Chapter 7

"Bang—!"

Before the kidnapper could push the plunger all the way down, his head exploded!

A dozen fully armed mercenaries kicked through every window in the warehouse.

Amidst the smoke and gunpowder, a tall figure walked in, backlit by the light. He wore a black tactical trench coat, the tight fit accentuating his muscular build. His face was cold as a demon's. It was Valerius Sterling.

He kicked the kidnapper leader, who was trying to crawl away, sending him flying. Then he rushed to me. "I'm sorry, I'm late." His voice was low and raspy, carrying a tremor that was hard to detect.

Looking at Valerius's determined profile, my tightly wound nerves suddenly snapped. My vision went black, and I completely lost consciousness.

"Alaric..." I sat up abruptly, my heart pounding wildly.

Valerius, who was guarding my bedside, gently held my shoulders. "Don't move, Ivy. Alaric is fine. The antivenom was administered in time. Although there are residual toxins that need to metabolize, he is out of danger."

He continued, "Your body is very weak due to long-term overwork and excessive blood loss. You need rest."

This warmth broke down my defenses. I covered my face, tears sliding down silently.

On the day of my discharge, I refused Valerius's offer to take me to a hotel and insisted on going back to that basement in Brooklyn.

Valerius didn't stop me; he just silently supported me.

Back in that Brooklyn basement, I dragged a huge black trash bag out from under the bed and started frantically stuffing things into it.

I dug out every "gift" Caspian had bestowed upon me over the past five years, counting his disgusting behavior item by item:

This coat—Isolde threw it away because she thought the color was tacky. He picked it up and gave it to me, claiming it was "vintage."

This scarf—a freebie he got for filling up his gas tank. He turned around and gave it to me as my twenty-fourth birthday present.

And this pile of three-for-ten-dollars cheap T-shirts that started pilling after one wash. He lied to me, saying they were from a niche designer brand.

Looking at this room full of junk, I felt that my last five years had simply been a joke.

"Trash belongs in the trash can."

After doing all this, I took Alaric and our only identification documents and left the cage that had trapped me for five years without looking back.

Late that night.

Caspian returned to the basement reeking of alcohol. He seemed to be in a good mood, carrying an exquisite cake box in his hand.

Inside was a piece of cake with a corner scooped out—leftovers Isolde had eaten at the banquet.

"Ivy? Alaric?" He called out, his tone filled with the arrogance of charity. "You guys are lucky. Isolde said this cake was too sweet and she was afraid of getting fat, so she specifically asked me to bring it back for Alaric to taste. This is a Michelin three-star cake; people like you would never see this in your lives."

However, what greeted him was an empty, deathly silent room.

The closet was empty, the washstand was empty, and even those broken toys Alaric usually treated like treasures were gone.

The only thing left on the table was the divorce agreement I had already signed.

Caspian froze for a moment, then let out a dismissive sneer. He tossed the leftover cake onto the table casually, smashing it into a mess.

"The same old trick."

He kicked the chair next to him, his face full of impatience. "The kidnapping act didn't get you any money, so now you're playing the runaway game? Ivy, your methods are getting lower and lower. Do you think that by running away with a sick child, I'll beg you to come back?"

He was certain I couldn't leave him. In New York, where every inch of land costs a fortune, a woman like me with no money, no background, and a weak child would hit a dead end without him.

He took out his phone and carelessly typed a text message, a mocking curve hanging on his lips:

"Where are you wandering off to with that burden? Don't expect me to search the world for you. When you run out of money, crawl back yourself. Don't expect me to pick you up. Also, remember to apologize to Isolde; you almost ruined her birthday party."

However, the message failed to send.

I had already deleted all his contact information.

Caspian dialed my number in disbelief.

"Sorry, the user you are calling is busy..."

He called again.

"Sorry, the user you are calling..."

A panic he had never felt before finally rose like a delayed tide, slowly drowning his consistently arrogant heart.

He slammed his phone violently against the wall, his roar echoing in the empty basement:

"Ivy! You have some nerve! How dare you block me?!"

Unfortunately, he didn't know.

This time, I really didn't want him anymore.