Left Them Loved Myself (Stella Spencer) novel Chapter 162

The Promise Buried in Ashen Rain by Liora E

Chapter 162

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The urgent footsteps grew closer, each one a hammer blow to Stella’s frayed nerves. She had just managed to pry a small gap in the window frame, but the sound sent a chill through her before any cold night air could slip in.

“Irene, don’t make a sound!” Stella’s face went pale. With all her strength, she shoved the nearly dislodged window frame back into place. She snatched up a trembling Irene and scrambled back into the corner, pressing her back against the cold, rough wall. She held her daughter tight, her expression instantly shifting to one of absolute terror and helplessness.

The rusty hinges groaned as the door swung open.

A heavyset man with a brutish face blocked the entrance, an axe in his hand glinting menacingly in the dim light. His dark eyes scanned the mother and daughter huddled together, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

This the kidnapper’s gruff voice broke the silence. “So, does that son of a bitch Ernest Lloyd even give a damn about his

as kid? I sent the text ages ago and haven’t heard a peep.” He brandished the axe, its blade reflecting a cold light across

ale face and Irene’s squeezed–shut eyes.

Sheart sank. She knew exactly where Ernest was right now–at the side of that woman, Sylvia Jansen, never leaving her for a moment. The bitter irony of it was suffocating. One woman was enough to command all his attention, leaving his own. wife and child to face this nightmare alone.

The kidnapper clearly wasn’t expecting an answer. He sneered and tossed a phone at Stella’s feet, kicking up a small cloud of lust. “Don’t say I never give you a chance,” he growled, taking a step forward, his heavy boots thudding on the floorboards. ‘Call Ernest Lloyd. Right now. If he answers, it proves you’re worth something, and the kid gets to keep all her limbs for now. If he doesn’t…” He dragged out the words, slowly raising the axe until its cold edge was pointed at Irene’s small, curled- ip body. “I’ll start by taking one of her arms as a down payment.”

‘No!” Stella’s heart seized in her chest. Fear coiled around her. She bit down hard on her lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood, just to stop herself from screaming. “Please… don’t hurt her!” her voice was a hoarse, broken plea. “Take me… take my arm! Just leave the child alone!”

Curled in her arms, Irene was already scared out of her wits, her face as white as a sheet. Hearing the words “take her arm,” the poor girl’s mind snapped. “Yes! Hurt her!” she shrieked, clutching at her mother as if she were a life raft. “Hurt Mommy’s hand! Don’t hurt me!” She burst into hysterical sobs.

The kidnapper scoffed as if he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. His eyes were dripping with scorn. Just like her father. Cold and selfish to the bone.” He looked at Stella with renewed interest. She seemed to have not even heard her daughter’s words, her eyes fixed on the axe, her body rigid. “Interesting,” the kidnapper said, arching a brow with malicious curiosity. “Are you really his wife? Ernest is so devoted to another woman while his ‘loving‘ wife and child are… here.”

With Irene’s outburst, there was no point in hiding her identity anymore. It would only make him more suspicious. Stella closed her eyes in resignation and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, her face was a mask of numb calm, “Yes. I’m his… wife. The last word was a bitter, self–mocking pill she forced herself to swallow.

“So, she said, rallying her strength and clinging to a sliver of hope, I’m more valuable to him than my daughter is. Can’t you… let her go first? She’s so little, I’m afraid…”

“Bullshit!” the kidnapper roared, his eyes flashing with violence as he thrust the axe toward her. “Stop playing games with me! Make the call! You waste any more of my time, and you both die! He lifted his foot, threatening to stomp on the phone.

Stella didn’t dare hesitate. She lunged for the phone. The cool metal was slick with her sweat, and her fingers trembled uncontrollably. Taking a shaky breath under the kidnapper’s venomous stare, she opened her contacts and found the name that was etched into her very soul, a name she had never bought herself to call–Ernest Lloyd

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Beep… Beep…

The monotonous dial tone echoed in the dead–silent room, each ring a hammer blow to Stella’s heart. She pressed the phone to her ear, her palm clammy, her mind racing. ‘How can I stall? How can I get a message out? How can I get Irene out

of this hell?

No answer.

After an eternity, the call went to voicemail. The screen went dark, and with it, the last flicker of light in Stella’s eyes.

“Dammit!” The kidnapper’s patience was gone. “You’re his wife and he won’t even pick up your call?!” He strode forward, the blade of the axe nearly touching Stella’s nose.

A wretched smile crossed Stella’s face, uglier than a sob. “He… he never loved me. Our marriage was a mistake from the start.” A wave of despair washed over her.

“A mistake?” the kidnapper snarled, his eyes murderous. “So you’re worthless to him?! Then what’s the point of keeping you

round, wasting air?!” He raised the axe high, its cold glint blinding as a deadly aura filled the small space.

As death loomed over her, Stella screamed, her voice sharp and distorted with panic. “Give me one more chance! I….

ay! I can reach him! I’ll call his grandfather! Sebastian Lloyd! Ernest will listen to his grandfather!”

The axe froze in mid–air. The kidnapper narrowed his eyes, weighing the value of this new information. After a few seconds he slowly lowered the blade, though the lethal threat remained. “You’d better not be playing me,” he warned, tapping Stella’s forehead lightly with the axe. “Your lives are being measured in seconds now.”

“Okay! Okay!”

Clinging to her last hope, Stella unlocked the phone with a shaking hand. Under the kidnapper’s cold watch, she quickly found Sebastian’s number and pressed dial.

Meanwhile, across town.

Jeremy paced his room, his phone screen opens to his chat with Stella. The last message was his, sent two hours ago: [Text

me when you’re home safe.]

He had called her repeatedly, only to be met with the cold, automated voice of her voicemail.

‘No, he thought, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. ‘Something’s definitely wrong!’

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