Chapter 107

Cold moonlight filtered through the cracks of the wooden cabin, casting mottled shadows across Susan Thompson's face. She stared at the four men before her, their twisted expressions making her stomach churn with pain so intense it nearly suffocated her.

"Miss Capra wants these photos to be spectacular," Monkey grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "Don't you agree?"

Susan dug her nails deep into her palms. She knew exactly what they intended—once those photos were leaked, she'd never be able to hold her head up again.

"You'll pay for this," she rasped, her voice like a curse dragged from the depths of hell.

Bright suddenly burst into laughter, the sound grating in the hollow cabin. "Pay for it? Bella Quinn said the same thing before she jumped into the sea!" He yanked open Susan's coat. "Too bad we're still doing just fine."

Susan trembled—not from cold, but from overwhelming hatred. She saw Howie adjusting the DSLR camera, its lens aimed at her like a greedy, unblinking eye.

"Don't touch me!" She lashed out with a kick toward Monkey's groin, but Hammer seized her leg.

"Stay still!" Hammer backhanded her across the face. Blood welled at the corner of Susan's lips. The metallic taste filled her mouth, yet she smiled. "Is that all you've got?"

Enraged, Monkey tore open her collar. The shutter clicked repeatedly, each sound like a knife carving into Susan's heart.

"Make sure her face is clear!" Bright commanded excitedly.

Susan went still. Her gaze fixed on the frayed rope dangling from a ceiling beam, her eyes hardening with resolve. Better death than this humiliation—

"Thinking of dying?" Hammer caught her intention instantly, gripping her chin. "Miss Capra said you have to live long enough to see your photos in the papers!"

Agony blurred Susan's vision. The sound of fabric ripping. Cold air against exposed skin. Despair crashed over her like a tidal wave—until it froze abruptly.

An engine roared outside.

Everyone froze. No one should be in this wilderness.

"Check it out!" Monkey hastily pulled up his pants. Bright barely reached the door before it was kicked in, slamming into him with crushing force.

Moonlight outlined a tall figure stepping through the splintered wreckage. Susan couldn't see his face, but the men's terrified screams told her everything:

"It's... it's Andrew Lucas!"

Andrew stood in the doorway, his black trench coat billowing in the night wind. When his eyes landed on Susan, his pupils constricted violently.

The next moment, the cabin echoed with screams.

Susan curled in the corner, watching the man who'd once hurt her most now breaking each assailant limb by limb. She should feel relief. Instead, she tasted only bitter irony.

When the last thug collapsed unconscious, Andrew shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around her. The familiar scent of his cologne filled her senses. Susan laughed softly.

"Andrew," her voice was feather-light, "you're too late."

His body stiffened. Susan seized the moment to shove him away, staggering to her feet. Clutching the coat tightly, she stared at the four unconscious men, dark flames igniting in her eyes.

"These people," she enunciated each word, "I'll deal with them myself."

Lightning split the sky outside. The stark white glare illuminated Susan's face—the tear tracks still fresh, the icy smile etched on her lips.