Chapter 1538:

Corrine quickly saw through his plan, but in her current state, there was little she could do to stop it. She clenched her jaw and pushed through the mounting fatigue—because surrender meant only one thing: captivity. Again.

As her movements began to slow and her body threatened to betray her, the leader’s lips curved into a smug grin. He believed his strategy had worked. He was already savoring his victory.

He stripped off his shirt, exposing a torso carved with muscle, scarred and hardened by violence. Stepping forward, he made it clear—he would finish this himself.

The crowd instinctively parted, forming a circle like spectators at a blood sport. Corrine stood her ground, eyes locked on the brute in front of her—no fear, only defiance.

She looked like a woman carved from steel and wildfire, the kind of spirit that drove some men mad with the need to dominate, to tame, to possess, to claim as their plaything.

The man tilted his head, letting his gaze travel across her face, slow and appraising. “I’m starting to like you,” he said with a smirk. “If you behave, I might just make you my woman. How about it?”

His words dripped with condescension, as though his offer was a generous gift. Corrine rubbed her bruised abdomen, her fingers tightening around the knife. A sharp glint of frost danced in her eyes as she bit back the pain. “Too bad,” she said coldly. “I’m not into trash.”

His expression darkened. Veins bulged beneath his skin as his fists clenched with quiet fury. “So, you choose the hard way, huh?”

Corrine took a slow breath, summoning what little strength she had left. She braced herself, blade steady in her hand, every muscle poised for survival. But exhaustion weighed her down. Her reflexes dulled, her vision blurred—she was slipping.

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Blow by blow, he drove her to the edge as she struggled to stay conscious and find an opening. Sweat trickled down her temples, stinging her eyes.

Then, faint at first, a distant thrumming rose in the air. Helicopter rotors.

While every head snapped upward, Corrine seized the moment of distraction. With a feral cry, she drove her knee into the man’s groin—a desperate move, but she had no choice given her condition.

A strangled scream tore from the man’s throat as he dropped to his knees, his face ashen, veins pulsing at his temples. He clutched himself, wheezing, eyes bloodshot with a rage that bordered on madness. He looked at her like a cornered predator, trembling with fury, ready to sink his teeth into her flesh.

But then came the thunder of blades overhead. Three helicopters descended from the sky, their searchlights piercing the dark until they centered on the pair.

The leading aircraft hovered above the clearing, flanked by two others. A rope dropped from the leading aircraft’s side. A figure, clad in black, slid down with effortless grace, landing with a soft thud before pulling off his gloves and approaching Corrine.

At that moment, the other helicopters moved into coordinated positions, and a voice crackled through the air, loud and commanding over the radio. “To all those aboard: you are surrounded. Lay down your weapons and surrender—immediately!”

There was no room for negotiation in that thunderous voice.

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