Chapter 1207:
Carola could feel the tension radiating off Wesley like heat from a furnace, and she knew better than to overstay her welcome. She carefully placed her utensils down, rose with deliberate grace, and spoke in a measured tone. “It’s getting late. You should rest. If you need anything, just ask Enrique.”
The moment Carola disappeared through the doorway, Wesley’s face transformed into a mask of pure darkness, his features hardening like stone. Elena was in Yoswye, tangled in whatever twisted game she was playing with Torin. The thought burned in his chest like acid, and he knew he couldn’t spend another minute trapped on this floating prison called the Gaxora.
With deadly precision, Wesley snatched the cold steel of his Browning pistol from the bedside table, yanked the door open with barely controlled fury, and strode into the hallway.
Cathy had just returned from the dining hall, her heels clicking against the polished floor, when she ran straight into Wesley. Without thinking, she blurted out, “Where are you going?”
Wesley’s eyes cut through her like shards of ice, and her stomach dropped as she realized she had crossed a line. It wasn’t her place to question him. She swallowed hard, her voice stumbling as she tried to backtrack. “I mean, Wesley, you’re still recovering from your injuries. The doctor said you should rest, and it’s getting late. If you go out and reopen your wounds, it wouldn’t be good—”
Her words died in her throat under Wesley’s penetrating stare, his dark eyes boring into her as if he could read every selfish thought running through her mind.
Her gaze flickered nervously, panic rising in her chest as she feared he might see through her act and discover what she was really after.
Wesley’s voice dropped, cold and final. “Get lost.”
Cathy’s face became a canvas of humiliation, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment while the rest of her skin turned pale with fear. Mortified and trembling, she quickly obeyed his command.
Wesley stalked through the ship’s corridors until he located Enrique, his jaw set with determination as he made his request for a lifeboat.
Enrique, maintaining his professional composure despite the late hour, nodded respectfully. “Mrs. Stanley instructed us to fulfill all your needs. I’ll have it ready right away, sir.”
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The crew efficiently lowered a small lifeboat from the ship’s starboard side, and without a moment’s hesitation, Wesley leapt into the swaying vessel with reckless abandon.
The jarring impact of his landing sent fresh pain shooting through his wounded torso, dark crimson seeping through the white bandage wrapped around his waist. But he didn’t care about the blood. Gripping the steering wheel, he gunned the engine into the black, unforgiving night.
The night had settled over the city like a heavy blanket, wrapping every building and street in complete darkness while the residents slept peacefully in their beds.
Inside the opulent royal palace of Yoswye, Elena lay motionless in her silk sheets, her breathing steady and even, when the unmistakable copper scent of fresh blood invaded her nostrils.
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