Huang Jiang's POV
The gunshot tore through the warehouse like a thunderclap, and my heart seized in my chest, a primal roar clawing up my throat as I lunged forward. "Yue!" Her name ripped out of me, raw and desperate, echoing off the rusted walls. I'd spent decades burying her—grieving her absence, blaming myself for every choice that drove her away—and now she was here, tied to a chair, Xie Liang's gun pressed to her head. I couldn't lose her again. Not now, not like this.
The room erupted into chaos. Wu Haoyu shoved Yanyan behind him, his body a shield as Yang Wei's man—Lao Zhang—tackled Xie Liang's lackey, the two of them crashing into a stack of crates. Wood splintered, dust choking the air, but my eyes stayed locked on Yue. She flinched at the shot, her bruised face twisting with fear, but she was alive—alive—and that was all I could cling to as the world spun out of control.
