Chapter 318

In the hospital hallway, Charles Hart was frantically searching for any trace of Stella Johnson. "Mr. Hart! Your wound's going to reopen!" The head nurse chased after him with a medical kit, but he spun around and locked her wrist with one hand. He shoved his blood-smeared phone in her face. The last text on the screen was a location from Stella—mostly deleted, but the word “island” still faintly lingered. “Tell Michael Anderson,” he said, voice low and sharp, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, “if one hair on Stella’s head is touched, I’ll make sure the entire Anderson Group is buried with him.” Without waiting for a response, he burst through the emergency exit. Rain lashed against his face, mingling with the salty wind from the sea. In the distance, the sound of helicopter blades split the night wide open. Meanwhile, in the Anderson island villa, the crystal chandelier above smashed into sharp reflections in Stella’s cold gaze. Michael Anderson slid a warm bowl of bird’s nest