Chapter 1395:
“Millie!”
Her friends—and even some police officers—turned away, unable to watch.
At that moment, the roar of an engine cut through the factory’s stale air. A car screeched to a halt outside.
Brandon had arrived at last.
Dragging Vivian out of the car, he swept the chaos with wild eyes.
His call with Macauley ended abruptly.
“Brandon!” Lynda rushed in with several officers behind her, breathless with haste.
She shot him and Vivian a sharp glare.
“She—”
“Save it for later,” Brandon cut in, his voice raw, his eyes red.
“I need to go in. I’ll trade myself for Millie and Ari.”
Lynda signaled her team, and they quickly restrained Vivian, dragging her aside.
“Lynda!” Brandon barked.
“I’m not stopping you,” Lynda replied quickly, “but you need to understand the layout before you step inside.” She pointed out key positions—snipers, rescue teams, entry routes—speaking in clipped, urgent bursts.
Vivian was moved out of earshot for one reason: to prevent her from warning Macauley.
“And this.” Lynda slipped a compact radio beneath Brandon’s collar, her fingers brisk and practiced.
When it sat snug against the fabric, she gave him a firm nod.
A moment later, Vivian was hauled back over, still spitting curses with every breath.
Brandon’s phone buzzed again and again, vibrating in his palm.
“Behave,” Brandon snapped, his patience fraying. He grabbed Vivian by the arm and hauled her toward the factory entrance.
The moment they disappeared from Lynda’s line of sight, Brandon exhaled hard and answered the persistent call.
𝖀𝖕𝖑𝖔𝖆𝖉 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖛𝖎𝖆: gⱥ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⍿ⅽ𝗈𝗺
“Brandon! Why did you hang up?” The voice on the other end shouted, thick with panic.
Brandon didn’t bother explaining. His temper flared, his voice cutting through the static like a blade.
“I brought Vivian!”
As Brandon stepped forward, his silhouette slid into the surveillance camera’s range.
Inside the dim factory office, Macauley lifted his head. The moment the figures appeared on the monitor, his expression curdled.
He spat to the side, then threw Millie a venomous glare.
“Get in here!” he barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through metal.
Brandon strode in a heartbeat later, one arm locked around Vivian’s throat as he dragged her forward. His grip was iron, his eyes a cold storm.
A gurney hurtled down the hospital corridor, wheels rattling against the polished floor as it sped toward the operating theater.
On the narrow bed, Myron lay pale and motionless. His wound had already been packed with gauze to slow the bleeding, but crimson still seeped through.
Beside him, Helga clung to the rail, sobbing so hard her breaths broke unevenly. Her eyes were raw, swollen from the relentless stream of tears.
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