Chapter 364: Kneel
In this moment, the situation truly reached its breaking point—but the one pulling the strings wasn't Kismet. It was Gerald.
Kismet stood slightly behind Gerald, her gaze twisted with venom. "Charles, you wanted answers? Kneel, and I'll tell you everything!"
Charles didn't kneel.
He only lowered his gaze to Emily, voice barely audible yet terrifyingly steady: "Hold on to me."
Emily's throat constricted. She nodded.
Gerald's smile finally dimmed. "Charles, you think you're walking out of here today?"
Charles lifted his eyes, voice like ice pulled from frozen water. "What do you want."
Gerald casually waved his phone, the screen glowing—connected to someone, though who remained unclear. "Your mother's case. You've been desperate to know, haven't you? I can give you part of the truth."
Charles's gaze darkened.
Gerald continued, tone as casual as discussing business: "Kneel. Beg me. Or leave Emily behind."
Emily's chest seized. In that instant, she understood completely: Gerald wanted Charles's weakness—and his breaking point.
But Charles's voice cut through, cold and absolute. "Not happening."
Gerald reacted as if he'd expected this, sighing lightly. "Then I suppose we do this the hard way."
He raised his hand, signaling the stun gun operators forward.
Emily's mind raced frantically, but the drugs still clouded her vision, leaving everything blurred. She heard Charles press his forehead to hers, his vow barely a whisper:
"Emily, listen to me—I won't let you die."
Just as the stun gun prongs closed in—
A gunshot cracked from the far end of the corridor.
Bang—!
Everyone froze.
Then a cold, commanding voice sliced through the tension:
"Mr. Rivera. Stand down."
Louis had arrived.
Dark overcoat. Sharp eyes. His men formed a suppressive formation behind him, their presence colder and steadier than Gerald's entire operation.
Emily's pupils dilated. How was Louis here?
Gerald's smile faltered for half a second.
This guy was supposed to be in Eldoria—what the hell was he doing in Seraphim?
When had the Windsors gotten tangled up with Eldoria's Hell's Angels?
He studied Louis, a flicker of wariness crossing his gaze, though his politeness remained intact. "Mr. Campbell. What a coincidence."
Louis's gaze landed on Emily, confirming she was still standing. Some of the tension eased from his posture. "I need to take Emily."
Gerald didn't answer immediately, as if weighing his options.
Louis took a step forward, voice low but laced with crushing authority. "This may be Seraphim, but Hell's Angels isn't without influence here. Take one more step, and I guarantee none of your men leave this building."
Gerald's fingertips twitched at his cuff, as if suppressing something volatile.
After several seconds, he actually smiled and took half a step back. "When Mr. Campbell asks, of course I'll show respect."
He raised his hand, signaling his men to stand down.
Then he turned to Charles, gaze warm yet chilling. "Mr. Windsor. Lucky day for you. Next time, Mr. Campbell might not arrive in time."
As he turned to leave, Kismet cried out in protest: "Mr. Rivera!"
Gerald didn't look back. He simply tossed out a curt: "Shut up."
Kismet's voice died as if her throat had been seized, leaving only the venomous stare she pinned on Emily.
But Louis's attention didn't linger on Gerald.
He fixed his gaze on Kismet, eyes devoid of warmth, as if looking at an overdue debt that needed settling. "She stays."
Gerald paused mid-step, turning his face slightly, smile still in place. "Mr. Campbell wants her?"
"She touched Emily." Louis's tone was flat, yet suffocating. "I take her. Fair deal."
Gerald let out a soft laugh, as if agreeing—or mocking. "'Fair deal' sounds strange coming from you, Mr. Campbell."
He lifted his hand. Two men in black immediately flanked Kismet, not roughly, but definitively marking her as Gerald's property.
Kismet's face drained of color, a flicker of instinctive fear crossing her eyes. She'd thought she was an ally, a pillar, the most important piece on the board. But in this moment, she realized—she was more like an item temporarily stored for convenience.
Louis's gaze turned colder. "Gerald, are you trying to fight me for her?"
Gerald's smile receded slightly, tone still polite but edged with steel. "I wouldn't dare. It's just—I can't give her to you yet."
"Why not?" Louis demanded.
Gerald lowered his gaze slightly, fingertips tracing his cuff as if weighing his words. Finally, he uttered something soft yet bone-chilling:
"She's still useful."
Not protection.
Not sympathy.
Not even pity.
Just: useful.
Kismet's pupils contracted sharply, as if she'd been slapped in public. The venom in her expression deepened, but she didn't dare lash out—she could only swallow that hatred, force it down into her bones.
Only then did Gerald turn back to Louis, his gaze carrying subtle wariness and calculating probe. "Mr. Campbell wants to clear people out, I'll let you. Want to settle accounts, I won't stop you. But Kismet—she stays with me for now."
Louis stepped forward. His men followed, half a step closer. The corridor air thickened instantly. Charles stood beside Emily, axe still in hand, but he didn't interfere—he knew this was a power play between Louis and Gerald. Any premature move from him would only complicate things.
After two seconds of standoff, Gerald suddenly smiled again, as if offering an out. "Mr. Campbell, let me buy you coffee sometime. Kismet—I'll take her now."
Louis's jaw tightened. In the end, he didn't force it, only delivering a cold warning: "Don't let me hear she's been near Emily again."
Gerald didn't respond. He simply raised his hand and led his people back.
Before leaving, as if remembering something, he glanced back at Kismet, voice low but enough to make her blood run cold:
"Don't look at Emily like that."
"What you need to do now is obey."
Kismet's nails dug into her palms until they bled, color draining entirely from her face. She understood now—Gerald kept her not to protect her, but to use her for dirtier, more dangerous tasks.
The crowd dispersed. The atmosphere lightened.
Louis didn't explain why he came. He didn't explain why he was late.
He only glanced at Emily, suppressed worry flickering in his eyes. "Can you walk?"
Emily started to nod, but her legs gave out—the drugs surging harder.
Charles immediately scooped her up, voice low. "I'll take her."
Louis looked at Charles, clear disapproval in his gaze, but he only said coldly: "Hospital. Now."
In the car, Emily leaned against Charles, half-conscious, catching Louis's barely audible murmur: "Got held up by Campbell family people on the way here."