Chapter 222:
Upon arriving, she rushed to Trent’s door and knocked on it urgently. Silence answered her.
“Trent? Trent, open the door! It’s me, Trent!” she called out, her voice blending with the sound of her knocks.
When no one answered, she kept knocking and pulled out her phone to call him.
Just then, her call connected, and she heard a familiar ringtone echoing from inside the room. It was unmistakably Trent’s.
In that charged moment, her heart clenched with a rising tide of worry. Beyond his role as a luminary in the legal world, Trent was the designated heir to the influential yet notoriously faction-ridden Seymour family. His past was littered with perilous confrontations, often finding himself targeted due to his heritage.
This time, he had ventured to Jeucwell without the usual retinue of bodyguards or aides, his only companions being staff from the local branch.
The thought sent shivers of unease down Freya’s spine, her anxiety mounting with each passing second.
“Trent!” Her voice echoed a bit more desperately through the corridor. Just as she reached out to the front desk for assistance in breaching the stubborn door, it swung open abruptly. Heart pounding, Freya hastened into the engulfing darkness of the room, guided only by the dim light of her phone.
“Trent?” she called out tentatively, her voice a soft tremor in the pitch-black void.
Without warning, a figure lunged, a bat swinging menacingly toward her head.
Instincts honed by necessity, Freya’s hand shot up in defense, snatching the weapon mid-air. With a fluid, practiced motion, she twisted the bat free and flung her assailant over her shoulder. The blow landed with a sharp thud, followed by a cry of pain from the floor.
Freya abruptly realized she had walked into a trap.
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The revelation hit her when Trent called her “Mina,” her childhood nickname. This familiar term had initially disarmed her suspicions, as only a select few in Alerith—childhood friends and certain family members—knew it well.
The notion of someone masquerading as Trent had never crossed her mind.
With a swift move, she stepped on the hand of the assailant and demanded in an icy tone,
“Who are you, and where is Trent?”
Beneath her, the assailant squirmed and wailed,
“Captain! Help me!”
His voice was twisted with agony.
“Ah! I can’t take it—it hurts like hell!”
The desperate cries resonated through the air, and suddenly, the curtains were yanked away, unleashing a cascade of bright sunlight into the room. This sudden burst of light forced everyone to instinctively cover their eyes.
In that fleeting second of vulnerability, the hidden assailants launched another assault on Freya.
They seized the opportunity, exploiting the brief blindness as their eyes struggled to adjust from dark to light—a natural human reflex to shield oneself from abrupt illumination.
Amid the chaos, a bat aimed for Freya, but with remarkable reflexes, she caught it effortlessly.
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