Chapter 715 Into the Trap

Just as Oscar turned to leave, Lily suddenly jumped up and shouted desperately at the guards, "Someone wants to harm me! Officer, someone’s trying to kill me! I demand protection, I want a restraining order!"

"Sit down! Quiet! If you keep this up we’ll use force!"

Behind Oscar, Lily’s head was shoved down against the table, held there firmly. She couldn’t move.

At the graveyard, Oscar tore stubbornly at the weeds, palms raw and bleeding without him even noticing.

His mind replayed Lily’s entitled rants over and over. And then, drifting through his thoughts, came the memory of that day years ago abroad, when Wyatt had helped him recover his stolen research data and even shared a drink with him afterward.

It haunted him in the dark of night.

Why hadn’t he told the truth then?

Good and evil pivot in an instant. In that moment, with guilt gnawing at him, he had chosen the easy lie, the quick relief. He hadn’t thought about the day it would all unravel.

People always deceive others and themselves.

He went on tugging at the grass, expression dull, not even aware of how long he’d been at it.

Yunice waited, watching from a distance. Ten minutes passed, then more. Seeing Oscar had no intention of leaving, she slipped away quietly. She would return another time.

Driving idly down the road, she wondered where to spend the night.

A wide-brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses hid her face, her features safely out of sight of street cameras.

Her wandering brought her near the Saunders villa.

The house stood locked, empty.

Yunice hesitated at the gate, but didn’t dare step closer. She hadn’t been gone long; Wyatt’s men might still be watching.

Better to find a hotel.

Not just any hotel. Avoiding Wyatt’s far-reaching net had taken careful effort.

She checked in without incident. After a hot shower, she sat in pajamas on the edge of the bed, eating fruit and flipping through channels.

The evening news ran its daily financial report.

Cooper Corp had secured its status as Silverburgh’s new powerhouse. Old families teetered, two-faced in public and private.

Business reporting was like a voyeur at the sewer grate, peering up at the grand houses above—conspiracies, guesses, half-truths spun into endless stories.

And then, as the segment shifted, Wyatt appeared.

Reporters swarmed him, cameras snapping. His bodyguards locked into a human wall, blocking every approach. Still, they caught a fleeting three-second clip of Wyatt’s cold face as he strode away.

Yunice pressed the remote.

By the time she realized what she was doing, the screen was frozen—Wyatt’s image locked there.

The camera should have added weight, but instead his cheekbones cut sharper than before.

He had lost weight.

“Breaking news,” the anchor interrupted. “Unconfirmed reports say Wellinges Pharma founder and president Wyatt has been attacked.

“Sources claim he cannot be reached. Company insiders refuse to comment. The situation remains unclear.

“As a leading figure in the Silverburgh Chamber, news of his disappearance has shaken the industry…”

Yunice’s hand tightened on the fruit bowl, brow furrowing.

What the hell?

Was he really under attack – or was this bait, meant to lure her out?

She had once pulled this exact trick on Oscar. Her first thought was that Wyatt was now turning it back on her.

Unable to chase her down, he would force her to come to him.

She rose abruptly and yanked open the curtains. Outside, the city glittered with lights.

Who could possibly hold Wyatt hostage?

He had people everywhere who would already be searching. Even if she went, what help could she be?

Her pulse jumped as she stared at the red dot frozen on her phone map. Two beats quickened – then her breathing evened again.

So what if it was a trap? Enough second-guessing. Do it.

She shoved her feet into slippers, ripped a thick coat from the wardrobe, and threw it on.

On her way out, her eyes caught on something propped in the corridor corner – a heavy iron rod, long forgotten and rusted.

She grabbed it. The cold metal bit into her palm, rust rough against her skin. But it steadied her.

By three a.m., the city lay under its deepest silence. Only scattered headlights pierced the empty roads.

Yunice’s car sped in the opposite direction, heading for the most desolate coordinates flashing on her screen.

The route climbed into the hills until the road ended.

She abandoned the car and pushed through dry grass, moving upward.

Signs of many feet littered the path – trampled branches, bent weeds.

Crouching, she picked up a small flashlight, precision-made, expensive.

Wyatt’s men had been here.