Chapter 280: Chapter 280

Chapter 280

A fresh morning sun broke through the storm clouds over the French countryside, casting long shadows across the high stone gates of Sam Keystone’s estate.

The heavy diesel engine of a large commercial supply truck growled as it made its way up the winding gravel driveway, carrying monthly provisions for the villa's large kitchen staff and security detail. Up at the main entrance, two armed guards waved the driver down, lazily inspecting the front cab and checking the delivery schedule clipboard before pressing the electronic button to swing the iron gates wide open.

They had zero reason to search the back cargo hold. These monthly trucks always arrived on the exact same date, packed to the ceiling with wooden crates of produce, canned goods, water bottles, and thick cardboard boxes of imported beer.

Deep inside the dark, dusty back of the truck, Ethan lay completely flat on his stomach between two towering stacks of heavy cardboard boxes. The tight space smelled strongly of damp paper, wine, and raw timber, but he kept his body frozen, his breathing slow and shallow as the vehicle bumped over the cobblestone courtyard.

He didn't care about the cramps locking up his legs or the raw scrape on his ribs. The only thing that mattered was that the truck was moving past Sam’s high perimeter walls, taking him straight into enemy territory without a single shot fired.

The truck ground to a halt near the rear loading dock of the villa's kitchen service entrance. The driver cut the engine, and the sharp hiss of the air brakes echoed through the quiet delivery bay.

Ethan waited in total silence, listening to the muffled French chatter of the driver stepping out to greet the estate’s head chef and two young kitchen assistants. Moments later, the heavy metal latch on the back doors creaked loudly, and bright morning daylight flooded into the dark cargo hold.

Ethan shifted his weight inch by inch, pressing his back against the wall of cardboard beer cartons as the kitchen workers began lifting wooden crates from the rear entrance. Every time a worker carried a load down the wooden ramp into the building, Ethan tracked the sound of their footsteps.

He waited for the exact second when both workers were inside the pantry hallway and the driver had turned his back to check his delivery manifest. Slipping out from his hiding spot like a shadow, Ethan dropped lightly onto the concrete floor of the bay, ducking behind a row of tall green trash bins before anyone could glance back toward the truck.

He stayed low, his eyes rapidly mapping out the immediate layout of the service wing. The back door of the kitchen stood wide open, exposing a wide hallway filled with stainless steel counter space, stacked pots, and the loud sizzle of breakfast pans. Ethan knew better than to step straight into a busy kitchen. Instead, he slipped sideways toward a smaller wooden door tucked near the corner of the loading dock—a narrow service entrance marked for maintenance access and utility meters. He grabbed the handle, pushed it open quietly, and stepped inside, letting the heavy door latch shut behind him without a sound.

The narrow hallway inside was cooler, lined with concrete walls and old electrical breaker boxes. Ethan paused for three seconds, letting his eyes adjust to the quiet space while listening for footsteps above or below him. The mansion was massive, built like a fortress with multiple floors, private wings, and lower service levels. He had no map, no keycard, and no insider knowledge of where Sam was keeping Isabelle locked up, but he knew how high-security estates operated. A high-value prisoner wouldn't be kept in a guest bedroom near the main entrance; she would be tucked away in the deepest, most secure section of the property where no outside eyes could ever reach her.

Ethan moved down the narrow hallway, keeping his footsteps completely silent on the smooth concrete. He reached a stone stairwell branching off in two directions—one going up toward the main residential floor and the other leading down into a dark, damp basement level. Hearing the distant sound of housekeepers talking on the floor above, Ethan chose the stairs leading down. He took the steps two at a time, keeping his hand against the wall to steady himself as the air grew cooler and smelled of old stone and humidity.

At the bottom of the stairs, he stepped into a long, cavernous hallway lined with ancient wine racks, dusty storage closets, and heavy iron pipes running along the ceiling. It looked like an old root cellar that had been converted into extra storage space for the villa.

Ethan moved carefully down the middle of the corridor, checking each locked door as he passed. Most of the rooms were empty or filled with extra furniture covered in white canvas sheets, but the further he walked into the lower wing, the more he noticed subtle signs of recent activity. The dust on the floor was disturbed by fresh boot prints, and brand-new black electrical cables ran along the top of the old stone arches, heading straight toward the far western corridor.

He stopped near the corner of a long hallway, pressing his back against the concrete wall as he heard low male voices echoing from up ahead. Ethan peeked around the corner just enough to get a view. About thirty feet down the hall stood a heavy oak door reinforced with thick iron bands across its frame. A bright digital keypad lock glowed red on the wall right beside the handle, and a tall, broad-shouldered security guard in a black tactical jacket stood leaning against the opposite wall, holding a two-way radio in his hand.

Ethan pulled his head back behind the corner, his pulse racing. He hadn't found Isabelle yet, and he had no way of knowing if she was behind that exact oak door or locked in another section further down the wing, but seeing an armed guard posted in a subterranean storage corridor told him everything he needed to know. Sam was definitely hiding something important down here.

Ethan reached into his jacket pocket, his fingers wrapping firmly around the handle of a heavy steel wrench he had snatched off a workbench near the loading dock. He took a slow, steady breath, settling his shoulders as he mapped out his next move. He was inside the mansion, he had bypassed the outer perimeter, and now all that stood between him and finding out where Isabelle was being held was a single guard standing in the dark hallway.

Ethan stepped out from behind the corner and began walking toward the guard with a calm, unhurried stride.