novelraw Chapter 371: The Sacrifice of Blood
Chapter 371: The Sacrifice of Blood
Ethan had departed early, leaving behind a deathly silence that seemed to devour the very walls of the house. Helen remained seated by the window, staring into the emptiness of the street. her mind was a whirlwind of guilt and desperation.
"How can I be so selfish?" she asked herself, tears carving tracks through the dust on her cheeks. "To let my son breathe fresh air, I have to let his father rot in the dark. I am abandoning him... I am killing him while he still breathes."
She felt the weight of a debt that couldn’t be paid with currency. She looked at her hands and then at her reflection in the glass. Etienne had done everything. He had moved mountains, faced the system, and provided a roof over her head. In her heart, Helen had already accepted the price. If Etienne asked, she would not refuse. She would surrender her body, her will, and whatever remained of her soul; after such generosity, saying "no" felt like the ultimate betrayal.
A sharp knock on the door shattered her internal monologue. Upon opening it, she found two men in dark suits. The metallic glint of FBI badges stole the air from her lungs.
"May we come in, ma’am? We have some questions for you," said the agent, his voice icy.
"You got here fast," said Helen, leaning against the doorframe for support.
"Well, you disappeared overnight and then suddenly resurfaced. I hope you didn’t think we’d just forget about you," said the other with a cynical smirk.
Helen sighed, tilting her head toward the sky as if searching for a strength she no longer possessed. "What is it you want?"
"Only the truth. We want to know if your husband funded the terrorist attack on the federal facilities and the transport truck. The other day we told you we’d bring proof, but you vanished. This time, we have it," said the agent, extending a thick envelope.
Inside were invoices, photos of clandestine meetings, and printed emails. The evidence was irrefutable, assembled with precision she couldn’t even begin to question.
"I know it’s hard, but think carefully about your answer, ma’am," continued the official. "We know you’re being protected by important people now, but you should know that you can drag them down with you. If you cover for your husband knowing this, you’ll be an accomplice. And the people helping you... well, they could be charged with terrorism too. Make a choice: stand firm for a terrorist, even if he is your husband, or do the right thing."
Three days later. The air in the courtroom was stagnant with tension. Vincent, her husband, sat at the defense table, looking haggard and confused. Across from him, the prosecutor paced like a predator.
Before entering, a new lawyer had approached her in the hallways—a man sent by Etienne.
"Listen to me carefully, Helen," the lawyer had whispered. "Everything is set for your son to be released today. But there is a catch. The court doesn’t care about your son, or you, or justice. They need a trophy for the public. Someone has to fall. If you stay silent to protect your husband, the state will make an example out of your son. The choice is yours: your husband or your son."
Now, Helen stood on the witness stand. The prosecutor stared her down.
"Ma’am, tell us the truth under oath. Did you know your husband was planning this attack against the state?"
Helen looked at Vincent. He looked back with love, with the desperate hope that she would be his salvation. Then, she remembered her son—young, with his whole life ahead of him, waiting behind the bars of a neighboring cell.
"Forgive me, Vincent," she thought, closing her eyes tight. "But I won’t lose him too."
"Yes," said Helen, her voice breaking but firm. "He... he did it all alone. He is guilty. My son and I knew nothing until it was too late."
A collective gasp rippled through the gallery, but it was drowned out by a choked, animalistic sound from the defense table. Vincent didn’t scream; he didn’t protest. He simply withered. He looked at Helen, his eyes searching hers for a flicker of the woman he had loved for twenty years, but he found only a wall of weeping stone.
The betrayal hit him with a physical force greater than any blow he had received during his arrest. He felt his heart stutter, a jagged pain blooming in his chest as his world collapsed into a thousand jagged shards. His breath came in shallow, ragged hitches until his eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward, his head hitting the table with a sickening thud.
"Vincent!" a bailiff shouted, rushing forward.
"Order! Order in the court!" shouted the Judge, slamming his gavel repeatedly. "Bailiffs, clear the gallery! Get the medical team in here immediately!"
The room dissolved into chaos. Paramedics rushed through the side doors, hoisting Vincent’s limp, unconscious body onto a gurney as they shouted about a cardiac event. Amidst the shouting and the frantic movements, the Judge adjusted his robes, his face grim as he looked at the record.
"Based on the testimony provided and the evidence submitted by federal authorities, this court finds the defendant, Vincent, guilty on all counts of domestic terrorism. Sentencing will be deferred pending his medical stabilization," said the Judge.
Helen didn’t wait to hear the rest. She stumbled out of the witness stand, her legs feeling like lead, and pushed through the heavy oak doors of the courtroom. She collapsed against the cold marble wall of the hallway, her face buried in her hands, sobbing with a violence that shook her entire frame.
"Helen! This way, please. Don’t stop here," said her lawyer, grabbing her arm and guiding her toward the main exit where a crowd of reporters was already beginning to gather.
As they reached the bottom of the stone steps outside the courthouse, a sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the harsh afternoon sun. The door opened, and a tall, commanding figure stepped out.
Ethan moved through the crowd with an air of absolute authority, reaching Helen just as her knees were about to give out. He caught her in a firm, protective embrace, pulling her head against his chest.
"I’m so sorry I’m late, Helen. I wanted to be here for the start of the hearing, but I had to leave the country on urgent business. I only just touched down this moment. Please, forgive me," said Ethan.
His voice was a low, soothing baritone that seemed to shield her from the flashes of the cameras and the prying eyes of the world. Helen clung to his expensive coat, her fingers digging into the fabric as if he were the only solid thing left in a world of ghosts.
"He’s... he’s gone, Etienne. I killed him. I killed him to save our son," said Helen, her voice muffled by his chest.
Ethan stroked her hair, his eyes scanning the crowd with a cold, predatory sharpness that vanished the moment he looked down at her.
"You didn’t kill him, Helen. You chose life. You chose your son. You did the hardest thing a woman could ever do, and I’m going to make sure it was worth it. Let’s get you home. Your son will be waiting for you there by evening," said Ethan.
He ushered her into the back of the SUV, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back. As the door closed, sealing them into the quiet, leather-scented luxury of the vehicle, Ethan allowed himself a small, invisible smile. The past was buried, the husband was broken, and the mother and son were now entirely his to command.
Ethan pulled Helen closer as the car sped away from the courthouse. He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm and authoritative.
"Take us home," said Ethan.
Falcon 0, the Royal member behind the wheel, gave a sharp, disciplined nod. He knew exactly which safe house had been prepared. He navigated the city traffic, the engine of the modified SUV purring as they raced toward the quiet neighborhood.
The drive was a heavy shroud of silence, broken only by Helen’s muffled sobs. She sat huddled against Ethan’s side, her world having just splintered into a million jagged pieces. Ethan didn’t say much; he simply kept his arm around her, his hand slowly and rhythmically stroking her back to offer a false sense of sanctuary.
As he felt her trembling against him, Ethan’s amethyst eyes stared out the tinted window, cold and predatory.
If I just wanted to fuck you, this would be too easy, thought Ethan. I could tell you to open your legs right here, right now, and you’d do it, you pathetic bitch. You’d do anything I asked because you think I’m the only light left in your dark world.
He glanced down at the top of her head, his expression a mask of perfect, staged sympathy while his internal monologue remained razor-sharp.
But if I just wanted sex, any of my women back home is more beautiful, more delicious than you. No... this isn’t about lust. I’m going to lift you up to the heavens. I’m going to make you feel like a queen, adored and protected. And just when you’re about to touch the sky... I’m going to drag you down into the deepest pits of hell. Just wait a little longer. This stew is almost cooked to perfection.