Freya’s POV

By the time I snapped out of my daze, we had already arrived at the same amusement park we went to on our anniversary.

The roller coaster, still hanging midair from the earlier accident, remained unfixed. In one swift motion, Rodney wrenched my daughter out of my arms.

“Tell me where Harper is,” he growled, “or you’ll regret it!”

Clutching my daughter tightly, he boarded a helicopter. As it rose higher and higher, my heart lurched. And then—without a shred of hesitation—he placed Farrah back into that same faulty roller coaster.

She had already been traumatized by it once.

Now, she wailed uncontrollably.

Her cries tore through me, each sob shredding my chest. Watching the roller coaster sway slightly under his manipulation, I could barely breathe.

“I don’t know anything, Rodney!” I screamed hoarsely. “I don’t care who kidnapped Harper—just put my daughter down now!”

I was nearly hysterical.

But the tender, doting father from earlier was gone. In his place stood a cold, unfeeling man, his expression like stone as he deliberately rocked the car.

“I’ll give you ten seconds,” he said flatly. “And I’ll keep shaking it harder each time I count.”

True to his word, he increased the force.

I stared at my daughter, her sobs breaking into hiccups, my nails digging deep into my palms. He showed us no mercy—none at all. My chest ached so violently I thought I might faint.

Seeing her tiny body tremble, her cries nearly turning into convulsions, my tears finally spilled over.

“Rodney, I truly don’t know! I have no idea where Harper is! Please, just bring our daughter down—she can’t take this anymore!”

My plea didn’t move him in the slightest. He simply kept counting, voice as cold as steel.

“Eight.”

Just earlier, at home, he had apologized for what happened on the roller coaster.

And now—because of Harper—he had become the executioner, personally threatening us.

I broke into a scream. “Rodney! Go check! Look at the surveillance footage! I didn’t kidnap Harper! Please, let Farrah go! She’s your child too! She’s about to collapse! I’m begging you—please!”

I even dropped to my knees in desperation.

But he didn’t so much as glance at me. The cold, relentless countdown continued.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I scrambled toward the roller coaster, trying to climb up.

He watched me with icy detachment.

Just as the countdown neared its end, my fingers brushed the edge of Farrah’s car. My heart leapt—I reached out without a thought for my own safety, desperate to pull her free.

But in the next instant, Rodney yanked me back onto the helicopter, and, with a sharp crack, he slapped me hard across the face.

“Are you insane? Climbing that high—what if you fell?”

For a brief moment, his eyes betrayed a flicker of worry.

But I could no longer believe in him.

Gripping his sleeve, I choked out, “I’m begging you, Rodney. Do whatever you want to me. Blame me for kidnapping Harper if you must. Just let her go—I’ll take Farrah’s place in that car if that’s what you want.”

He gripped my sleeve tightly, roaring, “For the sake of that bastard you had with Macsen, you’d even throw away your life? Then why did you marry me?!”

With that, he shoved me toward one of his bodyguards.

“I won’t let that bastard live. You’d better tell me where Harper is, or else, I’ll make that bastard pay with her life!”

I thrashed against their hold, tears streaming freely.

“I really don’t know! After we got off the roller coaster, we went straight home! I never had the chance to kidnap Harper! Farrah’s your daughter, Rodney! You can do a DNA test if you don’t believe me! But please, let her go now!”

I wailed, throwing my dignity into the dirt for him to trample.

And still… he refused to believe me.

Freya’s POV

Rodney heard my words. But instead of calming down, his fury only intensified. With a sudden and violent shove, he pushed hard against the roller coaster car.

Farrah had already lost consciousness completely. Her small body began sliding toward the edge.

Beneath her was nothing but a thousand-meter drop. One fall, and there would be nothing left of her.

A madness took hold of me. I struggled like someone possessed, desperate to pull her back—but the hands restraining me refused to loosen.

Rodney merely stood there, watching my frantic struggle with cold detachment, as though he were watching some circus performance.

At that moment, I understood—he had never once truly cared about me or our daughter.

“I’ve already done the paternity test, Freya,” he said, his voice cruel and unyielding. “Your words mean nothing now.”

He announced that false result with merciless finality.

I couldn’t understand why the paternity test—false as it was—had turned his attitude so vicious. But I was certain, beyond all doubt, that my daughter was his flesh and blood.

Before I could speak, his phone rang again. It was his assistant.

A flash of urgency crossed Rodney’s face. He answered quickly, and because he stood so close, I could hear every word.

“Sir, we’ve located Ms. Driscoll. She was being held in an abandoned factory. Luckily, we got there in time. If we didn't, I’m afraid her child wouldn’t have made it. She’s been sent to the hospital now.”

The moment he heard the child was safe, the tension in Rodney’s face eased.

But when his gaze swung back to me, it turned cold again—cold and full of rage.

“I never imagined you could be so vicious, Freya. You’ll pay for this.”

“No! It wasn’t me! You can investigate if you want! It wasn’t me!”

Panic surged through me. I clutched at the leg of his trousers, desperate for him to believe me.

But he kicked me away without hesitation. And then, before my horrified eyes, he struck the final blow to my daughter, who was barely clinging to the car.

“No!”

I watched her slip away, falling from the roller coaster.

With the last of my strength, I broke free from the grip holding me and hurled myself forward, ready to follow her—ready to leave this world with her.

But a hand shot out from behind me, seizing me in a crushing grip.

I turned my head to see Rodney, the veins in his arm bulging as he dragged me back. Remembering how mercilessly he’d just treated our daughter, I bit down hard on his arm.

But he didn’t let go. Even through the pain, he pulled me all the way back into his arms.

He held me tightly, his tears falling hot against my neck.

“It’s fine,” he whispered harshly. “That little brat is dead, and that’s how it should be. Only with her gone can we start over. This… This is the price you had to pay.”

I thrashed and fought with everything I had, but his strength was overwhelming.

As darkness closed in on me, my unwilling eyes searched the ground below—desperately, hopelessly—trying to catch even the faintest glimpse of my daughter.

Freya’s POV

When I woke again, my gaze met the stark white ceiling above me. Ignoring the weakness that still clung to my limbs, I tried to push myself upright.

But before I could, a long and strong hand reached out from beside me and pressed me firmly back down.

It was Rodney. The faint crescent-shaped bite mark I’d left earlier was still etched into his wrist.

His brows furrowed as he forced me back against the pillow, and then he reached for a glass of juice.

“Drink some juice first,” he said.

I pushed his hand aside without a second thought, my voice urgent. “Where’s my daughter? Where is she?!”

He answered as though I hadn’t even asked. “Not a fan of cranberry? I’ll have someone bring another.”

My patience snapped. I knocked the glass from his hand, sending the dark red liquid splattering across the floor.

“You murderer!” I screamed. “Where is my daughter?!”

His expression darkened instantly. Rage flashed in his eyes as he slammed a fist into the wall.

“Daughter, daughter—she’s all you ever think about! Let me tell you—because of you, Harper was frightened and lost so much blood she’s on the verge of collapse! Until you make amends, I will never let you see that bastard again!”

My heart twisted like a blade was buried inside.

“She’s not a bastard,” I rasped, my throat raw. “She’s your child!”

But Rodney’s gaze was as cold as iron, unmoved by my pain.

“That brat is in the emergency room right now,” he said flatly. “If you don’t apologize to Harper, I’ll order the doctors to stop trying to save her.”

The words knocked the air out of me. I slumped back onto the bed, my voice trembling.

“Fine… I’ll apologize to her.”

For a moment, his expression faltered—surprise flickering in his eyes—but just as quickly it was gone, replaced by that familiar, impenetrable mask.

In silence, I let him drag me toward Harper’s hospital room.

We hadn’t even stepped inside when chaos erupted from within. Rodney’s assistant burst out, panic written across his face.

“Sir, the doctor says Ms. Driscoll has lost too much blood—she needs an immediate transfusion!”

Rodney froze, then whipped around as if a thought had just struck him. Without warning, he yanked me into the room.

“Doctor! Use her blood!”

The doctor frowned, glancing from me to my hospital gown. His eyes widened.

“Sir, that patient is already anemic. Drawing her blood could put her in serious danger. We can easily request compatible blood from the bank—”

Rodney’s voice cut like ice.

“I’m not asking for your opinion. Just do as I say.”

Under his unyielding demand, the thick needle pierced my arm.

I shut my eyes tight, forcing myself to endure the dizziness. I only wanted this over with. The sooner it was done, the sooner I could see my daughter.

Rodney reached as if to smooth the deep furrow in my brow, but I turned my head sharply away.

“Freya,” he murmured, voice low and falsely gentle, “I know you’re in pain, but this is you paying for what you’ve done. Bear with it. It will be over soon.”

I didn’t so much as glance at him.

When it was finally over, my body gave out. I collapsed weakly onto the floor.

As he moved toward the ward door, ready to rush to Harper, I forced my voice out, hoarse and faint.

“Now… can I see my daughter?”

Even then, seeing me like this, he only scowled.

“You care so much for that brat,” he said coldly, “but you still haven’t apologized to Harper. Until you do, you won’t see Farrah.”

I no longer had the strength—or the will—to remind him that my daughter was his own flesh and blood.

Four more days—just four more days, and I could take her away for good.

When that day came, Rodney would never again be her father!