?Chapter 1229:


    “Without that ID, I might never have pegged you as a Morgan,” he said. “You used to be a good-looking kid. What happened as you grew up? But Maia… everyone said she would grow into a beauty.”


    Images of rtives, old household staff, and his father’s acquaintances flickered through Jarrod’s mind, yet none of those faces matched the man standing over him. A battered cap shadowed his brow, a thick beard swallowed half his face, and dark lenses concealed his eyes—clearly a deliberate disguise.


    The memories he shared of Jarrod’s childhood, and the way he still called Maia by her old name, proved that he had been nearby long ago.


    No one could say how many seasons he had lived among these trees or why he had chosen such istion, as if deliberately keeping himself hidden from the world.


    Jarrod forced out another weak, rasping question, his voice tight with pain. “Who are you, really?”


    The middle-aged man answered without ceremony, his tone t and dangerous. “I am a hitman. Only the dead deserve to know my true name. Want it anyway?” As he spoke, his hand drifted toward his boot.


    Noticing the heavy tread of his boots and the tactical straps, Jarrod remained perfectly still, every nerve stretched tight.


    In that moment, he felt utterly exposed and helpless,pletely at the mercy of the man looming over him.


    Then visions crashed into him: his parents lying in the ICU, the vows he had sworn, and Maia soon to be paraded beneath the bright lights of the g.


    His vengeance was still unfinished, and that thought sliced through his fear like a de. Staying here was impossible.


    Pain sharpened every word as Jarrod forced out another question. “You said it would take at least three days before I could leave?”


    “What, scared to stick around with me?” A mocking curl tugged at the man’s lips. “If you can walk, you’re free to go. But those wounds on your back are far from healed. They’ll split open and bleed before you even find the trail out of these woods.”


    No sooner had he spoken than Jarrod strained, painstakingly pushing himself upright despite the agony.


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    “Hey, are you deaf? Didn’t you hear me? Lie down again!” the man barked. “Don’t die here and drag me into your trouble.”


    A rasp tore from Jarrod’s throat as he gasped for breath. “But I can’t stay. I have to be at an important event tomorrow,” he said atst.


    Laughter rolled from the man like gravel. “Have you lost your mind? I already told you. You spoiled brats care more about appearances than anything else. Here you are, half crippled, and you still want to show up at some event? If you drop dead here and they send searchers, my hideout will be exposed. And if that happens, I won’t spare your family.”


    The contempt in his gaze hardened into a cold warning as he looked Jarrod over. “If you don’t value your own life, then at least think about your family,” he said, his voice heavy with derision.


    A faint, bitter smile touched Jarrod’s lips as he murmured, “You don’t have to worry about my family. They’re no longer here.”


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