Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 141

The group of suspicious men loomed not far away, the situation was dire.

Mila, afraid of alerting them, didn't dare to make a call. Instead, she pulled out her phone, set it to silent, and swiftly sent messages to Miranda, Eugene, and the owner of the guesthouse, including her real-time location.

She could only hope that someone would wake up early, see the messages, and quickly call the police to rescue them.

But that wasn't a sure thing.

Immediately, she switched to the texting app, quickly typed out her current location and the situation, and added the area code at the end before sending an emergency alert to 911.

In the past, Mila had ventured into remote mountainous regions to gather design materials, posing as a journalist to investigate local customs. She had encountered reckless thugs before and had gained quite a bit of experience.

Whoever saw the message first, that would be their chance.

Now, all she could do was pray for divine intervention.

After handling these tasks, Mila took a deep breath, hoisted the child onto her back, and bent low. She moved cautiously and quietly, inching away from the voices towards the underbrush, making not a sound.

The child was clever too, lying silently on her back without uttering a peep.

Voices grew closer, and flashlight beams flickered through the bushes, occasionally accompanied by curses and threats.

shout

over here! The branches are broken. Someone's been through

"Quick, this way!"

you little brat, come

Run, and when we catch you, we'll break your legs, you

closed in on their direction, sending shivers down Mila's spine. She

and bolted downhill with the child on her

chasing them were startled, not expecting an adult to suddenly appear. Once they gathered their wits,

"Get her!"

got the kid with

that woman

"Catch them!"

right there,

footsteps behind

wildly. The cold wind slapped her face, numbing it, but she didn't dare

desperate criminals; getting caught

it for fear they might chase her by car. The road

the direction of the guesthouse, her lungs burning