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Chapter 251

Author: Zai
last update publish date: 2026-09-10 20:57:19

Anna's POV

The bright lights of the operating room blurred above me as the anesthesia took effect. I heard the medical team's voices echoing as if from a great distance, clinical and precise. The physical sensations were strangely detached-pressure without pain, movement without feeling.

"First baby coming out now," the surgeon announced. "It's a boy!"

A thin cry pierced the haze of my consciousness. My son. The sound yanked me back from the edge of darkness where I'd been drifting, ancho
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    Jack's POV "Who would do such a thing? Who?" Mother's voice trembled, her perfectly manicured hand clutching at her pearl necklace. I watched her panicked expression with a strange flicker of satisfaction. For the first time in years, Mary Simpson displayed genuine fear instead of her usual calculated disdain. 'Take a guess," I drawled, dragging out each syllable. "How am I supposed to know?" Her eyes darted frantically as her mind raced through the list of Simpson family enemies. The fact that such a list existed spoke volumes about our family's true legacy in Skyview City. Lucy shifted uncomfortably beside Mother, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jack, was it.. Anna?" "Anna Shaw?" Mother froze at the name, her face draining of what little color remained. "Has she lost her mind? How dare she?" I stared directly into Mother's eyes, unexpected fury surging through me. For decades, the Simpsons had trampled over anyone who stood in their way, never once considering t

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    Pax's POV The duct tape ripped away from my mouth, taking what felt like several layers of skin with it. The stinging pain barely registered through the numbness that had already claimed my face. "Help! Is anybody there? Help us!" My voice cracked as it echoed across the empty field, swallowed by the vast indifference of the abandoned industrial zone. The temperature had plummeted since Anna Shaw's people had left us here, bound to separate trees like sacrifices to some vengeful god. My thin sweater might as well have been tissue paper against the knife-edge wind that sliced through it. "Mr. Simpson, what should we do?" I called out, teeth chattering so violently I feared they might crack. No response came from the slender tree where my employer was secured. "Mr. Simpson? Sir! Can you hear me?" His head hung limply, chin resting against his chest. The sight sent ice water coursing through my veins that had nothing to do with the cold. He was significantly older than me, wi

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