George stiffened as he watched Desmond disappear down the hallway without a backward glance. The cold dismissal left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He stood rooted to the spot, his mind racing with myriad of questions. How could they discard him so easily? Was he not a bonafide in-law?
His daughter had gone missing under their watch, yet they treated him as nothing more than an inconvenience.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
A soft chuckle broke through his thoughts. George turned sharply, only to find Alfred descending the staircase at a leisurely pace.
The butler’s lips were curled in the faintest hint of amusent, his eyes gleaming with quiet observation at the deeds and words of George Brown.
From the mont George entered the Allen household, Alfred had been watching him keenly.
The way his gaze flickered over every corner and item of the sitting room, his eyes alight with veiled calculations—he wasn’t just here for answers or concerns about situation. He was asuring, assessing.
But the most telling mont had been when George bypassed the usual decorum, to personally request wine rather than waiting for it to be served in accordance.
It was as though he is a mber of the Allen family and entitled to act as the master of the house. Now, standing before George, Alfred bowed lightly, his movents fluid and controlled.
Without a word, he stretched out a hand, a silent but unmistakable gesture of ushering him out of the way.
George’s face twitched, his pride warring with the clear dismissal. He wanted to protest, to demand the respect he believed was due to him at least as an inlaw.
But under Alfred’s unblinking stare, he felt a suffocating weight settle on his chest, his anger palpable. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed his indignation and turned toward the exit.
The butler’s presence at his side as he walked out was a reminder of his status—no matter how much he wished otherwise, he was an outsider here. At this point he realized that even Jessica is more of an Alien than him by the virtue of law.
Arriving at the door, George paused briefly and glanced at the butler his gaze etched with fake concern.
"I need to know—is there any hope of my daughter returning? Have the captors been caught? Is there a plan for rescue?" His voice carried a desperate edge, his fingers twitching at his sides.
He refused to believe otherwise. He couldn’t return ho empty-handed. If he couldn’t secure compensation from the Allen family, then the next best option was to have Jessica returned to him.
Perhaps he could still find another powerful family willing to form an alliance with the Browns—one that could pull them out of the ss they were in and shield them from the authorities.
Alfred remained composed not flinching under his venomous gaze, his expression indifferent as he regarded George with the sa quiet scrutiny he had held throughout their exchange.
He could hear the desperation in the man’s voice, the urgency buried beneath the thin veil of concern he claid to had for his daughter.
But a question he wished he could be answered was if truly he wanted Jessica back—or the leverage she provided?
"Mr. Brown," Alfred spoke evenly, his voice polite yet firm, "the Allen family is doing everything possible to handle the situation. I believe you will be inford at the appropriate ti." He concluded in one swift breathe.
George’s jaw clenched. It wasn’t the answer he wanted.
"I need more than that," he pressed, his tone sharpening. " I need to know If the captors have been captured, if there’s a plan for rescue, I have the right to know. Jessica is my daughter, after all."
Alfred arched a brow as he studied George, watching the flicker of frustration, the glimr of calculation behind his eyes and the seething rage of failure of not achieving his purpose. So that was it.
George wasn’t just here for an update—he was already considering alternatives. If Jessica was alive, he wanted her back, not out of fatherly concern, but because she was still an asset to be traded.
"Forgive , Mr. Brown," Alfred said, his tone smooth yet laced with finality. "But as I said, you will be inford at the appropriate ti."
George inhaled sharply, his hands curling at his sides. They were shutting him out.
Realizing he wasn’t going to get anything more from the butler, he exhaled slowly.
He forced his expression into one of reluctant acceptance. "Fine," he muttered as he stepped past Alfred and through the door.
But as he descended the steps, his thoughts churned darkly. If the Allen family wouldn’t hand Jessica over, then he had to find another way.
~At another part of the city~
Desmond drove slowly toward the police station, his mind churning with contemplation.
The entire situation baffled him. How had Davis been attacked? His car was destroyed beyond recognition, yet he and Jessica’s body were nowhere to be found.
Desmond couldn’t decide whether to be grateful or more concerned. Was this a stroke of luck or the prelude to an even greater storm?
He had tried to make contact with that mysterious man, but as always, he couldn’t reach him on the phone and to crown it the man refused to reveal his na or face.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have agreed to work with soone so secretive, but an old adage rang true—’the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’
This man had helped him in countless ways, always acting as the pivotal force behind his plans. Without him, much of what Desmond had achieved would have been impossible.
But now, being unable to reach him was beginning to raise another concern. And at this point Desmond didn’t want to imagine the worst-case scenario.
As his thoughts drifted farther and farther, he rubbed his temples in frustration and sighed deeply his gaze unintentionally flickering to the side mirror and his breathe caught in his throat.
He caught a glimpse of sothing unsettling in the mirror—two unfamiliar cars trailing him at a steady distance.
Desmond felt a silent tension creeping into his muscles. Were they just ordinary vehicles, or was this sothing more sinister? His mind swirled with possibilities as he calculated his chances at survival should he be attacked.
Quickly be made a decision and diverted to another lane, hoping to shake them off. But just as he glanced at the rearview mirror again, his pulse spiked—aside from the two cars tailing him, a set of motorcycles had now joined the pursuit.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. This wasn’t a coincidence.
Who were they? And what did they want?
His mind raced with trepidation.
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