Chapter 1390:


    Before the words even settled, he lunged forward. “Give me the phone. Now!”


    All pretense of civility vanished as he reached out, rough and frantic, trying to rip the device from her grasp.


    Rosanna jerked back, trapped by his hand mped around her arm. Panic surged through her, hot and blinding. On instinct, she twisted and sank her teeth into his flesh.


    “Ah!” Ss’s scream split the night. He recoiled violently, stumbling backward. Already missing one shoe, he lost what little bnce he had and crashed onto the pavement. Under the washed-out moonlight, he stared in disbelief at the deep bite marks swelling on his hand, blood gathering in thin, trembling beads.


    But Rosanna didn’t run. She didn’t even hesitate. With the fury of a cornered creature, she threw herself at him, knocking him t again and wing wildly at his face. Her nails raked across his skin, and before he could shield himself, she leaned in and bit hard at his ear.


    Through clenched teeth, her voice came ragged, feral, almost unrecognizable. “Tell me—where the hell is Austen?”


    Ss had never been humiliated like this. One shoe gone, his hand bleeding, his cheek burning with fresh scratches, and his ear—God, his ear—felt like it was hanging by a thread.


    And Rosanna, the trembling woman from moments ago, had be a storm made of desperation and raw grief. Her small frame trembled with adrenaline, giving her a strength that terrified him.


    “Stop! Stop! I’ll talk—just get off me!” Ss bellowed, writhing beneath her.


    But she didn’t loosen her hold. If anything, her fingers only dug harder into his throat. Ss felt her breath hot against his cheek.


    Even muffled, her threat was unmistakable. One wrong answer and she’d rip his ear clean off.


    Cornered by sheer madness, he choked out, “O-okay! I’ll tell you!”


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    But even then, the instinct to lie clung to him like a second skin. “Austen is my best friend,” he rasped, scrambling for a convincing lie. “I know about the two of you—just let go already!”


    Rosanna’s grip didn’t budge. Her gaze—wild, broken, feral—made the truth m into him: he couldn’t talk his way out of this. Not with reason. She was past listening.


    Swallowing hard, he shifted tactics—tell her the truth now, and then deal with herter. “The reason I have Austen’s phone…” His voice dropped, trembling despite himself. “It’s because—he’s already dead.”


    The world detonated inside Rosanna’s mind. A deafening, imaginary thunderp tore through her—splintering the fragile hope she’d been clinging to.


    Somewhere deep inside, she had feared this. The messages from Austen had felt wrong for days… distant, hollow, like they came from someone else entirely.


    Her intuition had whispered it.


    But hearing it spoken aloud…


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