They Took My Daughter’s Heart

Chapter 009

“What am I, exactly?”

Dylan Brooks repeated the question in a low, almost detached voice, as though he were tasting the words rather than asking them. The first time, it sounded like idle curiosity. By the second repetition, however, something fundamental shifted. The air itself seemed to tense, as if an invisible blade had been drawn.

“What am I?”

His eyes lifted, and in that instant, the calm surface shattered. What replaced it was n***d, undisguised killing intent—so cold, so dense, it felt as though the temperature had dropped several degrees.

“I am Sophie Walker’s husband,” he said, each word landing with deliberate weight.
“I am Gabrielle Brooks’ father.”

Then his gaze hardened further, like steel quenched in blood.

“And the Nolan family and the Hawthorne family—what audacity you have. You dared to drain my daughter’s blood. You dared to carve out her heart.”

A pause followed. Not because he lacked words, but because the next ones were heavy enough to crush bone.

“And you dared to violate my wife.”

Each sentence was not merely spoken—it was pronounced, like a verdict. With every word that left Dylan’s mouth, Blake Nolan and Sebastian Hawthorne felt another door to survival slam shut in their hearts.

This kind of hatred was not the sort that could be negotiated with. It was not the sort that could be paid off. It was the kind that demanded blood, demanded lives, demanded an ending written in corpses.

Suspended upside down nearby, Matthew Nolan felt his last shreds of hope evaporate. His family might have been powerful, but no amount of influence could stand against an army that looked capable of leveling a city. Tens of thousands of soldiers stood in disciplined formation, their weapons gleaming under floodlights, the black muzzles of rifles pointed forward like the eyes of a metal beast. Overhead, fighter jets roared in slow, menacing circles. Behind them, armored vehicles, tanks, and mobile artillery units waited in silent readiness.

This was not intimidation. This was extermination capability.

Matthew’s face drained of color. Part of it was from the grievous injuries he had already suffered—blood loss had left his lips cracked and gray. The other part was pure terror, a fear so deep it hollowed him out from the inside.

“Dad! Dad, save me!” he screamed, his voice breaking into hysterical sobs. “Please, think of something! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”

His pleas echoed uselessly through the open space.

Blake Nolan didn’t dare respond.

He wasn’t the only one on the verge of collapse. Sebastian Hawthorne, once a man accustomed to commanding rooms and bending outcomes to his will, now stood stiff as a corpse. Neither of them had ever imagined that Sophie Walker, a woman they had regarded as disposable, would be backed by something like this—by someone like this.

Yet even in absolute despair, Blake Nolan could not bring himself to watch his only surviving son be executed.

He was old. His grandson Theo was already dead. If Matthew died here too, the Nolan bloodline would end with him.

That thought shattered what little pride he had left.

With a heavy, defeated sound, Blake Nolan dropped to his knees.

The ground was cold. He felt it even through his expensive suit.

He was terrified—truly terrified. No more calculations, no more gambling on outcomes. He didn’t dare test fate again.

The Nolan family, no matter how wealthy, could never summon an army like this. They could never call down fighter jets or mobilize tanks in minutes. One order from this man, and everything Blake had built over a lifetime would be erased into dust and fire.

He began to bow his head to the ground, again and again, his forehead striking the earth with dull thuds.

“I—I swear, we didn’t know,” he cried hoarsely. “We truly didn’t know you were Miss Walker’s husband, or that the little girl was your daughter. If we had known—if I’d had even the slightest idea—then even with a hundred lives, I wouldn’t have dared touch them!”

“Please,” he continued, voice cracking. “Give us a chance. Name a price. Any price. I’ll pay it.”

He hesitated, then rushed on desperately.

“I’ll give you half of the Nolan family’s assets—no, all of them. Everything. The companies, the properties, the accounts. I’ll sign everything over, just let us live. Let my son live.”

At this point, facing the overwhelming firepower around him, Blake Nolan no longer cared about legacy or power. He wanted only two things: his life, and his son’s.

“Money?”

Before Dylan could even respond, a voice rang out with unmistakable amusement.

“Do you really think your little pile of money is enough to bribe my teacher?”

The speaker stepped forward, laughter curling at the edges of his words.

It was Victor Caldwell, chairman of Riverton Group.

Blake Nolan looked up—and froze.

His pupils shrank as if stabbed.

“You… you’re… Mr. Cal—Caldwell?” he stammered.

This was a man whose face had appeared on the covers of global business magazines, whose net worth had once dominated the Forbes rankings year after year. In the Solaria Republic, nearly every young person had grown up hearing his name spoken with reverence, half-jokingly calling him “Father Caldwell” for his influence and wealth.

Compared to Riverton Group, the Nolan family’s fortune was laughably insignificant.

And yet—this man had just called Dylan Brooks his teacher.

The realization hit Blake Nolan like a sledgehammer.

What kind of existence could command loyalty like that?

The shock didn’t end there.

As if waking from a nightmare only to realize it was deeper than imagined, Blake and Sebastian Hawthorne finally began to notice the others standing behind Dylan.

They hadn’t dared to look earlier.

Now, they wished they hadn’t.

Some of the faces were unfamiliar, but carried an air of lethal authority. Others, however, were instantly recognizable—faces that had appeared on international news channels, financial summits, security briefings.

One man was a foreign tycoon whose acquisitions had reshaped entire markets. Another was known as the top personal security expert in the Solaria Republic, a man who had once protected visiting presidents and heads of state. There was even the founder of a global operating system empire, a name whose wealth had long surpassed numerical estimation.

And there—a legendary attorney, undefeated in court, infamous for turning impossible cases into victories. Nearby stood a renowned martial master, founder of an entire school, with disciples spread across continents.

And this was not even counting the shadowed figures whose presence alone radiated danger—the kind of people whose names were never broadcast, whose work belonged to the darker corners of the world, tied to places like the Nether Court or the Divine Herb Vale.

Each face they recognized drove the final nail deeper.

This wasn’t just power.

This was a nexus of wealth, violence, law, medicine, and influence—a living embodiment of dominance.

For a fleeting, absurd moment, Blake Nolan wanted to scream.

All of this… over one little girl?

Over a child whose heart they had treated like spare parts?

Despair hollowed him out completely. Even the instinct to beg felt meaningless now. Still, his body continued to bow, over and over, his forehead striking the ground until blood smeared the dirt.

“Too late,” Dylan Brooks said quietly.

He looked down at Blake, his expression devoid of pity.

“You think your son’s life is a life. Your grandson’s life was a life,” he continued. “So tell me—was my daughter’s life not a life?”

“Yes! It was!” Blake sobbed. “All lives are lives. I was blind. I was cruel. I was heartless. Please—just this once—spare us.”

A cold laugh escaped Dylan’s lips. There was no warmth in it, only something infernal.

“Spare you?” he echoed. “Very well.”

Hope flickered briefly in Blake Nolan’s eyes.

Then Dylan finished his sentence.

“You personally carve out Matthew Nolan’s heart. Do that, and I will spare the Nolan family.”

The words landed like a guillotine blade.

“I—”

Blake Nolan’s face froze. Time stretched painfully as silence swallowed the space between breaths.

Several seconds passed.

Something dark twisted in his eyes. His jaw clenched until the muscles bulged.

“…Fine,” he whispered at last. “I’ll do it. I’ll kill him.”

His voice cracked as he looked up. “Give me a knife.”

Metal clattered across the ground.

Marcus Hale had already tossed a dagger at his feet.

The weapon gleamed coldly under the lights.

Blake Nolan picked it up, his hands trembling violently. His eyes were bloodshot, veins crawling across the whites.

Step by step, he moved toward his suspended son.

“No! No!” Matthew screamed, thrashing uselessly. “Dad, don’t! Don’t kill me! Please! Save me! I don’t want to die!”

His cries grew hoarse, hysterical, stripped of all dignity.

But Blake Nolan walked on, his face contorting into something unrecognizable—half madness, half resolve, utterly devoid of mercy.