Chapter 100

Chapter 101

The instant the bullet tore through flesh, blinding pain exploded. Diana's entire arm went into uncontrollable spasms, her fingers suddenly losing all strength.

The black handgun slipped from her grip and crashed heavily onto the wooden floor.

Diana staggered back half a step, and the tactical knife in her left hand fell away too, rolling into the corner.

Blood quickly soaked through her sleeve, dripping from her pale fingertips.

Behind her, the window shattered with a thunderous crash.

Nicholas burst through, rain streaming from his body. He strode across the carpet of broken glass and, just before Diana collapsed, swept forward and caught her in his arms.

"Who fired that shot?!"

His furious roar nearly drowned out the storm raging outside.

Nicholas looked down at her bleeding right arm, the veins in his eyes visibly straining.

He pressed his hand over the wound. Hot, sticky blood instantly stained his palm crimson.

The pain made Diana's vision swim with darkness, yet she still used her uninjured hand to push against his chest, struggling desperately to break free from his hold.

"Let me go! I don't need your fake concern!"

Her breathing came in ragged gasps, each word forced through clenched teeth, sharp with fury.

"If you want me dead, just finish it quickly. Having someone take shots from the shadows—what kind of coward does that?"

Nicholas's jaw tightened. He offered no explanation.

He quickly tore at the lining of his tactical jacket, ripped off a strip of fabric, wrapped it around her arm, and pulled it tight above the wound.

"I didn't want you dead."

His voice came out hoarse, each word bitten off with force.

Diana looked down at his blood-soaked hands, her lips curving into a mocking smile.

"You didn't want me dead?"

She lifted her eyes, staring at him without mercy.

"Should I list everything you've done to me over the years, one by one?"

"Nicholas, since when did you become such a coward? Too afraid to own your actions? Now that Gemma's dead and The Russell Family's bankrupt, your useless pawn is finally dying—shouldn't you be celebrating? You and my mother can both rot together. Perfect time to throw a victory party back in Sunrise City. So why this act now? Who's this performance for?"

Diana's voice grew weaker with each word, but her gaze remained razor-sharp.

Nicholas's hands stilled for just a moment.

He refused to argue. Refused to respond. As if he hadn't heard any of those cutting words at all.

Once he confirmed the makeshift tourniquet was secure and the bleeding had slowed, he bent down, carefully avoiding her injured arm, and lifted her into his arms.

"Let me go..."

Diana resisted instinctively, but blood loss and pain had already drained her last reserves of strength.

The hand she'd been pushing against his chest soon fell limp. She could only let him carry her out of the safe house.

Outside, the wind howled and rain lashed down. A heavy-duty helicopter had already landed in the clearing. Its rotor blades whipped up powerful gusts that sent the surrounding trees thrashing violently.

Nicholas held Diana close and strode quickly toward the aircraft.

Inside the cabin, David stood in full camouflage fatigues, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

Seeing Diana covered in blood, his expression darkened. He immediately gestured to the medical team behind him.

"Medic. Get over here and treat that wound."

Two field doctors grabbed their emergency kits and rushed forward.

Nicholas laid Diana on the makeshift examination bed. The doctors cut away her blood-soaked sleeve, examined the bullet wound, and began cleaning and stopping the bleeding.

Only after confirming the bullet hadn't hit bone or major vessels did Nicholas slowly straighten up.

He turned his head, his gaze shifting to the other side of the cabin.

A man in black tactical gear was being restrained by two mercenaries. He knelt on one knee on the metal floor, head bowed, his expression half-hidden beneath a tactical mask.

David kicked the man's shin lightly.

"Got him out for you." He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, his tone less than pleasant. "That shot earlier—he's the one who took it."

The last traces of panic in Nicholas's eyes sank away completely, leaving only suffocating coldness.

He walked toward the man step by deliberate step, his combat boots echoing dully against the metal floor.

"Who ordered you to do it?"

The man raised his head, meeting Nicholas's stare.

"No one ordered it."

"She had a gun in her hand. Could've pulled the trigger any second. A shot to the forearm would immediately disable her ability to hold a weapon."

He paused, then continued:

"You wanted her alive. That shot avoided bone and vital areas—flesh wound only. Won't cause permanent damage, won't kill her. She can't hurt herself anymore, and you can extract her safely. It was the most effective solution at the time."

David frowned, clearly displeased with the man's tone, but still stepped forward, positioning himself between Nicholas and the shooter.

"This bastard fired without authorization—definitely broke protocol. But what he's saying isn't completely unreasonable."

He glanced at Diana on the examination bed, his voice low. "The way things were going, she really might've pulled that trigger. At least now she's alive, and you got her out."

Nicholas stared at the man for several long seconds, his fingers tightening gradually around his gun grip.

The cabin fell into dead silence.

After a moment, he finally released his hold and turned to David.

"He's your man. I won't overstep and discipline him myself. But acting without orders, disobeying commands, firing on the target—any one of those is a cardinal sin. You know what needs to be done."

David turned his head and signaled to his subordinates.

"Take him below. He'll answer for this when we get back."

The two mercenaries acknowledged the order, hauled the man to his feet, and led him toward the rear of the cabin.

On the examination bed, the doctors were still cleaning Diana's wound.

The painkillers were beginning to take effect. The sharp agony dulled to something more distant, but heavy blood loss still left her ears ringing and her vision swimming with overlapping shadows.

She forced her eyes to stay open, struggling to turn her head. Her gaze moved past the busy medics and landed on the man's retreating figure.

A powerful instinct flooded Diana with deep unease.

When he'd defended his actions just now, his tone had been too calm. Unnaturally calm.

Someone who'd disobeyed orders and now faced questioning from both Nicholas and what looked like his commanding officer shouldn't be that composed.

Even when Nicholas had radiated killing intent, there hadn't been a trace of fear in the man's voice.

It wasn't that fearlessness itself was suspicious—it was that his entire demeanor felt calculated. Planned in advance.

A flicker of wariness crossed Diana's eyes.

Something about that man was wrong.

Her consciousness began its final descent into darkness.

She slowly closed her eyes. Before losing awareness completely, she committed the man's low voice and his distinctive speech patterns firmly to memory.