He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 301

Over the next two days, Cillian tightened his surveillance on Sienna.

He seemed to have sensed something.

Though he never explicitly said it, Sienna could feel his heightened defenses.

Every time she looked up, she could catch those dark eyes lingering on her.

Like a hunter stalking prey, or a collector admiring a prized artifact about to fall into his hands.

On the morning of the third day, Sienna was painting in her studio.

The moment her brush touched the canvas, the door swung open.

Cillian stood in the doorway, backlit, his expression obscured in the shadows.

"Come with me."

His tone left no room for argument.

Sienna's hand paused over the canvas before she slowly lowered the brush.

"Where to now?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

Cillian turned and walked out without even a backward glance.

Sienna followed, a growing sense of dread pooling in her stomach.

The car sped along the highway.

The scenery outside the window shifted from the bustling downtown to a desolate, barren stretch of the outskirts.

Eventually, the car pulled to a stop in front of an abandoned factory.

The rusted iron gates were half-open, the ground littered with gravel and dead weeds.

Sienna stepped out and saw several luxury cars parked outside the factory.

All pitch-black, their windows tinted dark.

Her heart sank.

Walking into the factory, the lighting was dim.

Only a few broken fluorescent bulbs buzzed faintly overhead.

The air was thick with the smell of mildew and rusted iron.

Several men in black stood in the corners, bowing their heads in unison the moment Cillian entered.

Sienna's gaze landed on the center of the room.

There, a man was tied to a chair. His head hung low, his face obscured.

But she recognized that build—it was Barrett.

Cillian walked up to Barrett, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

He stared down at him, his voice as cold as ice.

"Tell me, who put you up to this?"

Barrett kept his head down, saying absolutely nothing.

Only his heavy, ragged breathing proved he was still alive.

"Not going to talk?"

Cillian slowly took a gun from one of his men behind him, his movements deliberate, as if he were doing the most mundane thing in the world.

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