Entangled in the Night: Unable to Escape Him-Chapter 85: Brother, Save Me

Upon hearing this voice, Chloe reached out, trying to give Silas Prescott a hint, but her arm simply wouldn’t rise.

Chloe weakly lifted her head, "Brother, save me."

But her voice was too soft to be heard in the noisy port.

Eventually, Chloe could no longer hold on and passed out.

Silas Prescott searched around the port but found no trace of Chloe.

There were countless containers here, and he simply couldn’t check each one.

By the time he finished checking, Chloe would already suffocate.

Silas Prescott tightly clenched his fists, the veins on the back of his hands becoming more sinister.

His black shirt was already soaked with sweat.

Even his usually neat hair became unkempt and messy.

He knew that if he couldn’t find Chloe tonight, she was likely in grave danger.

The thought of this possibility made the redness in Silas Prescott’s eyes grow heavier.

He shouted hoarsely, "Chloe."

His voice was drowned out by the noisy port sounds along with the sound of the waves.

The dispatched personnel came over to report: "President Prescott, there’s nothing found on that side."

"President Prescott, there’s nothing eastward either."

Silas Prescott’s face became increasingly pale.

The air he inhaled felt like it was filled with shards of glass, piercing his chest with unbearable pain.

He swallowed hard, his tone frantic: "Keep searching, don’t come back until you find her!"

Everyone set out again, leaving Silas Prescott staggering alone.

At that moment, a floodlight unexpectedly lit up at the port.

The light painfully stung Silas Prescott’s eyes.

He instinctively bowed his head to avoid the glaring light.

Yet, just as he lowered his head, a shiny little object caught his eye.

A silver earring set with a blue diamond.

The diamond, under the light, refracted dazzling rays.

Seeing this, Silas Prescott froze entirely.

Even his breathing stopped at that moment.

He remembered these earrings belonged to Chloe; she had been wearing them during her hospital stay over the past few days.

Silas Prescott felt like someone stranded in the desert finally stumbling upon a source of water.

Eagerly, he squatted on the ground to pick up the earring.

Chloe’s earring being here meant she must be nearby.

Silas Prescott clasped the earring tightly in his palm, not feeling a bit of pain despite it piercing his skin.

A hoarse sound escaped his throat.

"Chloe, don’t be afraid."

He immediately opened the nearest container.

The door swung open, light pouring into the container.

Silas Prescott instantly spotted the frail, curled-up figure inside.

He rushed in like a madman.

He wrapped Chloe tightly in his embrace, his voice trembling as he called out, "Chloe."

Chloe had lost consciousness long ago, without a single reaction.

Silas Prescott felt her cold body, and he lowered his head to kiss Chloe’s cheek: "Chloe, I’m taking you away now, please don’t give up, okay?"

He bent down and carried Chloe in his arms, running madly towards the parking lot.

As he ran, he pleaded: "Chloe, you can’t die, I have so many questions I haven’t asked you yet."

He was running so breathlessly, losing a shoe without realizing it.

Upon reaching the parking lot, the others hurried over too.

Silas Prescott appeared like a demon emerging from the night, carrying a cold and fierce aura.

With reddened eyes, he commanded, "Find that kidnapper at all costs."

With that, he carried Chloe into the car.

Hoarsely, he instructed, "Drive, hurry!"

The assistant floored the gas pedal, speeding away.

Silas Prescott had the assistant turn on the heater, wrapping Chloe tightly in a coat.

The May weather, combined with the car’s heating, soaked everyone through.

Silas Prescott’s hair dripped with sweat.

Yet, he held Chloe constantly, refusing to let go.

The burning palms continuously caressed Chloe’s cold cheeks.

Remaining in a low-temperature environment for too long, it’s not easy to regain consciousness.

It could lead to brain death if mishandled.

Soon, Chloe was rushed to the hospital.

Medical staff had been waiting at the entrance and immediately rushed over when they arrived.

"President Prescott, let us handle her."

Silas Prescott was drenched, with sweat dripping off his angular jawline.

His voice was urgent and hoarse: "You must save her."

The director nodded: "We will do our best, rest assured."

Chloe Nash was wheeled into the emergency room.

Silas Prescott stood at the door, feeling as if a thousand arrows pierced his heart at that moment.

He seemed to return to the night five years ago.

When he came back from a business trip, carrying gifts into the house, what he saw was several pages of letters Sienna Paxton left for him.

She said, Brother, I’m sorry, I’ve left. I hope you will take good care of yourself and wish you all the best in the future. Let’s part ways here.

These were the last few words of the letter, and also the ones that hurt Silas Prescott the most.

Every word was like a knife stabbing into his chest.

His Sienna, in the end, left him behind, and it turned out his Sienna didn’t love him at all.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have left him without a second thought.

That night, Silas Prescott searched every street and alley, but couldn’t find a trace of Sienna Paxton.

He knelt alone in the rainy night, continuously calling out Sienna Paxton’s name.

Recalling these memories, Silas Prescott felt a chill over his entire body.

Why did he feel the same about Chloe Nash?

He clenched his fist tightly, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the emergency room door.

He didn’t even dare to blink, for fear he would miss any information.

At that moment, rapid footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Mr. and Mrs. Nash came stumbling forward.

Grabbing Silas Prescott’s arm, they asked tearfully, "How is Chloe?"

Silas Prescott, like a puppet, said in a daze, "I don’t know, she’s undergoing emergency treatment."

Hearing this, Mrs. Nash covered her mouth, tears slipping through her fingers.

Silent crying is often the most moving.

Mr. Nash held her shoulders tightly, softly comforting her, "Don’t worry, Chloe will be okay."

Mrs. Nash looked at him with tearful eyes, "Husband, I’ve already..."

She wanted to say she had already lost Chloe once and couldn’t bear to lose her again.

But the words stopped in her mouth, swallowed back down.

Because no matter what, she must protect Chloe’s origins.

The hallway was so silent that every person’s breathing could be heard.

Nobody knew how much time had passed before the emergency room door opened.

Several people immediately rushed to the doctor, nervously asking, "Doctor, how is she?"

"The patient has claustrophobia, combined with prolonged exposure to low temperatures, causing her to remain unconscious. But she is out of danger now. As for when she’ll wake up, it’s just a matter of time."

Hearing this, Silas Prescott staggered a few steps, leaning heavily against the wall.

When he saw Chloe being wheeled out by the nurse, he immediately rushed over and grabbed her hand.

In a hoarse voice, he said, "Chloe, don’t worry, I will definitely find the person who hurt you."

Chloe was taken to the ward, where Mrs. Nash helped clean the dirt from her face.

Silas Prescott stood there watching for a long time until his phone rang, prompting him to leave.

His assistant’s voice came through the line: "President Prescott, we’ve caught them. They claim to be relatives of those who died in the bridge collapse."

Upon hearing this, Silas Prescott’s expression instantly turned grim.

The case had already been made public, Vincent Nash was released without charges, and the one responsible for those deaths was Sean Sawyer.

The relatives seeking revenge should go after him.

Silas Prescott spoke in a low tone, "I’m on my way."

Hanging up, he walked into the ward, nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Nash, and said, "Uncle, Aunt, I’m leaving Chloe to your care. I’m going to investigate."

Mr. Nash looked worried: "Be careful."

"I know," Silas said.

Then he stared at Chloe for a few more seconds before turning to leave.

The kidnappers, a man and a woman, were covered in bruises, yet they refused to speak.

They took all the blame upon themselves.

When Silas Prescott walked in, this was the scene he saw.

With a gentle expression, he approached, bent down, and with a clear gaze, stared at the woman, saying: "They’re so senseless to have treated you so harshly, causing you to bleed so much."

His long, slender fingers held a silver needle, and with a gentle look, he said, "Not like me. When I hit people, they don’t bleed."

With that, he gripped the woman’s finger and precisely inserted the silver needle under her fingernail.

The piercing pain made the woman lose control and scream.

Silas Prescott’s once gentle expression now turned sinister and terrifying.

He lightly twisted the silver needle with his fingers, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"You can’t stand one needle. If all ten fingers were stabbed, what do you think would happen to you?"

Leisurely, he took another silver needle out of the box and, without hesitation, pierced another finger.

The anguished wails echoed throughout the darkness.

The woman couldn’t endure the excruciating pain anymore. Shaking, she spoke, "Stop, please stop, I’ll talk."

"The mastermind behind it is Mrs. Sterling."