The bitter wind howled, cutting through the night, as an oppressive silence filled the empty warehouse.
Moonlight poured through the shattered windows, casting a pale glow on Viviane's face.
Her lashes fluttered, and her consciousness began to stir, like she was just waking from a long sleep.
Her wrists were tightly bound with rough rope, the raw, bloody marks on her wrists glaringly obvious.
Her body burned with fever again, her temperature spiking as though it had never dropped.
Viviane's mind was hazy, but she vaguely remembered stepping out of her room before someone drugged her from behind.
One of the kidnappers dialed Cyril's number with cold efficiency.
"Cyril Cartmell, your wife is in my hands. If you want her back alive, bring 50 million to Vault 57. And don't even think ab
