Chapter 188 The Bullet Flies Toward Mason

Chapter 188 The Bullet Flies Toward Mason

Blinding light flooded through the open dressing room door, casting Mason's cold, grim profile in sharp relief.

His dark eyes, once brimming with tender adoration, were now covered in frost. He stared unblinkingly at Stella's trembling hand clutching the phone, his fury barely concealed.

In the cramped, enclosed space, the air instantly solidified, oppressively suffocating.

"Didn't I already tell you," Mason stepped slowly into the dressing room, each footfall light yet striking Stella's heart like a hammer. His voice was low and icy, stripped of all warmth, leaving only bone-chilling coldness, "not to try escaping again."

That single sentence carried the crushing weight of absolute authority.

Stella's entire body shook violently. Her last shred of courage collapsed completely. Her fingers went limp beyond her control, and the phone slipped from her grasp, crashing heavily onto the smooth tile floor.

The screen was still lit. Richard's anxious, frantic voice came clearly through the speaker, calling her name over and over: "Stella? Stella, where are you? Say something! Stella!"

That familiar voice struck straight to her heart, but Stella didn't dare respond. She stood frozen in place, her face deathly pale.

Her escape route was completely blocked.

In panic, Stella instinctively tightened her grip on the fruit knife. The blade trembled slightly as she raised her reddened eyes, tears blurring her vision, and looked at Mason. Summoning all her courage, she pointed the knife at him. "Don't come any closer..."

She wanted to use this small fruit knife to force his compliance.

However, Mason showed not the slightest panic. Instead, he curved his lips into a cold, mocking smile, his gaze calm and indifferent, completely dismissing the little knife in her hand.

"You think that can threaten me?"

The instant those words fell, Mason moved lightning-fast. He grabbed the terrified sales associate beside him and yanked her in front of him. His other hand pulled a black handgun from his waist and pressed it without warning against the woman's temple, his finger resting lightly on the trigger.

The cold metal touched her skin. The associate's pupils contracted sharply. Her legs gave out and she lost control of her bladder on the spot, warm liquid running down her pant leg. She trembled violently, mouth open but unable to make any sound, only uncontrollable whimpering.

Mason looked down at Stella's completely panicked face, his tone lazy yet cruel, every word piercing: "Baby, let's make a bet, shall we? Let's see what's faster—your knife or my bullet."

Stella's heart seized violently. Looking at the innocent woman caught in the crossfire, terrified to the point of collapse, her heart filled with guilt and panic.

She'd never intended to hurt anyone, much less wanted an innocent stranger to die because of her.

"No! Mason, let her go! This has nothing to do with her—I forced her to give me the phone! Let her go!" Stella screamed in desperation, tears streaming down her face.

Mason's expression didn't soften in the slightest. His finger applied slight pressure, cocking the gun with a crisp, cold click. The breath of death instantly enveloped the entire dressing room. "She shouldn't have given you the phone. Shouldn't have helped you escape. She should pay the price."

That cold cocking sound completely shattered Stella's last line of defense.

She couldn't hold on anymore. The fruit knife fell from her hand, hitting the floor with a harsh clatter. Then her legs buckled and she dropped straight onto the cold tiles, looking up at the cold, obsessive man before her. She cried pitifully, shoulders shaking continuously, begging with desperate humility: "I was wrong. I'll never run again. I'll never contact Richard again... Just let her go. I'll listen to everything you say. I'll do whatever you want. Please, just let her go."

Watching the girl kneeling and crying, completely subdued, the violence in Mason's eyes gradually dissipated, replaced by a trace of complicated sympathy.

He released his grip on the associate and roughly shoved the terrified woman out of the dressing room. Then he bent down, reached out, and scooped the ice-cold, tear-soaked Stella into his arms, holding her tightly.

He lowered his head against her hair, his warm breath falling on her strands. His tone returned to its former gentleness, yet concealed an impenetrable obsession: "Why do you keep running? Stay by my side—I'll do everything I can to treat you well. Isn't that good?"

Stella lay in his embrace, her entire body rigid. She closed her eyes and said nothing, tears silently soaking the front of his clothes.

She didn't dare resist or speak. She could only submit by force.

Mason held the silent, numb girl and walked straight out of the dressing room, striding toward the mall exit.

But the moment they stepped through the mall doors, countless black vehicles instantly surrounded the entrance, screeching brakes sounding one after another.

Richard, dressed entirely in black, emanated overwhelming violence. His eyes were filled with bloodshot veins. He stood at the front of the vehicles with a large force of fully armed mercenaries, his gaze locked deadly on Stella in Mason's arms, his eyes showing absolute determination.

He hadn't left Astoria. Over these past days, he'd spent every penny hiring top mercenaries.

Then he'd traced Stella's location through that phone call. Today, no matter what, he would take her away.

"Mason. Let her go." Richard's voice was ice-cold and cutting, murderous intent churning in his eyes.

Mason's eyes darkened. He'd only brought Stella out today to lift her spirits, with just two accompanying men. He hadn't prepared for a large-scale assault.

Without the slightest hesitation, he opened the passenger door and roughly yet carefully shoved Stella inside, speaking in a low voice: "Sit still. Don't move."

The next second, he quickly slid into the driver's seat and slammed on the accelerator. The luxury car's engine roared and the vehicle charged straight through the encirclement, disregarding all traffic.

The next second, dense gunfire suddenly erupted. Countless bullets tore through the air, raining down on the car body. Bullets slammed hard against the vehicle with sharp banging sounds. The windows instantly covered with cracks.

Stella curled up terrified in her seat, hands pressed tightly over her ears, her face completely pale.

Mason controlled the steering wheel with one hand, wildly evading the pursuing vehicles behind them. He glanced sideways at the frightened girl, letting out a cold laugh. His tone carried mockery mixed with barely concealed fury: "Look at your ex-husband. To take you back, he doesn't even care whether you live or die. Bullets don't have eyes—he doesn't care at all if you get hurt."

As he spoke, he freed one hand and roughly pressed Stella's head down, forcing her to lower it, protecting her head. His tone was cold and hard yet carried a trace of hidden concern: "Stay down. Keep your head buried. Don't raise it for anything."

"Otherwise if a bullet blows your head off, even if I had divine powers, I couldn't put it back on."

The car raced madly down the street. The mercenaries pursued relentlessly behind them. Gunfire grew increasingly dense. The car body was riddled with bullet holes. The rear window shattered completely. Cold wind mixed with the smell of gunpowder poured wildly into the vehicle.

Stella trembled all over, keeping her head tightly down, her heart in her throat.

Just as Mason turned the steering wheel with all his strength, trying to shake off the flanking vehicles, a bullet pierced precisely through the shattered front windshield. With a sharp whistling sound, it shot straight toward Mason's chest!