Chapter 162
Elizabeth's body swayed, and she almost lost her footing.
Jacob reached out to steady her, but she shook him off again.
His face had gone a terrifying shade of pale. He stared at Elizabeth, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something, yet nothing came out.
His silence was the clearest answer of all.
Elizabeth suddenly laughed. The smile on her face was saturated with despair and bitter sorrow.
She thought of that dark basement, of that endless pain and fear, of the baby who'd been taken from her the moment he was born and declared dead, of all those years when every memory of that child ripped her apart from the inside. And now she realized the person who had set all of that in motion was standing right in front of her.
The person she had hated for so long had been by her side all along. The man she loved was the one who had ruined her entire life.
"Elizabeth." Jacob reached for her, his voice so hoarse it was barely audible. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Elizabeth looked at him, tears sliding down her face without a sound. "Jacob, do you have any idea how I've survived all these years? Do you know how much it hurts every time I think of that baby? Do you know—"
She didn't finish.
Sawyer gave a soft, almost polite clap of his hands, interrupting her. "Elizabeth, don't cry," he said. "Come back to Italy with me, okay? I'll help you find out exactly what happened back then, and I'll make sure the people who should pay, pay. As for Jack—"
He paused, then added quietly, "He's your son, and he carries the Scott family blood. I won't hurt him."
Elizabeth looked at him, then at Jacob, her mind a complete blank. She didn't know who to believe, who to hate, what she was supposed to do.
Sawyer went on, "Elizabeth, come with me. Jack is in Italy too. Isn't it a good thing for you to be reunited with your son?"
Jacob's head snapped up, a flash of murderous intent in his eyes. "Sawyer, don't you dare."
"Why wouldn't I dare?" Sawyer looked at him, his smile still gentle. "Mr. Smith, you're in no position to bargain with me right now. What you owe her, you'll never be able to repay."
Jacob's hand tightened around the gun until his knuckles turned white.
But he couldn't pull the trigger. Because Sawyer was right: what he owed her, he would never be able to pay back.
Elizabeth stood there, cold down to her bones. She looked at Jacob, at the anguish and remorse in his eyes, and a surge of indescribable emotion rose in her chest.
Did she hate him? Yes. But besides hate, was there anything else?
She didn't know. She only knew that Jack was in Sawyer's hands. Jack was in the hands of a dangerous madman.
"I'll go with you," she said, her voice so hoarse it was almost lost.
Jacob whipped his head toward her. "Elizabeth—"
"Shut up." Elizabeth didn't look at him; her gaze was locked on Sawyer. "I'll go with you, but you have to promise me Jack will be safe."
Sawyer smiled, and there was a trace of hard‑to‑define satisfaction in that smile. "Of course. Like I said, he has the Scott family blood. I won't hurt him."
Whether Sawyer had ordered it ahead of time or not, a line of cars pulled up right then.
He turned and started walking toward the doors.
After a few steps, he suddenly stopped, speaking without looking back. "Don't even think about playing games. Your son's life is in my hands."
With that, he disappeared through the doorway.
His men followed him out. The ballroom fell quiet again.
Only the wreckage remained, and the guests who had narrowly escaped with their lives.
Sawyer's convoy disappeared beyond the gates of the estate.
The guests were gradually escorted out, security teams moved in to secure the scene, and the servers silently began clearing away the broken glass and bloodstains.
Everything proceeded in an orderly fashion, as if the heart‑stopping confrontation just now had been nothing more than an unpleasant interruption.
By the time Elizabeth followed Sawyer out of the ballroom, night had settled in.
The sun had dropped below the horizon, leaving only a smear of dark red along the edge of the sky, like dried blood.
The helicopter wreckage was still burning on the lawn, thick smoke billowing upward as firefighters worked urgently to put out the flames. Hoses snaked over the grass like coiled serpents. She walked through the chaos, the hem of her wedding dress dragging across the ground, soaking up dirt and water; her veil was long gone, lost somewhere behind her. She walked quickly, spine rigidly straight, and she did not look back.
She didn't dare.
Because she knew that if she looked back, she might never be able to leave.
Sawyer walked ahead of her, his stride calm and unhurried.
His right shoulder was still bleeding, the dark gray of his suit jacket stained a deep, ominous red, but he seemed utterly unconcerned, even managing a courteous smile for the shaken servers at the door.
A black stretch limo waited outside, its windows bulletproof, its heavy frame like a moving fortress.
Sawyer opened the door himself and stepped aside to let Elizabeth in first.
"Watch your head," he said, his voice gentle, as if he were taking care of something fragile.
Elizabeth gave him a look but said nothing, bending down to slide into the car.
The interior was spacious and opulent. The leather seats were so soft they seemed ready to swallow a person whole, and the air carried a faint scent of cedar.
Sawyer sat down across from her and shut the door, sealing out all the noise from outside.
The car eased into motion.
He took a bottle of water from the mini‑fridge, twisted the cap open, and held it out to her. "Drink some water."
Elizabeth didn't take it. She leaned back against the seat, watching the scenery streak past the window, silent.
Sawyer wasn't offended. He set the bottle on the small table beside her hand, then reached into a side compartment and took out a clean blanket. Gently, he draped it over her bare shoulders. "The AC's a little strong. Don't catch a chill."
Elizabeth's body went slightly rigid. The blanket was soft and warm, carrying a faint lavender scent, clearly scented on purpose. She glanced at Sawyer; he was lowering his head to tend to the wound on his shoulder, his movements efficient and practiced, his expression perfectly calm.
He twisted open another bottle of water and used it to rinse away the blood around the wound, then wrapped it quickly with gauze. The whole process was smooth and unhurried, the kind of thing he was obviously used to doing.
"You're not going to the hospital?" Elizabeth asked, her voice rough.
Sawyer lifted his head and looked at her, smiling. "It's just a scratch. It's nothing."
He paused, then added, "Are you worried about me?"
Elizabeth didn't answer.
Sawyer didn't mind. He finished with the bandage and leaned back in his seat, his eyes resting on Elizabeth.
His gaze was incredibly gentle, nothing at all like that of a man who had just shot people, blown up a helicopter, and kidnapped a child.
"Elizabeth," he said softly, "you must be exhausted. Get some sleep. I'll wake you when we arrive."
Elizabeth stared back at him, that same indescribable emotion surging up inside her again.
This man had fired shots at her wedding, killed people right in front of her, kidnapped Jack, and now he was talking to her in this soft voice, offering her water and tucking a blanket around her shoulders.
What was he even after? She couldn't understand him.
"Sawyer," she said, "what is it you really want?"
Sawyer looked at her and fell silent for a moment. Then he exhaled a quiet sigh. "Elizabeth, I told you. I'm your brother. I want you to come home."
"Home?" Elizabeth repeated the word, suddenly finding it ridiculous.
"I don't need that anymore."
In her previous life, if Sawyer had managed to save her, she would have been overwhelmed with gratitude, as if she had met the Almighty.
But this time, his involvement was nothing but trouble for her.
A flicker of emotion crossed Sawyer's eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared. "But I want to make it up to you."
"Make it up to me?" Elizabeth's voice trembled slightly. "With what? With Jack's life? With the lives of all those innocent guests?"
Sawyer fell silent. He lowered his head, staring at the freshly wrapped bandage on his shoulder. After a long time, he said quietly, "Elizabeth, I know you don't believe me. But time will prove everything."