Chapter 245

Chapter 245

Though Beatrice kept telling him not to spend so much money, she gradually grew accustomed to this perfectly calibrated neighborly care.

In her little courtyard, the stone table she used as a workspace was once again covered with drawing paper.

When the afternoon light was just right, she'd place Ray in his cradle and pick up her pencil, sketching lines across the page.

The design inspiration buried deep in her heart began sprouting like seeds awakened by spring rain.

She drew slowly—not for deadlines, not for money, but purely for the love of it.

This particular afternoon, she'd just finished the initial sketch of a brooch design and was holding Ray under the shade of a tree by her garden gate.

Ray had just finished nursing and yawned contentedly in her arms, his eyes blissfully drooping closed.

A black SUV that looked completely out of place in this rural village appeared silently at the village entrance.

The door opened, and a man stepped out.

He wore expensive casual clothing, a flashy watch on his wrist, and his hair was perfectly styled. Just by standing there and looking around, his aura—so different from the pastoral surroundings—made Beatrice instinctively hold Ray tighter.

The man seemed to notice her and started walking over.

He moved unhurriedly, but each step felt like it was landing directly on her heart.

Beatrice noticed his gaze had been fixed on her and Ray from the very beginning, carrying a scrutinizing quality that made her deeply uncomfortable.

She'd seen that look before—at those fake business cocktail parties, on the faces of men trying to assess her worth.

But this was Cloudrest Mountain.

The man stopped just outside her garden fence. Through the waist-high bamboo barrier, he forced what he probably thought was a friendly smile.

"Excuse me, miss. Could you give me directions? How do I get to that grove up ahead?"

His pronunciation was standard, but there was something off about his accent.

Beatrice stepped back half a pace, pointing in the general direction. "Just keep following this road straight ahead."

"Oh, okay, thanks."

The man thanked her but showed no signs of leaving.

His gaze shifted to Ray in Beatrice's arms, and his smile deepened—and grew stranger.

"You're raising this little one well. How old is he?"

Beatrice's heart plummeted.

She remembered news reports about human traffickers who specialized in disguising themselves as people asking for directions or helpful neighbors, looking for opportunities to chat up women with children, striking when their guard was down.

This man was well-dressed, driving an expensive car, yet here he was in this remote mountain village, asking questions about her child.

It was too suspicious.

"That's none of your business."

Beatrice's tone turned cold as she turned to head back into the courtyard with Ray.

"Miss, don't get the wrong idea," the man called after her. "I don't mean anything by it—just thought the baby was cute..."

Beatrice said nothing, hurrying into the house and immediately bolting the garden gate from the inside.

She leaned against the door, heart pounding.

Through a crack in the door, she saw the man still standing outside the fence, staring toward the courtyard for a long time before finally leaving.

Fear crept over her like climbing vines.

Nina and the nanny had gone to the city for supplies—it was just her and the baby at home.

The first person Beatrice thought of was David.

She practically ran to the neighboring yard, forgetting to knock and pushing the gate open directly.

Frederick heard the commotion and turned to see Beatrice standing pale-faced in his doorway.

"What's wrong?" He strode over immediately.

"Mr. Johnson," Beatrice's voice was trembling, "there was a man outside just now, acting suspicious, staring at Ray the whole time. I'm afraid... I'm afraid he might be a kidnapper!"

Frederick's expression changed instantly.

He stepped past Beatrice and walked to his garden gate, spotting the figure still lingering in the distance.

It was Brandon.

How had he found this place?

The atmospheric pressure around Frederick dropped suddenly. The gentle exhaustion that belonged to 'David' vanished without a trace, replaced by a chill that could freeze flesh.

He patted Beatrice's shoulder, keeping his voice relatively steady. "Don't worry. I'll go take a look. Lock your door and stay inside."

With that, he opened his gate and walked out.

Brandon, outside the fence, saw him too. After a moment of surprise, he plastered an exaggerated smile across his face and strode over enthusiastically.

"David! No wonder I couldn't get through on your phone—turns out you've been hiding in these mountains living the good life! Why didn't you invite me along!"

As he spoke, he reached out enthusiastically to pat Frederick's shoulder.

Frederick sidestepped the gesture, staring at him coldly.

That gaze was like two ice-tempered blades, piercing straight through Brandon's smile.

Brandon's expression froze slightly. He cursed internally but had to keep up the act.

He casually withdrew his hand and nodded familiarly toward Beatrice's courtyard.

"This is my first visit—I didn't prepare any gifts. How rude of me."

Inside the house, Beatrice listened to the conversation outside in stunned confusion.

This kidnapper... was David's friend?

She held Ray and crept to the door, peering out through the crack.

The man she'd taken for a kidnapper was indeed standing with David.

David still looked cold and distant, but the other man was gesticulating animatedly—they clearly knew each other well.

Had she been mistaken?

Just then, Brandon's nose twitched dramatically.

"What smells so good?" His eyes lit up as he followed the scent. "That's cooking! Perfect timing—I've been driving all morning, and I'm absolutely starving. David, you don't mind one more for dinner, do you?"

Frederick looked at him and finally spoke, his voice devoid of warmth: "What are you doing here?"

"Coming to see you, of course!" Brandon looked like it was obvious. "And to... bring you something."

As he spoke, his eyes flicked toward Beatrice's courtyard. The implication was clear—whatever he had wasn't suitable to discuss in front of outsiders.

Frederick knew Brandon must have discovered something important to make this trip personally.

But choosing to appear this way had crossed a line.

"Get lost." Frederick ground out the words.

"Come on, David!" Brandon's skin was thicker than a city wall—completely unaffected. "I came all this way, and you won't even feed me? That's cold, man!"

Before he could finish, Frederick ran out of patience.

He grabbed Brandon's arm with force that made Brandon's expression change.

"If you have business, we'll discuss it elsewhere."

Frederick practically dragged him toward the SUV at the village entrance.

Brandon, a man nearly six feet tall and built like a tank, was handled like a cat being carried by its scruff—no room to resist.

"David! Slow down! These are new shoes!"

"Let's talk this out—no need for violence! What will people think!"

"I just wanted some food..."

Brandon's protests grew fainter as they moved away, until he was shoved into the car and the door slammed shut, cutting off all sound.

Beatrice stood behind her door, watching the black SUV disappear in a cloud of dust, still trying to process what had just happened.

Had she just seen a flash of... murderous intent on David's face?

The black SUV's tires crunched over gravel as it stopped beside a secluded riverbank.

The doors were locked, no interior lights on—only the scattered lights from the village reflected weakly on the distant water.

Frederick sat in the driver's seat without saying a word, the atmospheric pressure around him low enough to freeze the air solid.

He didn't look at Brandon beside him, his gaze fixed on the river ahead—eyes colder and deeper than the water itself.

Brandon rubbed his aching wrist, mentally cursing Frederick in eight different ways.

He fished a cigarette pack from the glove compartment, shook one out, and lit it, taking a deep drag.

"Mr. Stuart, we can talk this out like civilized people. Getting physical is beneath you."

Brandon blew out a smoke ring, trying to ease the deathly atmosphere.

"I came here with urgent intel, and you nearly dislocated my shoulder."

Frederick finally turned his head, his gaze like twin ice picks: "Your appearance in front of her is the biggest problem of all."

"I didn't have a choice!" Brandon's temper flared as smoke streamed from his nostrils. "Your phone was dead, and sending someone else might have spooked whoever's watching. If I didn't come personally, how was I supposed to get this information to you? Besides, how was I supposed to know your taste in hideaways was so... back-to-basics?"

He was referring to Beatrice's simple cottage and Frederick's entire 'David' getup.

Frederick ignored the mockery, his voice flat: "Talk."

The command was absolute, brooking no argument.

Brandon was momentarily thrown by the attitude. He took another drag and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

For a moment, only the glow of his cigarette tip and the soft hiss of burning nicotine filled the car.

He chain-smoked through half the pack until the car was thick with smoke that stung their eyes.

"The Flores family massacre you had me investigate, and Beatrice's background."