?Chapter 1389:


    Christina stood tall, unflinching, her eyes locking onto Ophelia’s bruised, swollen face. Her chest burned with fury, her killing intent sharpening by the second. These bastards had dared toy a hand on Ophelia.


    Her icy gaze fixed on the one-eyed man. “Was it you who hit her?” Christina asked, her voice low and lethal.


    “So what if it was?” the man scoffed, arrogance dripping from every word, confident she wouldn’t risk her hostage.


    “You’ll see,” Christina replied coldly, already deeming him a dead man.


    Her attention then shifted to the elderly figure beside him. The old man radiated authority, his calm demeanor paired with a disquieting smile that hinted at danger. He was clearly the one pulling the strings.


    “You went to all this trouble to draw me out,” Christina said icily. “What is it you want?”


    Howard’s face remainedposed, though a flicker of unease betrayed him. The killing aura she exuded was suffocating, unlike anything he had ever encountered.


    This woman was no ordinary opponent—no wonder she had single-handedly annihted a dozen trained thugs. Howard narrowed his aged eyes. He thought Darian had been a fool to provoke someone like her.


    Then his expression softened into a falsely genial smile. “Miss Jones,” he said smoothly, “I invited you here to discuss a deal.”


    “What kind of deal?” Christina asked, her grip tightening around her gun as her sharp eyes swept the surroundings.


    She was already prepared—her sniper was in position, ready to intervene at her signal.


    Howard lifted a hand and pointed toward Ophelia. “I’ll trade her—for my grandson.”


    “Your grandson?” Christina repeated, narrowing her eyes, a flicker of confusion crossing her face.


    “Hah!” Howard’s smile turned into a sneer. “Still pretending, are you? My grandson went after you with more than a dozen top-tier guards that night—and all of them vanished! You dare tell me it wasn’t your doing?”


    Christina finally realized that Howard hadpletely misunderstood her—he thought she had kidnapped his grandson.


    “Get out of here! Don’t worry about me… The Lloyds traffic people—they’ll stop at nothing… Argh…” Before Ophelia could finish, a man seized her by the hair and yanked her head back so viciously she thought her scalp would tear.


    The very next second, a deafening gunshot split the air. The man clutching her hair copsed instantly, a dark hole between his brows, his body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.


    Ophelia had only ever seen death on a movie screen—never this close, never this real.


    Her body went rigid, her heart hammering, her eyes wide with horror.


    It was terrifying. Every part of her quivered, her teeth chattering in shock.


    In a heartbeat, every gun in the room swung toward Christina.


    “Hey,” Christina called out coolly, her voice steady, “if you want your grandson back in one piece, tell your men to stay still.”


    .


    .


    .