Chapter 698

Chapter 698:

That bastard actually dared to harm her.

A beat of hesitation crackled over the line. “Ms. Hudson… those men were already taken by Mr. Noel’s people last night. And Sutton… well, he’s vanished.”

Sadie’s lips parted slightly in shock.

She slowly set the phone down, her fingers tightening around the sleek mask in her hand. She turned it over and over, unable to still the storm churning inside her.

In an abandoned factory in the suburbs, the thugs from the night before hung by their wrists, suspended like grotesque marionettes, their cries echoing through the rusting beams.

Just outside, a matte-black Maybach idled. From within, Noah watched—silent, detached, cold.

A man in black approached the car, his steps crisp and precise.

“Mr. Noel,” he said, bowing slightly. “Sutton’s inside.”

Noah stepped out, his movements deliberate. He took the wooden bat handed to him—no words exchanged.

𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁: ⲅⲁⳑ𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⫺𝖼𝗈𝗆

The factory was dark and wet, the stench of alcohol and rust in the air.

Sutton lay slumped in a chair, hands bound. Drunk and unaware.

Noah didn’t hesitate. He lifted the bat.

Crack!

The sound was brutal, final.

Sutton stirred, eyes fluttering open, fogged with alcohol and confusion. Shapes swam in his vision until one figure came into sharp focus—tall, composed, and terrifyingly familiar.

Noah stood over him, no mask, no disguise. Just cold, unforgiving clarity.

Sutton’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t even scream. He couldn’t. Terror strangled the sound before it could leave his lungs.

But… Noah was supposed to be dead.

Then who—what—was this?

Sutton’s eyes widened, the blood draining from his face. A cold sweat slicked his skin as reality began to twist around him.

Noah’s gaze shifted toward the bodyguard silently waiting beside him. His voice was ice wrapped in velvet. “Since Mr. Wall enjoys women so much… then let him enjoy himself to the fullest.”

“Understood, Mr. Noel.”

The title hit Sutton like a hammer. Mr. Noel?

Patrick was Noah?

No. No, that couldn’t be.

His head thrashed in disbelief, panic setting in like wildfire.

But Noah was already turning away, indifferent.

He didn’t even look back.

Behind him, the bodyguards stepped forward, blades drawn.

And then came the screams—raw, frenzied, helpless.

Noah slid into the back seat of the Maybach, closing the door quietly. “Mr. Noel, where to now?” the driver asked respectfully. “Ms. Burgess has been waiting for you, having called several times.”

Noah’s brow furrowed faintly.

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