Rising From the Ashes After Seven Years Wasted

When I reached the intersection outside the manor district, 12 black Rolls-Royce Phantoms came to a synchronized stop in front of me through the snowstorm.

The door of the car in the middle opened. Micah stepped out wearing a custom-made black overcoat. He strode toward me through the snow.

The moment he saw my thin clothing and frostbitten cheeks, there was a look of fury that surged rapidly in his eyes. He removed the overcoat that still carried his body heat and wrapped it tightly around me, pulling me protectively into his arms.

"How could Wayne let you stand in the snow dressed like this?" he fumed, clenching his jaw hard. His voice was thick with suppressed rage, and he looked heartbroken.

He apologized, "Sorry, Hillary. I came too late."

I leaned against his broad, reassuring shoulder. At that moment, I felt the warmth of family and affection that I hadn't experienced in so long.

I shook my head and spoke in a remarkably calm tone. "Not at all. Your timing was perfect. Let's go home, Micah."

He lifted me into his arms and carefully carried me into the back seat of the car. The heater inside was running at full strength. Sensation gradually returned to my stiff limbs.

The convoy turned around in the snowstorm and sped toward Saphira International Airport.

…

Meanwhile, the atmosphere inside Seyfried Manor had become unbearably tense. Wayne sat on a leather couch, holding a glass of red wine that had long since gone cold. He loosened his tie irritably, his eyes fixed on the antique wall clock.

The hour hand had already reached 11 on the clock. A full three hours had passed since he had thrown me out.

Carrying a plate of sliced fruit, Ingrid walked over and tried to lean into his arms.

She said, "Wayne, Hillary is just too stubborn. It's snowing so heavily outside. She's probably hiding somewhere, waiting for you to go find her."

Wayne shoved her hand away abruptly. The plate crashed to the floor, and fruit scattered everywhere. He rose to his feet and strode to the floor-to-ceiling window. Then, he stared out into the endless white that stretched on in the night.

For the past seven years, I had never been away from him for more than a single day. No matter how coldly he treated me after an argument, I would always bring a bowl of hot broth to his study the next morning.

He was convinced that I would never truly leave. Right then, he believed that the cold and snow would become so unbearable for me that I would end up kneeling outside the gate, crying and begging him to let me back in.

Yet, three hours had already passed, and there still wasn't any movement or commotion outside the door.

A strange agitation and overwhelming unease suddenly shot up in Wayne's heart.

Turning around, he roared at the butler, Greg Firth, who was standing in the corner. "Go open the gate! See if Hillary has frozen to death out there!"

Greg immediately rushed into the snowstorm with several bodyguards.

Ten minutes later, he came running back covered in snow, his expression extremely grim.

He reported, "Mr. Seyfried, there's no one outside the gate. We searched around the entire manor district, but even Ms. Waldram's footprints have already been covered by the snow."

The wine glass in Wayne's hand cracked under his grip. Clenching his teeth, he stared ahead with dark, menacing eyes.

"She's really gotten bold, hasn't she? Check the surveillance footage and find out where she went. And freeze all the bank cards under her name. Let's see how long she can survive out there without a penny to her name!" Wayne snarled.

Greg immediately went to make the necessary calls. A few minutes later, he returned carrying a tablet. His hands were trembling as he handed it to Wayne.

"Mr. Seyfried, the surveillance footage shows that Ms. Waldram got into a convoy after reaching the intersection. The license plates on those cars are reserved for the most powerful and influential families in Saphira," Greg said.

Wayne stared at the screen showing the 12 Rolls-Royces.

His pupils dilated sharply.