Willow glanced over at Sylvester Wade, who, without a single word, had already marched straight into the cockpit.
Anya didn't notice any of this; her entire attention was locked onto the gun in Willow's hand.
The dark muzzle felt like a literal death warrant, as if it would blast through her skull in the next second and blow her brains out!
"Willow!" Anya's voice trembled violently. "Murder is illegal!"
Willow scoffed. "Oh, so you do know that? Then why didn't you remember the law when you were planning to kill me?"
Anya choked on her words, taking deep, shaky breaths for a long time before she barely managed to suppress her rising panic, trying to justify herself. "I didn't want to kill you... Willow, this is just a terrible accident."
On a rapidly plummeting plane, the sheer weightlessness mixed with primal terror pushed human endurance to its absolute limits.
In such a situation, every negative emotion was magnified countless times over.
Yet Willow remained incredibly calm; after hearing Anya's excuse, she didn't even bat an eyelash.
It was as if she wasn't the one facing an imminent, horrific death.
Anya was scared out of her mind. Didn't the intel say Willow was just an ordinary woman, a disgraced daughter kicked out of the Shaw Family?
Shouldn't someone like her be cowardly, stupid, and timid?
Why... why did Willow look nothing like that?
The scattered clouds outside the window framed Willow's breathtakingly stunning face, making her look like an abyssal siren luring men to their doom.
Anya couldn't hold it in anymore, tears practically streaming down her face as she screamed, "Willow! Now is not the time for us to fight! The plane is going down—do you want to die?!"


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