?Chapter 1622:


    The group discovered five vehicles two hundred meters into the dense jungle. Ethan ordered the group to take all the cars, leaving none for Gracie.


    Since Gracie was bold enough to go after Brenna, she would face severe consequences; her survival was left to chance.


    Brenna bandaged the two injured men, and the group left the area, taking the dead mercenaries’ bodies for their families.


    Gracie, alone, staggered along the deste highway. Her fever raged, her body frail and burning.


    Convinced death was near and unable to walk any further, she copsed by the road, awaiting her end.


    Eventually, she passed out.


    Yet, when she awoke, she found herself in a soft, warm bed, an IV dripping above her. Tears of relief poured down; she couldn’t fathom who had rescued her.


    She felt her strength slowly return. She was happy that she was still alive.


    Who could have saved her?


    She pondered, and only one name came to mind—Hector. No one else would have ventured to that dangerous ce.


    The thought sent shivers down her spine.


    Hector was sly, ruthless, and unpredictable. Back in Plomond, during her marriage to Waldo, Hector had even boldly proposed remarriage in front of her husband.


    She remained baffled by his intentions.


    Terror seized Gracie at the thought of him. She ripped out the IV, flung off the nkets, and bolted to the door.


    When she opened it, she spotted a tall, lean man in the living room, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette.


    It was indeed Hector.


    She dashed back, mming the door shut, and rushed to the window, only to see they were high in a towering building in a vibrant city, cars streaming below on a broad street.


    This ce was probably a hotel.


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    Just as Gracie was contemting her escape, Hector entered the room with a faint smile on his face. “Gracie, why did you run away after you saw me?”


    “Following our separation, I miss you daily, Gracie—you must know that. Among all the women I’ve known, none matches your skills in bed; you’re unmatched. I deeply regret letting you go. Let’s remarry. Behave, and I promise never to hit you again, okay?”


    Hector’s breath,ced with whiskey and cigarette smoke, exuded a menacing aura. His sharp, predatory eyes fixated on Gracie’s face, marked by scratches from dense forest undergrowth. Her vulnerable, injured appearance only intensified his desire to control her.


    Seizing her hair, he yanked her toward the mattress and forcefully stripped off her jacket.


    Gracie was paralyzed with fear. Her past experiences had silenced her resistance—she knew defiance only brought brutal beatings. During their marriage, Hector’s cruel behavior in the bedroom had often left her incapacitated for days.


    She dared not challenge his violent nature. “Please, I’m injured. Can we wait until I’m better?” she begged softly.


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