NovelEnglishThen, there was the sound of a scuffle, punctuated by the chilling whispers of a silenced gun.
Lizetta knew that was Dora, buying her tto escape. She didn't dare look back.
She slipped through a hidden door, quickly scrambling down a narrow path behind the house, running towards
the northern woods as Dora had instructed. Dora said someone would meet her there, and Lizetta believed her.
Clutching her belly with both hands, her head bowed, lips bitten, she sprinted towards the woods, her heart filled
with terror and concern.
She wondered if Dora could handle those men. What if something happened to her?
And she was terrified for her unborn child's safety.
These men couldn't be from the Remingtons; their silent approach meant ill intentions.
If they were from the West family, did they want the baby's life, or hers as well?
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The cold wind blew, causing Lizetta's ill-fitted hat to fall off.
She didn't dare turn back for it, stumbling and running faster, her hair cold against her cheeks, bone-chilling.
The snow reflected her pale face, the only sounds her frantic footsteps and heavy breathing.
Then, she tripped over something, tumbling forward with a short, suppressed cry of alarm, fearful of attracting
the men.
Biting her lip, she closed her eyes, tears squeezing out, bracing for pain.
But the next moment, a figure rushed over.
Instead of falling into the snow, Lizetta found herself in a man's arms, both of them collapsing to the ground.
"Let go of me! Ah! Get off!"
Terrified, Lizetta opened her eyes, struggling before she could make out his face, her cries sharp as the gun in
her hand struck his forehead. The man grunted, loosening his grip.
Lizetta scrambled up, staggering back, trembling as she raised the gun at the man getting up.
"Don't cany closer, I'll shoot!"
Her bluff did little to deter him. He stepped closer, taking her shaking, cold hand, pressing the gun against his
chest, his voice low and soothing.
"Don't be afraid, shoot here."
His voice, clear and deep in the snowy night, was familiar. The hand covering hers was steady and warm, firm as
he guided the gun against him, as if entrusting his life to her finger, unconcerned with death.
The hunter seemed to have becthe hunted.
Gradually, Lizetta's fear subsided, her heartbeat still thunderous as she lifted her eyelashes.
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She saw the familiar stern brows and eyes of the man enveloping her, shielding her from the wind and snow.
Behind him, the aurora danced, its beauty sprawling across the sky.
Lizetta stared at him, suddenly drained of all strength.
Her heart pounded, unsure if she felt more relieved or scared. Remington, as if afraid of startling her, remained
still, watching her.
When Lizetta's strength failed, and
she stumbled forward, the gun
slipping from her grasp, Remington caught it with one hand, securing the safety before gently catching her in his
arms, whispering softly.
"It's alright now, it's alright. It's my fault, | clate."
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