Chapter 50
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Titus’s lips curled into a slow, calculating smile as Georgia spoke. She was undeniably more captivating than Laura–far more intriguing.
“I’ve heard you’re obsessed with money,” he said, eyes glinting behind gold–rimmed glasses.
Georgia lowered her gaze, silent. Everyone knew she’d sell her soul for cash.
Then she lifted her face, a cryptic smile playing on her lips. “Yes. That’s exactly why I agreed to risk my life.”
Titus’s smile broadened. “Four hundred thousand dollars. It’s a deal.”
Georgia’s face was plain, but there was something singular about her–a dangerous spark beneath the surface.
They shoved her into the transparent container. She clung to her soaked clothes, refusing to shed them. The water had already risen past her head, saturating the fabric, dragging her deeper under its oppressive weight.
At first, she could still blink underwater, watching the werewolves crowding around the glass, their expressions a mix of amusement and expectation.
Titus’s gentle demeanor–his neat gold glasses and calm voice–belied the thrill shining in his eyes. His smile was almost joyous.
But then Georgia’s breath gave out. She gasped sharply, inhaling water.
A violent cough seized her as the fluid invaded her lungs, Panic erupted. She flailed her arms, beating at the clear walls, desperate and frantic.
She could see their faces–smug, entertained–as they watched her choke and struggle.
In that suffocating moment, a dark thought crossed her mind: Maybe it’s better to die here.
If she died, the crushing debt of a million dollars would vanish. The guilt, the unbearable burden–gone. No more owing Maya her life.
She pictured Maya, dreaming of Hawall’s endless beaches, their promise of freedom. Maya hadn’t saved her only to watch her drown like this.
Georgia clenched her jaw and refused to surrender.
Mustering her last reserve of strength, she pounded a fist against the container’s side, opening her mouth to plead, “Save
me…”
Her voice dissolved into a swirl of bubbles. Her vision blurred as she hammered the glass with desperate fists.
She refused to die like this.
Hadn’t Titus promised they’d pull her out after three minutes?
Pain and suffocation gnawed at her, the drowning tightening its grip.
Then, as if summoned by sheer will, a familiar figure materialized before her eyes–Preston.
Was this some hallucination, her mind’s last flicker before death?
Why him? Why now?
She whispered his name with her closing eyelids: “Preston…”
When Preston returned, he hadn’t expected the nightmare unfolding before him.
Lorenzo rushed forward, inspecting the container. “Alpha Preston, the lid’s locked tight. The key doesn’t work.”
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