Chapter 277: Chapter 277

Chapter 277

The massive engine of the cargo vessel finally hummed down to a low, vibrating idle as the ship maneuvered into the commercial dock near Marseille. Cold, thick fog hung over the dark water, mixing with the sharp smell of fuel and salt. Deep in the lower corridors of the vessel, Ethan crouched behind a stack of rusted oil drums, his body shivering under his damp clothes. The fever had taken full control over the past two days, making his head throb with every heartbeat.

Every movement pulled violently at his side where the rough stitches held his skin together. He gripped the cold rim of a drum to steady himself, listening to the loud clanking of heavy iron chains and the shouts of dockworkers calling out in fast French outside the hull.

He waited in the dark until the crew was completely occupied with securing the thick mooring lines to the concrete pier. Knowing he had no passport, no visa, and no legal reason to be on French soil, Ethan couldn't risk walking down the main gangway where port officers checked documentation.

He crept toward the rear cargo bay, stepping over thick ropes and grease spots on the metal deck, keeping his back low against the shadows of the massive shipping containers stacked high toward the night sky.

Ethan hid behind a thick steel pillar, holding his breath as the machine beeped and moved away down the docks.

When the path was clear, he gripped the cold iron ladder welded to the side of the ship’s hull and began climbing down toward the lower service ledge near the waterline. His hands were numb, his fingers almost too weak to hold his own body weight, but the thought of getting caught back in a locked room pushed him down rung by rung.

His boots hit the slick, wet concrete of the pier with a dull thud. The shock of the impact sent a sharp spike of pain straight up his ribs, forcing a ragged gasp from his throat.

He quickly slumped against the side of a parked shipping container, pulling his jacket hood low over his face to hide his pale, sweat-slicked forehead. Dockworkers in bright orange vests were moving around a crane fifty yards away, their voices lost in the sound of heavy machinery. Ethan waited until two workers turned their backs toward a small utility truck, then he slipped past them into the shadows of the container yard.

He moved quickly through the maze of towering metal boxes, ducking into narrow gaps every time a vehicle drove by. His legs felt heavy, like he was dragging weights through deep mud, but he kept his eyes fixed on the tall perimeter wire fence at the edge of the commercial zone. Finding a section where a gap was pulled open near the concrete base, Ethan dropped to his knees, crawling through the cold mud and wet gravel until he popped out on the other side of the dock boundary.

He stumbled into a quiet, poorly lit side street lined with industrial warehouses and parked delivery vans.

The concrete under his boots felt solid and completely still after nearly three weeks of constant rocking on the ocean. Ethan leaned against the cold brick wall of an old storage building, sliding down a few inches before catching himself. He dragged his sleeve across his face, wiping away rain and sweat, and let out a long, ragged breath that turned to steam in the freezing night air.

"I made it," he whispered to himself, his voice raspy and dry.

He stayed against the wall for a few minutes just to keep his knees from buckling under him. He was completely alone, stranded in a foreign country in the dead of night, smelling like diesel fuel and sweat, with limited cash stuffed inside his pocket and his body falling apart. But he was off the ocean. He was finally on the same side of the Atlantic as Isabelle.

Knowing the main train stations in Marseille would be crawling with uniformed police officers and security cameras, Ethan kept to the backstreets, away from the lit harbor avenues. His body was burning with fever, making the cold coastal wind feel like ice against his skin, but he forced himself to keep moving. He used Ariana’s cash to buy bottled water and a pack of basic painkillers from a quiet twenty-four-hour gas station on the edge of the industrial district, keeping his face turned away from the clerk.

Outside the station, he approached a long-distance transport driver parked near the highway entrance. Without offering a name or an explanation, Ethan held out a hundred-euro note, pointing east along the coastal route toward Nice and Monaco. The driver took the cash, asked no questions, and jerked his thumb toward the passenger seat.

The ride took hours through the dark, winding roads of the French Riviera. Ethan leaned his head against the cold passenger window, closing his eyes as the pain medicine slowly dulled the throbbing in his side. He didn't sleep; his mind stayed completely locked on the reason he was breathing. Every mile brought him closer to the town of Éze, closer to the estate where Sam was keeping her hidden.

By the time the truck dropped him off on a quiet secondary road near the steep cliffs of Éze, night had fallen again, bringing a steady, heavy rainstorm with it. The driver pulled away, leaving Ethan alone on the narrow asphalt road surrounded by towering stone walls and dense Mediterranean woods.

Ethan limped off the paved road, pushing through the wet branches and thick underbrush until the road vanished behind him. He climbed higher up the muddy slope, his boots slipping in the dirt, until he reached the edge of the thick tree line overlooking Sam Keystone’s massive gated estate below. High stone walls, iron gates, and perimeter floodlights surrounded the main villa, making it look like an impenetrable fortress sitting on the edge of the ocean cliff.

He didn't know which room she was in. He didn't know how the security guards shifted their patrols, or where the entry points were. Looking down at the sprawling property from the dark woods, the sheer size of the place felt overwhelming.

Ethan collapsed onto his knees in the deep mud beneath a wide oak tree, his breathing coming in heavy, jagged gasps.

He pressed his palm flat against his bruised ribs, fighting off a wave of dizziness as the cold rain poured down his neck, soaking straight through his jacket. His fingers dug into the wet earth to keep himself from collapsing face-first into the dirt. His fever was spiking again, his vision blurring at the edges, and every muscle in his body was screaming at him to stop.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the rough tree bark, and let out a slow, trembling breath into the dark.

"I don't care how many guards he has," Ethan gritted out through his teeth, his voice steady despite the shivers racking his chest. "I don't care if I have to bleed on every inch of this ground. I'm not leaving France without you, Isabelle. I'm bringing you home."

He pulled himself up against the tree trunk, wiping the mud and rain from his eyes, and settled deep into the dark brush to watch the estate gates.