Chapter 688
Alexander's words on the phone sent a chill down Daniel's spine. His grip tightened around the device, knuckles turning white.
"That can't be true!"
"The intel is confirmed," Alexander replied, voice grim. "We apprehended one of their surgeons. But we still don’t know the full situation inside. If we storm in recklessly, they might execute the hostages. Their lives are at stake."
A heavy silence settled between them before Alexander continued.
"Daniel, back at the academy, you were the best at covert ops. If we want to save Isabella, we need you to lead the infiltration team."
The call ended, leaving Daniel standing frozen, his expression unreadable.
Alexander’s words echoed in his mind.
The kidnappers had chosen their hideout well—an abandoned industrial complex, a tangled maze of interconnected factories. For any ordinary officer, navigating it would be a death sentence.
One wrong turn, and they’d alert the criminals before even locating the hostages.
And these men were ruthless.
Trapped, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill.
But Daniel wasn’t just any officer.
He was trained for this.
With him leading the team, their chances of success skyrocketed.
His gaze drifted to Evelyn, still unconscious in the hospital bed, her chest rising and falling steadily.
A storm of emotions raged inside him.
He wanted nothing more than to stay by her side, to be there when she woke.
To beg for her forgiveness for failing to protect her.
To be the first face she saw when her eyes fluttered open.
But—
Alexander’s call had shattered that hope.
The kidnappers had already carved out one of Isabella’s kidneys.
She was running out of time.
The monsters hadn’t even waited a full day before mutilating her. If they delayed any longer, she wouldn’t survive.
Daniel had questioned the report at first. How could they have taken her kidney so quickly?
But Alexander had confirmed it.
The surgeon had been caught red-handed, the organ still fresh in his possession.
Under interrogation, he’d confessed everything.
A cold dread settled in Daniel’s bones.
If Isabella died, the guilt would drown him.
Andrew had given him his only shot at survival.
And in return, he’d failed to protect his sister.
With both parents gone, Isabella had no one left.
He was her only hope.
Daniel moved to Evelyn’s bedside, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.
"Forgive me," he whispered. "Please… don’t hate me for this."
One last look, filled with longing, before he turned and walked away.
Meanwhile, in the derelict factory, Isabella lay motionless on the bloodstained operating table.
Her vision blurred in and out of focus.
The metallic scent of blood filled the air, pooling beneath her.
Her face was ghostly pale, lips cracked and dry.
A single tear traced a path down her cheek, disappearing into her hairline.
Her eyes—empty, resigned—stared into the abyss above.
She had stared death in the face all night.
And it had been hell.
These men weren’t just criminals.
They were monsters.
They’d taken her kidney while she was still awake.
Now she understood why they’d starved her.
She was nothing but livestock to them.
A fresh wave of agony wracked her body as she remembered how she’d begged, screamed, clawed at the ground until her fingers bled.
She was only twenty-three.
She’d thrown herself at Daniel Foster’s feet, forehead splitting open from the force of her desperation.
Blood had dripped into her eyes, but he hadn’t flinched.
No mercy.
No humanity.
Just cold, clinical cruelty.
She had never known despair like this.
Screaming until her voice gave out, with no one coming to save her.
What had she done to deserve this?
At first, she’d thought they just wanted ransom.
But she’d been wrong.
After a day of starvation, a masked man had appeared.
A surgeon.
He knew anatomy too well.
They’d dragged her to a makeshift operating room—filthy, rusted tools scattered about.
No anesthesia.
Just the scalpel, slicing into her flesh.
The pain had been unbearable.
Her limbs were bound, leaving her helpless as he carved into her.
She’d convulsed, screams tearing from her throat until it was raw.
Biting down had filled her mouth with blood.
She could still feel the blade—cold, precise—peeling her apart.
Death would have been kinder.
They’d gagged her when she tried to bite her tongue.
By the end, the cloth was soaked crimson.
Agony.
Pure, unrelenting agony.
Like thousands of needles burrowing into her bones.
Muscles twisting, teeth grinding to dust.
She had lived through a nightmare.
The "surgery" ended at dawn.
No aftercare.
Just crude stitches sealing her wound.
She could feel the blood pooling inside her.
Her tears had long dried up.
Her body trembled violently, icy cold.
She was so scared.
So alone.
Her parents had died when she was ten, sacrificed for the Powells.
All she had left was Andrew.
But he was gone too.
She was the last Morgan.
At twelve years old, her world had turned to darkness.
An age when she should have been surrounded by love, she was abandoned.
Even her distant relatives had whispered behind her back.
A cursed child.
A bringer of death.
They feared she’d doom them too.
"Am I really cursed?"
She’d known they didn’t want her.
So from middle school onward, she lived in the dorms.
Weekends were the worst.
Empty halls.
Silent rooms.
Just her.
Always her.
Christmas was the most vivid memory—watching classmates leave, laughing with their families.
She had nowhere to go.
The school locked the dorms during breaks.
So she’d hide.
Stockpile bread.
Pray no one found her.
While others celebrated, she sat in the dark, too afraid to even turn on a light.
That was her life.
Alone.
Always alone.