The rooftop fell into a heavy silence. Then, Stella’s laughter broke through the stillness. It was a manic, bitter sound, tinged with hysteria. Her eyes, bloodshot and tear-streaked, shone with a tragic gleam as she laughed, “She’s scared of heights, but I’ll die…”
Weston’s frown deepened, his gaze hardened as he turned away from her, refusing to meet her eyes any longer. It was as if an invisible weight had settled on his chest, suffocating him. He had never felt such crushing emotions before.
With a voice thick with struggle, he spoke hoarsely, “They just want money. You’ll be fine.” His words were meant to reassure her, but they were hollow, and deep down, he didn’t know if he believed them.
Stella’s eyes were vacant, a broken emptiness in them as she looked at him. Her voice was eerily calm as she asked, “What if their intention is to kill me?”
Her words hit him harder than any physical blow.
“Weston… I’m still pregnant. Do you know that the choice you’re making is one that will kill me?” she asked, her voice small, full of pain.
He paused, his fists clenched as he tried to control the emotions rising within him. Finally, he gritted his teeth and said, “No. I’ll definitely save you, just not now.”
Stella didn’t respond. Her silence was deafening. Slowly, her gaze grew even more distant, and a hollow laugh escaped her lips. It was a laugh that carried no joy, no hope. The kidnappers exchanged glances, nodding at each other before one of them roughly shoved Guinevere toward Weston.
“She’s all yours,” the kidnapper said with a cruel smile.
Weston moved quickly, stepping forward to catch Guinevere, who clung to him, burying her face in his chest.
“Weston…” she whispered, her voice soft, fragile.
But Weston didn’t show any concern for her. Instead, he pushed her gently away, holding her by the shoulders so she could stand on her own. The moment his gaze flicked toward Stella, the woman in his arms whimpered, “Weston… My stomach hurts…”
His eyes darkened, a flicker of something close to guilt passing through them. He stiffly raised his hand to hug Guinevere again, his movements mechanical, his face torn between obligation and frustration.
Stella stood there, watching him, her gaze cold and filled with resignation. A small, bitter smile curled on her lips as she stared at his heartless back.
“Mr. Ford…” Stella’s voice rang out to him, scattering in the wind. The rooftop wind howled, and the sound of the helicopter grew deafening as it hovered nearby. Weston and Guinevere stood locked in an embrace, while Stella could do nothing but watch. Tears streamed down her face, but she was still smiling—her expression the very definition of a shattered beauty.
Her face, though naturally plain and unadorned, now carried a fragile allure. The redness at the corners of her eyes made her look like a broken, untouchable vision, and for a moment, the kidnapper behind her found himself swallowing hard, uneasy.
He leaned in closer, his voice low and malicious, so only she could hear, “Ms. Cohen said that we can do anything to you as long as you don’t come back alive… If you serve us brothers well later, we’ll give you a quick end. How about it?”
A cruel grin stretched across his face as he spoke.
“We have plenty of ways to make you beg for mercy… Why don’t you consider it?” he teased, his breath hot against her ear.
Stella’s body shuddered at his words. Her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond immediately. Despair swept through her, and a sickening feeling rose in her chest. She knew what would happen to her if these men got their hands on her. She never imagined these criminals would have no conscience, no limits to their depravity.
As her body trembled, a dark realization began to settle in her mind. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Why? Why must she be at the mercy of these men? Why, even in the face of death, did she have to struggle against their control over her fate?
With a sharp, ragged breath, Stella suddenly burst out laughing. The sound was unsettling—loud, wild, and desperate. She tilted her head back, her eyes bloodshot, looking up at the sky as if mocking the very heavens.
“Ha… Haha…” She laughed, the sound hollow and broken.
The kidnapper behind her stiffened, unease creeping into his expression. He leaned in closer, his voice tight with suspicion, “Why are you laughing?”
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