Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 242

The head of security spoke through the video feed, his voice thick with dread and guilt.

He had assumed Madeline had either slipped out a side exit or taken a private car back home.

But not only had the estate staff reported she never returned.

They had scoured every location she frequented, turning up completely empty.

The security detail realized instantly that Madeline had vanished.

And ground zero was the hospital.

Knowing she was in grave danger, they locked down the hospital, sweeping every floor before making the terrifying call to Quentin.

Quentin's expression was lethally dark—a terrifying, murderous calm his men had never seen before.

He ordered the tech team to isolate the cameras around the radiology corridor.

The final frame captured her walking toward the locker rooms.

After that, Madeline completely disappeared.

Not a single trace on the elevators, the stairwells, or the exits.

Quentin's fists clenched, the sickening crack of his knuckles cutting through the tense silence.

"Who tampered with the feeds?"

"Have you pinpointed where her cell signal dropped?" Quentin snarled.

"We're still running the trace!" his subordinate stammered, paralyzed by fear.

"You better pray to whatever god you believe in that Madeline is untouched. Because if a single hair on her head is harmed, your families will share her fate," Quentin's eyes were sharp as executioner's blades.

The men on the screen frantically nodded in terror. "Yes, Boss!"

Sebastian St. John stepped into the suite. "Mr. Prescott, the private jet is fueled and waiting. We're docking immediately. We will fly you back to find Ms. Monroe."

Quentin gave a single, rigid nod.

He was going back, right now.

"Tell the captain to turn this ship around at maximum speed. Once I crush whoever did this, I'll fly straight to the summit."

Under Quentin's uncompromising orders.

Sebastian nodded and rushed out to coordinate the extraction.

...

Meanwhile.

Inside a dilapidated, abandoned garage at Miller's Auto Salvage on the outskirts of the city.

Madeline groaned, her head swimming as consciousness slowly clawed its way back.

It was an auto salvage yard, littered with scrap iron.

Using every ounce of strength, Madeline wormed her way across the dirt floor until she reached the scrap pile.

Her bound hands fumbled in the dirt, grasping a piece of rusted metal to saw at the ropes. But the edges were dangerously blunt, totally useless against the thick nylon.

Desperately scanning the floor again, her eyes locked onto a jagged shard of broken glass.

Shattered windshield remnants left forgotten in the dirt.

Madeline shimmied over, blindly securing the glass shard between her fingers, and began frantically sawing at the binding.

The glass sliced her skin, but she swallowed the sharp sting of pain, finally snapping the thick nylon cords around her wrists.

Just as she reached down to free her ankles, the harsh crunch of tires on gravel echoed outside.

Heart plummeting, Madeline gripped the sharpest glass shard tightly in her palm, dragged herself back to her original spot, and hid her hands behind her back, faking her bindings.

Heavy footsteps approached, and a man walked through the rusted door.

When Madeline saw his face, her eyes widened in absolute shock.

She recognized him.

"Awake, are we?" one of the men sneered, walking straight toward her.