San Francisco's autumn rain poured down increasingly ruthlessly as night fell. The heavy, thick drops of rain were like icy whips continually beating against human flesh. The deep, dark night swallowed up the brick-lined streets surrounding the ancient St. Jude Gothic school, turning the gravel roads that were originally peaceful into abyssal, blurred, and gloomy passageways beneath the continuously flickering sallow yellow streetlights.
Maya could not remember when she had dropped her old, worn ballet flats while climbing through the restroom window. She only knew that her bare feet were gripping tightly onto the ice-cold gravel surface. Every stride taken in flight was another burst of sharp, stinging pain: razor-sharp stones, broken bricks, and wood splinters thrown out from the continuous rain kept slashing open the soles of her feet, the insteps, and between her toes. Fresh blood seeped out, but the moment it touched the ground, it was quickly washed away by the pouring rainwater.
However, the physical pain at this moment was completely crushed by the surge of adrenaline wildly boiling inside Maya's throat.
With one arm she held up Mark's small body, and with the other she pressed the boy's head tightly against her slender shoulder, using her very own trembling back to shield him from the shredding gusts of wind. The five-year-old child's body trembled uncontrollably without stopping. His expensive uniform shirt was soaking wet, clinging tightly to his pale skin.
"Mark... hang in there, my child... be good... I am right here..." Maya gasped for breath, each breath escaping in milky-white wisps of steam before dissipating into the rainstorm curtain.
The heavy shoe soles of the hitman giving chase in the distance along with the clattering sounds of gunfire echoing inside her head prevented her from daring to stop even for a single second. Uncle Henry had sacrificed himself, exerting the tiny bit of remaining strength of an old veteran to hold back that brutal fellow. If she collapsed at this moment, the drops of blood of the old security guard would become completely meaningless.
Running for her life through three street blocks submerged in foggy darkness, Maya finally burst out onto the main avenue — where headlights of automobiles occasionally swept across the rain-soaked road surface. She nestled both teacher and student close beneath the dilapidated eaves of a locked grocery store with latched doors.
The storm wind sweeping past caused Maya to shiver continuously, her teeth chattering against each other into tiny, brittle clack... clack... sounds. Her hands trembled to the point of nearly dropping the old, rainwater-soaked cell phone out of her apron pocket. She hurriedly wiped away the rainwater on the flickering, unstable touchscreen.
"Ms. Maya..."
Mark raised his ash-grey eyes overflowing with tears to look at her. The child's face was deathly pale, his thin lips tightly pressed together from the cold, yet his gaze at this moment displayed panic mixed with urgency. The little boy raised his small, ice-cold hand to grasp Maya's hand, whispering faintly:
"Teacher... please call dad! Call my dad right now, teacher!"
The child's urgent pleading was like an awakening for Maya. She hurriedly tapped on Travis's phone number in her contacts — the number she still usually used to send daily reports on Mark's learning situation. Pressing the ice-cold phone against her ear, she heard the sound of her heart pounding violently as if wanting to explode.
Ring... Ring... Ring...
Three ringtones sounded, stretching long as though an entire century. The silence on the other end of the line made each passing second as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Click.
"I'm listening," Travis's familiar deep, warm, cold, and majestic voice sounded over the speaker. That tone immediately tore through the chaotic space around her, yet today, inside that voice originally composed by nature, there flickered a hint of tiredness alongside extreme alertness.
"Mr. Travis! It's me... Maya!" Maya felt as if she had grabbed onto the sole survival stake amidst the swift current. Her voice was choked up, rushed, seizing every short second: "There is an unfamiliar man wearing a black suit holding an eagle card who came to the school to pick up Mark... He said he was sent by you, but Mark insisted this person is not your man because he lacks the scar or tattoo as you instructed! Uncle Henry the guard rushed in to stop him... We climbed out the window and escaped outside, currently sheltering at 4th Avenue..."
The other end of the line abruptly went silent.
The silence stretched long for two full seconds. The atmosphere over the phone waves condensed to a suffocating, terrifying degree.
"I did not send anyone."
Travis's short, flat, yet ice-cold reply was like a bucket of icy water poured straight from the top of Maya's head down to her feet.
The bottom of her heart completely collapsed. The exquisitely gold-plated eagle card, the immaculate suit, the expensive leather gloves, and that oppressively calm composure... All of it was not parental irresponsibility, but a ruthless kidnapping conspiracy, meticulously planned down to the smallest detail targeting a five-year-old child!
"Listen carefully to me, Maya," Travis's voice over the phone abruptly transformed. Gone was the everyday distance; his tone became urgent, dignified, carrying the absolute commanding power of someone accustomed to giving orders: "Do not return to the school. Turn on your location and send your current GPS coordinates to me immediately. Then hail the nearest random taxi; I will text you a safe address for you to read to the driver."
Beep... beep... beep...
The call cut off abruptly. Maya used her trembling fingers to turn on GPS, quickly sending her current pin location over to Travis. In less than ten seconds, a reply message from Travis arrived with the address of a hidden coordinate situated deep within the suburban mountain region north of San Francisco.
Maya gritted her teeth tightly, holding Mark up as she rushed out right to the edge of the avenue. Amidst the blurred downpour, she raised her hand continually flagging down three automobiles gliding past. Finally, an old yellow taxi agreed to pull up to the curb, its headlights illuminating a patch of stagnant water.
The middle-aged driver poked his head out the window, knitting his brows tightly looking at the miserable, strange appearance of the teacher and student: a young girl wearing a rain-soaked, worn-shouldered shirt, bare feet dripping with fresh blood, holding a child dressed expensively but whose face was pale with fear.
"Hey girl, where are you headed?" The driver looked with extreme suspicion, his hand already placed on the steering wheel as if ready to step on the gas and drive away: "You two look like you just fled from a brawl or escaped from a detention camp? I don't want trouble!"
"Please, sir! Please help us!" Maya pleaded, her trembling voice on the verge of crying. She reached her bleeding hand into her apron pocket, pulling out a few crumpled, rainwater-soaked bills and passing them through the window, while quickly reading the coordinate address Travis had just sent: "This child is running a high fever; we need to get to this address urgently!"
Seeing the coordinate address located in the most expensive, private security area of the suburban mountain region — a place reserved only for the ultra-rich and tycoon families — the driver's gaze instantly transformed. The suspicion vanished, giving way to deference. He clicked his tongue, quickly unlocking the car door:
"Get in the car fast! In a storm like this, standing out there you'll freeze to death!"
The taxi sped away in the pouring rainy night, tearing through the dense fog, leaving behind the inner city of San Francisco submerged in colored lights to venture deep into the mountain range covered by dense, ancient pine forests.
Throughout the trip lasting over forty minutes, no one uttered a word to one another. Maya held Mark tightly in her lap, using the only dry towel in the car to dry the boy's hair. Both teacher and student sank into an exhausted silence, their eyes aching while staring at the long streaks of rainwater running down the car glass.
The narrow, winding road gradually brought the car up toward the hilltop. After passing through a sturdy iron gate that automatically opened amidst the pine forest, what appeared before Maya's eyes was an ancient Gothic castle, securely hidden in the midst of the vast forest. Upright grey stone walls, towering arched doorways, alongside warm yellow light emanating from stained-glass windows created a space that was both majestic and absolutely mysterious.
As the car came to a stop on the vast private stone carpet in front of the main lobby, the car door was immediately flung open from the outside.
A tall figure hurriedly rushed out into the rainstorm without carrying an umbrella.
It was Travis.
He wore a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, no longer having the immaculate, perfect appearance or the flat, expensive suit as during his previous appearances. His black hair was plastered to his high forehead from rainwater.
The moment he saw Mark step down from the back seat, the powerful man who had always kept a face as cold as ice instantly fell to one knee onto the rain-soaked stone carpet.
"Mark!"
Travis spread his arms wide, pulling the child into a tight embrace.
Maya stood beside them, staring blankly at the scene before her eyes. The large, sturdy hands of the tycoon chairman were trembling violently as he squeezed his son's small body to his chest. He buried his head into the child's small shoulder, letting out interrupted breaths overflowing with panic and ultimate relief.
For the first time since meeting him, Maya witnessed a completely different facet of Travis. No longer aloof and high above, no longer carrying a ruthless aura or the distance of someone holding the power of life and death in his hands — before her at this moment was merely a panicked, helpless father overflowing with deep, original love for his only son.
A long while later, when his breathing had stabilized again, Travis slowly stood up. He lifted Mark up, handing the child over to the old housekeeper who hurriedly ran out holding an umbrella to receive him.
"Take the young master to the medical room immediately. Check his body temperature and change him into warm clothes," Travis ordered in a low, deep voice.
"Understood, sir," the housekeeper carefully carried Mark inside the warm castle.
Travis turned around. His deep ash-grey eyes glided over the wet hair plastered to Maya's forehead, looked down at her rain-soaked, worn-shouldered clothes, and then rested for a very long time on her bare feet full of slashed cuts that were bleeding on the icy stone ground.
"Thank you, Maya," his voice dropped low, suppressing countless complex emotions and an immeasurable debt. "If not for your courage and clear-headedness tonight, I would have lost my only child."
Having said that, Travis unbuttoned the expensive woolen overcoat he was wearing. He took a long step forward, gently wrapping the oversized coat over Maya's shoulders that were shivering from the cold. The warm, luxurious, and pleasant scent of sandalwood from the coat instantly enveloped the young girl's body, dispelling the skin-piercing cold of the stormy night.
However, right after that, Travis's gaze abruptly became extremely solemn and gloomy. He looked straight into her eyes, raising his voice in a spine-chilling warning:
"However, teacher... you must clearly understand the current situation. That hitman has seen your face. He knows you are the person who ruined their meticulously prepared kidnapping plan. From this moment on, your life is in immense danger. St. Jude School, your lodging house, or any place you have ever been... is no longer safe."
Travis paused for a beat. The mountain wind blew past, making the hem of the woolen coat sway. He pinned his deep gaze tightly onto Maya, uttering a fateful offer:
"I want you to stay here. Inside this castle, under my protection, no one can touch you."
Maya paused in her tracks. The tycoon's offer placed her before a decision that would completely alter the course of her life.
