Minutes later, the truck rolled to a stop in front of the mansion.
As they climbed down, a woman was already waiting for them.
Mrs. Hugh.
Her sharp eyes swept over them slowly, judgment dripping from her gaze.
Malia stepped forward first.
"Excuse me," she said politely. "Do you work here? I have an order for—"
She glanced down at the delivery list in her hand, double-checking the name.
"—Mrs. Hugh."
Mrs. Hugh scoffed loudly.
Before she could say anything else, Daphne recognized her and hurried over.
"My apologies, ma'am," Daphne said quickly. "Your cosmetics are right in the back."
Mrs. Hugh gave a short, humorless laugh, her eyes roaming over them again.
"Since when do women do deliveries?" she said coldly. "It's usually men who bring my goods."
Her gaze lingered on Malia."And you," she added with a sneer, "you're not doing a very pretty job. You're lucky I'm in a good mood today. Otherwise, I'd have you fired."
With that, she turned and started walking inside.
"Have the cosmetics delivered inside immediately," she ordered without looking back.
Malia's hand shot up instinctively, raised as if she were about to smack her."Mwen sipozè.."
Daphne immediately stepped in front of her, grabbing her attention.
"Malia," she whispered urgently, "calm down. We can't get caught right now."
Malia clicked her tongue, lowering her hand.
"That wench better count herself lucky," she muttered. "Come on. Help me load the goods."
They moved to the back of the truck and opened the boot.
Both of them froze.
Boxes—so many boxes—stacked tightly together, filling the entire space.
They stared in disbelief
"All this cosmetics," Malia said slowly, "for just one person?"
Daphne frowned.
"No… I don't think so. We still have other deliveries. Check the list."
They both looked down, scanning the names carefully.
Then they realized it.
Mrs. Hugh owned most of them.
Malia groaned.
"How on earth are we supposed to find all her stuff?."
Daphne placed her hands firmly on Malia's shoulders. "We won't. We'll just take everything inside. It's not like we're actually going to deliver the rest."
Malia's eyes widened.
"Take everything inside? By ourselves? That could take the whole day!"
Daphne shook her head calmly."We won't take everything," she said quietly.
"Remember why we're here in the first place."
Malia paused… then nodded.
Without another word, they began packing.
Deep within the underground prison ring, a single room pulsed with restrained brutality.
Jason and Brandon were strapped to metal chairs, wrists bound tight. Two guards stood behind them, stun batons pressed in place.
At Mr. Hugh's subtle nod, the current surged. Muscles locked. Breath fractured. The room filled with strained silence broken only by restrained pain.
Another signal. The guards stepped back.
Mr. Hugh approached slowly, shoes echoing against the concrete.
"You're still not going to talk?" he asked calmly.
Brandon lifted his head, blood at the corner of his mouth. A weak smile tugged at his lips. "Go to hell."
Mr. Hugh laughed softly. He stepped back—then lunged forward, his fist crashing into Brandon's face. Once. Twice. Again. He removed his watch mid-motion, handing it off without looking, and continued until Brandon's head lolled to the side.
He grabbed Brandon's hair and forced his face up.
"It's a shame," he said mildly. "The silence makes this so much more enjoyable."
His gaze dropped to Brandon's hands.
"I wonder how long you'll scream when I start taking pieces of you."
Before he could continue—
"Sir."
Aiden stood at the doorway. "Lucien Carrington just arrived."
Mr. Hugh froze. Slowly, he straightened.
"Carrington?" His jaw tightened. "He wasn't due until Wednesday."
"He says it can't wait."
A long breath. Mr. Hugh rolled his neck once, irritation barely contained.
"Fine. This can wait."
He retrieved his watch, then paused beside Brandon. "I heard what you did," he said quietly. "To that girl." A thin smile.
"I'll return the favor."
Then he turned and left. The guards followed, the door slamming shut behind them.
Silence.
Brandon exhaled shakily. "Man… what a nightmare." He glanced at Jason. "You still with me.
Jason didn't answer immediately. His eyes were distant.
"I'm fine," he said at last. "Just… thinking."
Lucien Carrington entered the estate with ease, Aiden guiding him inside. Hugh and his wife were waiting.
"Armstrong," Lucien said warmly, opening his arms. "Nonm mwen—konmen tan i yé dépi nou pa wè?"
Mr. Hugh smiled—but his eyes stayed cold. He ignored the hug and offered a handshake instead. "I bon wè'w osi."
Lucien turned smoothly to Mrs. Hugh.
"Madanm Hugh—toujou bel, kon tout tan."
She smiled politely.
"We were meant to meet tomorrow," Mr. Hugh said flatly. "Why the sudden urgency?"
Lucien waved it off with a laugh. "Kalmé kò'w. I heard your son was taken… and returned. I hope he's well."
Mr. Hugh's glare sharpened. "And where did you hear that? That information was classified."
Lucien didn't answer directly. "What matters is—he's back."
Sensing the tension, Mrs. Hugh intervened.
"Why don't you stay for breakfast? You haven't seen the children in a while."
Lucien nodded. "Mwen té ké enmen sa."
As they moved toward the dining hall, Mrs. Hugh discreetly instructed a servant,
"Bring Hannah and Liam. Now."
Nearby, Daphne and Malia entered quietly, packages in hand.
Daphne scanned the room. "They've got company."
Malia leaned in. "Which means the family's distracted." Her eyes sharpened. "This is our chance."
Daphne set the package down. "Then we move. Now."
They slipped outside.
"Where do we start?" Daphne asked.
"The back of the estate," Malia replied.
A beat.
"Better if we split up," Daphne said.
Malia nodded. "Cover more ground."
As Daphne turned away, Malia caught her wrist.
"Be careful."
Daphne met her gaze, nodded once.
They both carried a package, knowing if they were caught, they'd just say they were delivering goods and lost their way. Daphne's eyes flicked to the back—two men, moving suspiciously. Without hesitation, she followed.
They stopped in front of a worn tombstone. Daphne crouched behind a nearby bush, heart pounding. What are they doing? she thought, trying to stay silent.
The men scanned the area, then pressed a hidden button on the stone. A slot for a code flickered into view. Daphne leaned forward, straining to see, but the angle was wrong—she couldn't get a clear look. The tombstone swung open, and the men slipped inside.Daphne rushed over, but it was already too late—the door had slammed shut.
Daphne cursed under her breath. Darn it… how am I supposed to get the codes now?
She tugged at her hair in frustration, then froze. An idea hit her like lightning. She tore open the package she was holding, frantically searching. Please let it be here… please…
Her fingers closed around a small vial. Powder. Relief washed over her. Quickly, she poured it over the hidden button mechanism, the fine dust settling in the grooves. A faint outline shimmered—fingerprints.
Her lips curled into a triumphant grin. Yes… this is it.
She pressed the buttons, carefully matching the order of the fingerprints.
"3…5…7…0…1."
Nothing.
She groaned, frustration mixing with anxiety. She tried again, faster this time.
"7…0…1…5…3."
Still locked.
One final attempt. If this didn't work, the alarm would sound, and she'd have seconds to react. Daphne closed her eyes, took a steadying breath, and whispered to herself,
Come on… come on…
"0…7…1…5…3."
The tombstone clicked open. She nearly screamed, quickly clamping her hand over her mouth. Her heart raced as she shoved the package inside, glancing nervously at the stone—it was starting to swing shut. With a last surge of adrenaline, she ducked inside just as the tomb sealed behind her.
She was in. The underground prison ring.
Lucien Carrington tore into a chicken wing, grease glistening on his fingers. Mrs. Hugh wore a strained smile. Mr. Hugh glared openly.
Liam sat stiff, eyes fixed on his plate. Hannah scrolled through her phone as if nothing else mattered.
Lucien finally discarded the half-eaten wing and leaned back, studying Liam like prey wrapped in sympathy.
"Liam, my boy," he said softly, almost tender. "You've been through hell. What those people did to you… truly tragic. I can't even imagine."
Liam opened his mouth to speak—
Mrs. Hugh cleared her throat. A warning.
Liam swallowed, then forced a small, careful smile. "I'm fine now."
"Ah ha, sé sa menm!" Lucien laughed, clapping his hands.
Mr. Hugh's patience snapped. "Enough. Say what you came to say."
Lucien waved him off and reached for another wing. "Armstrong, this is a dining hall. Business can wait." He chewed thoughtfully, then nodded at Mrs. Hugh. "This is excellent."
"Our chef is exceptional," Mrs. Hugh replied.
Mr. Hugh groaned.
Aiden rose quietly, signaling a guard to take his place before slipping out of the room.
Deep underground, Daphne moved like a shadow.
The prison breathed around her—metal, sweat, violence. Her pulse hammered in her ears as guards passed within inches. She pressed herself into darkness, barely daring to breathe.
A roar erupted ahead.
The ring.
They'd already started a match.
So Malia was right, Daphne thought grimly.
This place is real.
Her foot brushed metal.
A sound.
A guard turned.
Daphne bolted into the nearest room, slammed the door shut, and clamped a hand over her mouth as footsteps closed in.
"Mwen sav ou la," a voice snarled. "Montwé kò'w!"
The door creaked open.
A hand seized her.
Daphne spun, gripping a jagged piece of wood, ready to strike—
—but the grip loosened.
"Atann… atann!"
She froze, breath shaking.
"Scream," Daphne whispered, voice trembling but firm, "and this ends with your face on the floor."
The guard slowly removed his mask.
Malia.
Daphne nearly cried out.
Malia clamped a hand over her mouth. "Shh. Not too loud." She waited, then slowly pulled away.
Daphne nodded. "How?" Daphne whispered. "How did you get the uniform?"
Malia exhaled. "Luck. And violence."
She leaned in. "I searched the east wing but I found nothing. Then I followed your trail. Found the tombstone. Saw the powder."
"And?"
"I got caught."
Daphne stiffened.
"The guard questioned me. I played dumb told him the delivery excuse but he didn't buy it." Malia's eyes hardened. "So I didn't hesitate In a flash I hit his neck. Dropped him like a pro."
She straightened slightly, proud. " Brandon taught me that."
"Brandon? When did he—"
"Hush." Malia raised a finger. "I dragged the guard to the truck, stuffed him in a crate, took his clothes, and walked back like I belonged here and man it wasn't easy carrying that guy in a crate."
Daphne listened, breath held.
"That's when Aiden stopped me. Looked at me too long when suddenly he hold me to follow him. Inside the tomb, he stationed me there."
Daphne's blood ran cold. "Aiden… the one Liam warned us about."
"Yeah and he noticed the device," Malia said quietly. "Even after you wiped it clean, a few specks of dust was still clung to it. He rubbed his fingers together—but said nothing. Just finished the code and went in."
Silence.
Then Daphne spoke, low and urgent. "That's not good."
Malia nodded once."Yeah."
Daphne clenched her fists."Then we don't waste another second. We have to find Jason. We find Brandon. Now."
Malia's hands tightened around the collar of her stolen uniform. "But how the hell are we supposed to keep moving like this? I can barely keep it together pretending to be one of these animals."
Daphne paused, eyes flicking over the chaos of the place. A moment passed, and then her lips curled into a knowing smile. Her fingers tapped against the bag of cosmetics she held like it was an answer to a question nobody had asked.
"I think I've got an idea..." Her voice was low, but her words carried with them the cold edge of certainty. "This place is crawling with goons—no one's going to look twice if we blend in. All we need is the right clothes and a little confidence."
Her gaze locked onto Malia's. "We use what we've got around us. The uniforms, the gear... we just have to dress the part."
She lifted the package of cosmetics in her hand, as if the plan had just fallen into place.
Malia's lips twitched into a smirk, and despite the tension in her chest, there was a spark in her eyes. "Let's get changed."
The air was thick with the hum of violence as they blended into the crowd.
Shouts echoed. The crowd's feral energy fed into the ring's madness. Daphne's eyes flicked over to the fight, heart skipping when she saw blood pouring from one of the opponent's mouths. The next moment, the man was stabbed—over and over—his screams muffled by the roaring crowd. His body crumpled in the ring, and the spectators surged forward, ravenous, desperate to get a closer look.
Daphne's breath caught.
"What the hell is this place?" She whispered, eyes scanning the bloodthirsty mob. "These people… are they even human?"
A voice cut through her thoughts.
"Psst, Daphne."
Malia's voice was a low, urgent whisper.
Daphne turned toward her.
"They're everywhere," Malia murmured, eyes darting around. "Guards, all of them.
And the prisoners—look, they all have collars. We're the only ones without them."
Daphne's stomach churned as she took in the sight—every man, woman, and fighter in the arena wore the same, thick metal collars, the kind that bit into flesh and didn't let go.
"Collars," Daphne echoed, the reality settling in her chest. She stiffened, scanning their surroundings. "What are we supposed to do? They'll spot us a mile away."
"Just don't make a scene," Malia advised, her voice still low, but sharp. "Now, come on. This way."
The crowd was tight, aggressive, pushing, shoving. The air was thick with sweat and blood. They edged their way through, dodging elbows and eyes that burned with hunger. Somewhere nearby, a man yelled out, "Those new prisoners sure know how to fight. Probably the big man's new pet—they're keeping them in the back, I heard."
Malia's eyes narrowed, a quick nod in Daphne's direction, and they moved faster, sinking deeper into the crowd.
Meanwhile, inside the cold, concrete cell...
Jason's muscles screamed in pain as he dislocated his thumb to wriggle out of the handcuffs. His body was stiff, but desperation cut deeper than the pain.
He was moving, and that was the only thing that mattered.
Suddenly, the door creaked. Jason snapped his head up, ready for another round of interrogation, but the figure that stepped through was not what he expected.
Aiden.
Jason's eyes narrowed, voice low and skeptical. "What? Came here for round two?"
Aiden didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. He just walked forward, pulling something from his back. Jason's instincts kicked in. His mind went straight to defense mode—he tensed, ready to move. But instead of a weapon, Aiden dropped to his knees in front of him.
Ropes.
Loose.
Tight.
Aiden started untying Jason's legs, the tension in his jaw clear as he worked quickly but calmly.
"What are you doing?" Jason's voice was sharp, demanding. "I didn't ask for your help."
Aiden didn't respond at first, his hands working with practiced efficiency.
"Don't ask questions. We don't have time."
Jason's impatience flared.
"Why the hell are you doing this? Answer me!"
Aiden finished with his legs and moved to the handcuffs, working them loose without a word.
"Answer me, damn it!" Jason's voice rose, frustration seeping through. He shot to his feet, instantly dropping into a fighting stance, eyes never leaving Aiden. He wasn't trusting this—not after everything.
Aiden paused, staring up at him, his expression unreadable.
"You're not the only one with a past, Jason," Aiden muttered, voice low. "We don't have much time. You want answers, you'll get them later."
Jason's hand tightened into a fist, but he didn't strike. Not yet.
Aiden moved over to Brandon, still unconscious, his face battered and bruised. He worked quickly, loosening Brandon's restraints. Brandon groaned as he regained consciousness but struggled to his feet, swaying.
"Is that you, Grandma?" Brandon muttered, dazed.
Aiden shot him a cold look. "Your friend took more of a beating than you did. And it's clear he's losing it. We need to leave. Now."
Jason wasn't convinced. His gaze was cold, locked onto Aiden's every move. "I'm not following you unless you tell me exactly why you're helping us."
Aiden turned, eyes catching Jason's with an edge of finality.
"Because I'm doing Simon one last favor," he said, voice raw. "You were like a brother to him. It's my fault you're in this mess. After Simon died, I broke my promise to him—I promised to take care of you. So now I'm doing what I should've done then."
Jason's breath caught, his chest tightening.
Aiden's voice softened, but the hard edges never left.
"We don't have time for this. Let's move. We can't stay here."
Jason swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling a cold weight settle in. "I see."
Aiden gave him one last look, then turned toward the door, leading the way.
They moved fast.
Meanwhile Daphne and Malia had to keep their heads down as they cut through the chaos of the prison yard, but they weren't the only ones moving fast. Daphne's heart hammered in her chest as the clock seemed to tick louder.