Delete My Love for You novel Chapter 248

A minute passed. Then five. Ten. Twenty.

The sea remained eerily still.

Darren couldn’t have drowned out there—could he?

The thought flashed through her mind, and all she could picture was Darren’s face before he plunged into the freezing water, his skin tinged blue from the cold.

She couldn’t tell anymore: was this gnawing dread because of the vital documents he’d gone after, or because of the man himself—the one who’d risked everything for her?

Suddenly—

A splash shattered the silence.

Darren burst from the water, scrambling onto the shore with agile determination. He shoved a perfectly intact thermal case into her hands, his teeth chattering so hard he could barely speak. “Check it… just in case…”

Charlotte let out a long breath, relief flooding her as she saw he was unharmed.

She keyed in the code, opened the case, and checked the crystals inside. Everything was safe. She snapped it shut and looked up, voice steady. “What about the other professors?”

Pulling out a custom waterproof phone from his pocket, Darren quickly called the mercenaries.

After a brisk exchange, he looked at her. “Don’t worry. I only hire the best—every professor’s been rescued. They’re scattered, but no one’s hurt.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a figure appeared in the distance. Darren’s eyes narrowed.

It was a local—tall, broad-shouldered, maybe around forty years old. He was bundled in thick fur, waving and shouting at them in a stream of unintelligible words.

Darren shot Charlotte a wary look. “You’re the linguist here—can you translate?”

Charlotte frowned. Linguist? He couldn’t possibly know about the chip… right?

Her chip covered a lot of languages, but the obscure ones were never included.

She took a wild guess. “He’s here to help us.”

But still, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

She looked at this once-proud man—now so subdued, almost pitiful—and found herself unprepared for the feeling. Was she being too harsh?

But then she remembered everything he’d put her through, and she pressed her lips together, refusing to soften.

The kindly local offered them shelter.

The northern village was a scattering of low wooden houses, warm firelight glowing from within. Inside one cottage, a fire crackled in the hearth, chasing away the cold that clung to their bones.

An elderly woman brought them steaming bowls of hearty stew, her gaze lingering on Charlotte, confusion growing in her eyes with every glance.

She even tried greeting Charlotte in the local tongue, to which Charlotte could only offer a polite smile and silence.

Afterward, out by the corner of the house, the old woman pulled the middle-aged man aside and whispered in their native language:

“Son, that woman you brought home… doesn’t she look just like the Griffiths’ lost daughter—the one who vanished twenty-five years ago?”