Breaking Mr. Cold (Giselle and Donovan) novel Chapter 833

"Let's go," Donovan urged Chris.

"Where are we going?"

"To pick up your son."

Chris froze when he heard those words. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see when we get there!" Donovan shoved him into the back seat of the car and ordered Hank to head to the destination.

Donovan looked too nonchalant. He acted as if this were a trivial matter rather than a mission to rescue a kidnapped child.

Chris became increasingly confused.

He pressed Donovan for answers. "What exactly do you mean? Where is my son? Are we just going to meet Kori single-handedly like this?"

"You'll know when we get there."

Donovan did not want to explain too much at this moment. His expression remained flat. He leisurely lit a cigarette, rested his elbow on the window, and blew smoke rings while admiring the scenery of the Gold Delta outside.

Chris was unable to decipher Donovan's true intentions. His mind raced in a frantic loop, alternating between calculated negotiation strategies with Kori and the paralyzing fear for Billy's safety.

He was now a nervous wreck.

The car drove for several hours before finally arriving in a small town within the borders of Lavoria. It stopped at the entrance of a local border inspection station.

Chris got out of the car and saw the station was filled with uniformed officers. There were over a dozen SWAT officers from Valanthea, as well as local Malithornian police.

Donovan got out of the car and walked straight toward one of the Valanthean officers. He smiled and patted the man on the shoulder like an old friend. "Great work. Are your men safe?"

However, Billy looked at Chris expressionlessly. He did not recognize his father at all. In fact, he tried to pull his hand away in disgust.

Donovan could not help but examine Billy closely.

Billy looked about six or seven years old. His body was thin and malnourished. His skin was tanned dark, and his clothes were dirty and torn.

However, his facial features were quite delicate. He had beautiful eyes with long lashes, but there was no sunshine or childhood innocence in them. There was only coldness and hostility.

Chris was still excitedly calling Billy's name. He examined every part of Billy's face while speaking. He touched the dirty cheeks, then the hands and body.

He stared, paralyzed, unable to bridge the gap between his nightmares and the reality before him. This was his own flesh and blood—Billy was alive, standing right there. Just seconds ago, he had been bracing for a bloodbath, his mind conjuring the most horrific outcomes; now, the child had appeared as if by a miracle, completely unharmed.

It all felt too surreal.