The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 970

"Don't scare me!"

Dante feebly waved his hand, gesturing that he was fine. It took him a long time to catch his breath. Exhausted, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. In that instant, he seemed to have aged a decade.

When he finally spoke, his voice was terribly raspy, carrying the desolate grief of a fallen king and a profound sense of despair. "Letty... we... we have to find a way... We can't let... a century of the Langley family's legacy... fall into that bastard's hands..."

...

At the VIP terminal of a private airport, the night rain was coming down hard. It drummed relentlessly against the glass canopy, streaks of water snaking down the panes, blurring the runway lights in the distance.

Fitch Sherwood adjusted his tie for the hundredth time, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing his collar.

The mysterious man was about to land. Fitch took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic hammering in his chest, but his eyes remained glued to the end of the runway.

He had been communicating with this man over the dark web for so long. Now that he was finally going to see him in person, a strange, overwhelming nervousness gripped him.

In the distance, a sleek white private jet pierced through the curtain of rain, gliding silently down the tarmac like a ghost. The low roar of its engines grew louder before fading into a hum as the aircraft came to a perfect stop at its designated spot.

The moment the massive machine powered down, the only sound left was the pounding rain, making the atmosphere feel even more suffocating.

The cabin door opened, and the airstairs extended to the ground. A tall silhouette appeared in the doorway.

The man was dressed in an impeccably tailored black trench coat that seemed immune to the damp air. A silver metal mask obscured the upper half of his face, making it impossible to decipher his features.

Fitch thought to himself.

It was one thing to use a voice changer online, but did he really have to be this paranoid during a face-to-face meeting?

Of course, Fitch didn't dare voice these doubts aloud.

He quickly stepped aside, bowing respectfully as he gestured for the man to walk toward the VIP corridor.

Leaning in slightly, Fitch lowered his voice to a whisper, filled with cautious probing. He finally asked the question that had been keeping him awake for nights on end. "Sir, about... about the news from Northern Myanor. Callahan Langley and his people... are they truly dealt with this time? There won't be any... lingering problems, will there?"

Fitch stared intensely at the masked man, his eyes burning with a desperate need for confirmation, shadowed by the terrifying dread of hearing any uncertainties.