like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, joy overtook her. First a small smile, then full-bodied movement—a wriggle, a gasp, a light in her eyes that chased away every shadow. It was the kind of joy that only a child can summon, pure and unfiltered.

"MOM!" she cried.

She began wriggling in Rex’s arms, squirming and bouncing, her little voice growing louder and brighter.

Rex smiled softly and lowered her gently to the ground,

Arabella paused for a beat—torn between two anchors. He offered her a gentle smile and gave a small, reassuring nod, silently telling her it was okay. Encouraged, she turned her gaze back to the woman sprinting toward her,

And then she ran.

Straight into her mother’s arms.

The woman dropped to her knees, catching her daughter in a crushing embrace.

She held her tight, trembling, tears falling freely.

And Arabella, despite being safe now, started crying again too—loud, wordless sobs, as if the fear and confusion of the past few minutes had finally found an exit.

They clung to each other in the middle of the chaos, mother and daughter, unmoving.

Rex smiled and motioned to Victor and Kaelan to lower their guns. They glanced at Rex, then at the woman and the child—astonished by the sudden turn. Slowly, they obeyed, easing their weapons down without a word.

Across from them, the black-clad gunmen watched as Arabella slipped from Rex’s arms and ran into her mother’s embrace. A visible wave of relief passed through their ranks. Shoulders loosened. Jaws unclenched. And as they saw Victor and Kaelan lower their guns, they hesitated and looked at each other, and as if understanding something. One by one, they lowered their weapons as well.

(End of Chapter)