Chapter 141 The Familiar Handwriting
The voice coming through the cracked phone speaker remained intensely sharp and cold.
"Who is this?"
Veyra’s heart slammed against her ribs, her fingers tightening around the damp glass of the phone. The freezing rain continued to pour down around her, soaking her clothes, but she forced her voice to stay calm and steady.
"I am just a passerby," she said into the receiver. "I was walking through the forest and stumbled across a man lying in the mud. He has been shot multiple times, he is bleeding heavily, and he desperately needs medical help."
There was a sudden, heavy silence on the line. After a long moment, the man spoke again. His tone was still guarded, but the edge of panic was carefully hidden.
"Where exactly are you located right now?"
"I am not entirely sure," Veyra replied, wiping the rainwater from her forehead. "Somewhere deep in the silver Mist Forest, near the base of the eastern ridge."
Another brief pause followed. In the background, Veyra could hear the quiet, rapid tapping of a computer keyboard. The person on the other end was clearly using satellite tracking to trace the location of the phone she was holding.
"Listen to me carefully," the old man’s voice commanded firmly. "Stay right where you are with him. Do not attempt to move him and do not leave his side. We are dispatching a rescue team to your exact coordinates immediately."
"Understood," Veyra said. "Please hurry."
The line went completely dead with a sharp click.
Veyra let out a long breath, lowering the phone to her lap. She looked down at the pale man lying in the grass beside her. His breathing was shallow, his lips were blue from the cold, and his cloudy eyes were still staring blindly into the pitch-black sky.
She knelt back down in the mud, taking his icy, trembling hand into hers. Using her index finger, she gently traced several letters straight onto his open palm, spelling out the message as clearly as she could.
C-A-L-L-E-D. H-E-L-P I-S C-O-M-I-N-G.
Down in the dark grass, she felt the rigid muscles in his shoulder relax just a tiny fraction. The intense tension holding his frame together finally eased, accepting the message.
Veyra pulled her jacket closer around her shoulders and sat quietly beside him in the mud, shielding his face from the heavy rain as they waited for the rescue team to arrive.
The vivid memory gradually faded away from her mind.
Veyra blinked several times, snapped back to the present moment by the sharp sound of the front door clicking open.
She was sitting comfortably on the soft leather sofa in the middle of her living room. Her old, worn leather notebook was resting flat across her lap, open to the page displaying those shaky, crooked numbers written three years ago.
Dorian walked slowly into the room.
He looked completely exhausted, his dark coat slightly damp from the night air outside. His handsome face was unusually pale, his jaw was set tight, and his gray eyes appeared cold and distant.
He gave her a tiny, formal nod in greeting, a brief, polite acknowledgment before walking toward the study. Nothing more.
Over the past few days, the emotional distance between them had stretched wider than ever. He had been gone for almost a week without a word, and the moment he walked back through the door, he seemed like an entirely different person. Colder, more guarded, and completely detached.
It was obvious he had made up his mind. He had cut off any unspoken connection between them, choosing to view her strictly as the mother carrying his child and nothing else.
Veyra quietly pushed the stinging thought out of her mind. She had her own goals, her own career, and her own life to live. She did not need his warm approval or his affection to survive.
"There is something I need to tell you," she said softly, breaking the silent atmosphere in the room.
Dorian stopped dead in his tracks, pausing near the edge of the rug before turning around to look at her.
"It is about Wesley," she continued, her tone steady as she kept her gaze fixed on him. "And the Ravenwood Society. I know you are actually their largest hidden shareholder."
A subtle flicker of surprise passed through Dorian’s gray eyes. It was clear he had not expected her to know anything about his shadow business dealings.
"Wesley told me everything," she added, closing her notebook with a soft thud. "He also explained your secret efforts to help the Ravenwood Society unite all the rival gangs across Etran City."
Dorian remained completely silent for a few long seconds, his face turning into a hard, unreadable mask.
"I am not going to repeat this to anyone," Veyra stated clearly, holding his gaze without backing down. "I just thought it was better to let you know that I am aware of what is happening behind the scenes."
He studied her face carefully, searching for any sign of deception. Finally, he spoke, his voice low, deep, and measured.
"The Ravenwood Society was necessary to help me consolidate my power years ago," he explained plainly. "They control the hidden supply lines through the Black Triangle, and they provide me with intelligence I cannot get through legal channels."
Veyra nodded calmly. "I understand why you did it."
Dorian turned his back on her, walking toward the high glass windows that overlooked the city lights below.
"The mercenaries who tried to assassinate me three years ago in the forest," he said, his voice dropping into a harsh, bitter key. "They came directly from the Black Triangle. The Ravenwood Society has been working for years to help me hunt down every single man responsible for that drop."
He placed his hands deep into his pockets, staring out at the dark sky.
"I have never publicly acknowledged my tie to that organization," he warned quietly. "And I never will."
"I know," Veyra replied softly. "Your secret is completely safe with me."
Dorian turned back around to face her, his sharp gray eyes full of heavy, serious weight.
"If the public or the board ever uncovers my connection to the Ravenwood Society, it will unleash a massive disaster on the entire Thorne family enterprise."
Veyra met his serious gaze with absolute confidence. "I give you my word, Dorian. I will not say a single word to anyone."
He gave her another firm nod, satisfied with her response, before turning back to glance at the dark window.
Suddenly, Veyra’s phone vibrated loudly on the glass coffee table beside her.
She picked it up and glanced down at the glowing screen. It was a new text message from Xavier Lala.
The private meeting is set for tomorrow morning at 10 AM sharp. Make sure you are not late.
A small, confident smile touched her lips, and she quickly typed back a brief reply: I will be there on time.
She set her phone back down on the wooden surface and leaned back against the sofa cushions.
Dorian had already finished saying what he needed to say and was now walking slowly toward the hallway leading to his private room.
As he crossed the rug, his heavy boots brushed right past the wooden coffee table.
His sharp eyes naturally cast downward, landing straight on the open notebook resting on the edge of the wood.
The page had slipped open again, displaying the jagged, crooked numbers written in dark blue ink.
Dorian’s boots came to an abrupt halt.
The color instantly drained from his face. His gray eyes widened in complete shock, and his entire body went completely rigid in the middle of the quiet room.
He stood there, frozen, staring down at those messy, handwritten digits.
Those numbers looked terrifyingly familiar.