Love Unspoken

"Such nonsense! When have I ever commanded you to commit murder? You need to clarify the situation, or you can bid farewell to your payment!"

The accusation sparked a flame of indignation within him."You were the one who sent the text, instructing the hit. What else could have transpired? Do you take me for a fool, unable to comprehend the gravity of murder in contrast to abduction?"

He retorted, his voice laced with bitterness. In all honesty, he would have been in a far better position had he refrained from killing.

With twenty million in his possession, even if apprehended, there would be a potential escape route. But with a life taken, the act of spending the money was far from a comforting experience.

A shiver of dread slithered down Freya's spine at his words. Could it be that her instructions had been misinterpreted, leading to this fatal misunderstanding? She had personally sought out these individuals, making direct contact; no one else was privy to their dealings.

She could fathom no other explanation."Enough. Remain hidden and refrain from contacting me unless absolutely necessary!" With that, Freya ended the call.

Initially, she had consented to a payment of twenty million dollars, divided into two installments of ten million each, with the final payment yet to be made.

they were prepared to commit murder, provided the price was right. Now, Freya was a prisoner of her own anxiety, particularly after Walter's reminder that they couldn't risk the apprehension of their

ending the call, Freya collected herself before exiting the car to venture into the farmer's

her, back at her residence, Walter had made a call of his own."Trace this number and locate the person. Find a way to disclose their location to Xavier." With that, Walter ended the

giggle and a tiny hand reaching out to grasp his finger....Quinn had

she jot down everything she could recollect, believing that revisiting these

a child. Before she knew

at the words sprawled across the pages, the magnitude of her shared history with Alexander sinking in. The notebook was nearly filled, yet

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all, given the clarity with which she could recall events

had gifted her. It was a sunny afternoon; the boy was clad in a white shirt, a backpack slung over his shoulder, one hand tucked into his pocket. His