To Love a Shadow, To Be the Sun novel Chapter 152

So he'd known about her and Brian all along.

Elara stared at him in shock.

Wayne arched an eyebrow. "What, you really expect your husband to save you? He defended that woman in public, made you wait on them hand and foot, and as if that wasn't enough, he all but told me you're nothing but collateral damage."

Elara forced a bitter smile, jaw clenched. "Go find Number 38. You're not getting anything from me."

Seeing her stubbornness, Wayne's expression darkened. He grabbed her head and slammed it hard against the tiled floor, then turned and walked out.

Elara slowly lifted her head, her eyes dull and unfocused—until, suddenly, a fierce will to survive blazed through them.

Why should she be the one to die, while the bad guys walk away unscathed?

Twelve hours. That was her window to escape.

She struggled to sit up, scanning the room.

There were security cameras, but she doubted Wayne would sit glued to the monitors all night.

A doctor's laptop sat on a table—likely with no internet access.

There was only one door in or out.

No handcuffs, no shackles. Wayne clearly didn't think she was a flight risk, or that she could call for help.

Eventually, her strength gave out. She collapsed, limp, on the floor.

After several rounds of electrocution, she couldn't even crawl anymore. This was a death trap—no way out.

…

Meanwhile, Summer was growing restless.

"Why don't we just pick up Pangborn and interrogate him?" she snapped.

Charles, changing clothes, shot her a look. "Who do you think you are—some mob boss? Or Brian?"

Summer glared at him, at a loss for words.

"We've already checked out his place—nothing unusual. You don't know where Pangborn comes from, and honestly, haven't you thought about our parents' future for once?"

Summer's heart twisted. "But Elara's in danger."

Charles, who'd seen his share of life and death, stayed calm and practical. "Look, Elara's adoptive family has no say in this. Her husband's side won't lift a finger. What can you do, as an outsider? Sure, help if you can—but if you can't…"

He paused.

Summer's hands curled into fists as she glared at him.

It was 5:30 a.m. Would anyone be at the computers at Ignition Dynamics?

Outside, footsteps—heels on marble stairs. Panic shot through her. No time to check if the message sent. She smashed the laptop and everything else.

Back at the office, Summer had just received the address and was about to respond—when the line went dead.

She jumped out of her chair, pulse racing.

Should she call the police, or Charles? Instead, she reached into her bag, pulled out a plain business card, and dialed the number for the secretary in Capital City.

…

6:00 a.m., penthouse suite, The Cloudcrest Hotel.

The secretary barely had time to comb his hair, let alone wash his face, before knocking on his boss's door.

The man was working out, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Miss Calloway just called me—asked for a small favor," the secretary reported.

The man pressed his lips together, waiting for more.

"It's nothing the police can't handle, really. But we've already run the DNA test twice—Miss Calloway isn't the person we're looking for. So…are we really going to get mixed up in this mess in Kingston City?"