Chapter 94 No Tears? Yeah, Right
The Bangkok border. The moment someone mentions it, your mind immediately conjures images of drug cartels, human trafficking, and organ harvesting. It's a place where poverty, chaos, and danger blend together in a lethal cocktail that most people spend their entire lives avoiding.
I never imagined going there. Hell, I valued my life too much to even consider it.
But now I had no choice. If I delayed even a little, I might never see Ethan alive again.
Initially, Walter had told me Ethan's injuries weren't severe. His assistant had called to say Ethan would be out of intensive care by tomorrow. When Walter asked if I wanted to visit him, I hesitated. Since Ethan wasn't in critical condition, there seemed no need for me to go. I wasn't a doctor—my presence wouldn't help his recovery. Besides, I had classes tomorrow.
But thirty minutes later, everything changed. Walter received another call from the assistant. His face turned ashen as he listened.
"Miss Reed," he said, his voice uncharacteristically strained. "Mr. Bennett's condition has deteriorated rapidly. The assistant suggests you come immediately... to say your final goodbye."
The porcelain bowl slipped from my fingers, crashing onto the hardwood floor. Pasta scattered everywhere, the delicate china shattering into dozens of pieces.
"Oh my god!" Sarah rushed from the kitchen, grabbing my hands to check for cuts. "Are you hurt? Let me clean this up."
She quickly swept up the broken pieces and spooned fresh pasta into a new bowl, but my appetite had vanished completely.
Walter approached, his face grave. "Mr. Bennett's injury hasn't been reported back to Los Angeles yet. The assistant believes you should get to the hospital before the news spreads."
I sat motionless, hearing his words without really processing them. My mind had gone completely blank.
Walter observed my shocked expression, his eyes softening with sympathy. "If Mr. Bennett pulls through, having you by his side will speed his recovery. And if he doesn't..." He paused, swallowing hard. "If he doesn't make it, at least you'll have said goodbye. Afterward, his assistant will arrange for you to leave the country, somewhere the Bennett family won't find you."
As Walter spoke of contingency plans, my throat tightened painfully. My eyes burned, growing hot and swollen as tears spilled down my cheeks. In that moment, I'd completely forgotten my own harsh words:
"Ethan, if something happens to you now, I won't shed a single tear."
Yet here I was, crying uncontrollably.
---
The plane sliced through the night sky like a migrating bird heading south.
From my window seat, I watched city lights transform into a constellation of earthbound stars. As we climbed higher, the lights shrank until they disappeared completely, swallowed by darkness.
I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes, exhaustion settling deep in my bones.
One of Ethan's security team members approached with a cashmere blanket and draped it over me. I opened my eyes and managed a weak "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replied with a slight smile before returning to his seat.
At 3 AM, we landed at a small airstrip near the border. Jake Thompson was waiting, having driven himself to collect us. I slid into the backseat with one security guard while the other took the front passenger seat.
The further south we drove, the more desolate the landscape became. Darkness pressed against the windows, suffocating in its intensity. Even more oppressive was the silence inside the car—no one spoke, only the sound of our breathing breaking the quiet.
---
Just as the atmosphere grew unbearably tense, Jake suddenly spoke.
"Man, Ethan's chances don't look good this time."
His words hung in the air like a death sentence. The car somehow grew even quieter.
Neither I nor the two security guards responded. The silence felt like a physical weight on my chest.
Jake glanced at me in the rearview mirror and sighed dramatically. "Jesus, you have no idea how brutal it was out there."
He clicked his tongue several times before launching into a graphic description.
"We didn't go straight to Santa Monica. While still in LA, we received intelligence that those two college students had been taken to the border region. So we changed course and headed there instead. On our way to the extraction point, we were ambushed by multiple hostile forces—Mexican cartel members, local criminal organizations. They all had heavy weapons. It was a goddamn war zone."
The security guards remained expressionless, their faces impassive as they stared straight ahead.
After listening to Jake's dramatic retelling, I finally spoke up. "How come you weren't injured?"
Alexander froze momentarily. "...I was in a different vehicle. Ethan and I split up to divide their attention."
He hurriedly continued, "But those bastards figured out which car was his. Eight SUVs surrounded Ethan's armored Bentley—crushed the hood completely. They opened fire with what must have been a dozen automatic weapons. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was a hail of bullets. If the border patrol hadn't shown up when they did, Ethan wouldn't have even made it to the hospital for emergency care."
---
We reached the hospital at dawn. The sky hung low and gray, threatening rain.
Santa Monica Private Hospital was the largest medical facility in the area, with advanced equipment and pristine surroundings that seemed out of place in this border town.
Stepping out of the car, I felt lightheaded. After traveling all night—cars, planes, more cars—my body had nearly reached its limit.
Jake led the way with me and the security team following behind. As we entered the main lobby, his phone rang. He put it on speaker.
A clinical, emotionless voice came through: "Mr. Bennett has regained consciousness."
"Thank God!" Jake exclaimed, his face lighting up. He turned to me with a relieved smile. "Ethan's awake! Heaven must be watching over him."
I remained silent, wondering at the convenient timing of this miraculous recovery.
The voice continued flatly: "Though he's conscious, his survival isn't guaranteed. The doctors are still monitoring his condition closely."
Jake asked, "Is he still in intensive care, or has he been moved to a regular room?"
"He's been transferred out of ICU."
"Let me guess—he demanded to be moved?"
"Correct. Once he regained consciousness, he insisted on being transferred immediately."
Jake hung up and turned to me. "ICU restricts visitors. Ethan must have pushed for the transfer so he could see you. The stubborn bastard never changes."
I took a deep breath. "Let's go to his room then."