Chapter 2: Betrayal in the Spotlight

Her voice rang out, clear and unwavering. It was the voice of a mother who would burn the world for her son. The room trembled with the force of her conviction.

Autumn's voice was firm. As she told me I had misjudged her, she ripped her ring from her finger and hurled it to the ground.

The ring clattered on the hardwood, spinning before settling with a dull thud. The gesture was final—a symbol of everything we were losing.

"You still want another child? Forget it!"

She spat the words out, venomous and wounded. The air between us crackled with anger and heartbreak. There was no going back.

"A man as heartless as you doesn't deserve children!"

She glared at me, chest heaving. For a moment, I saw the woman I’d fallen in love with—fierce, loyal, unbreakable. Now, her eyes were full of nothing but contempt.

She probably never expected me to choose money over our son so coldly. When Autumn rushed out the door, no one could stop her—not even me.

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The echo lingered, a final punctuation mark on her disbelief. Everyone in the room stared at me, silent and judgmental. The shame was suffocating.

"Just wait. I'll gather the money. I have to save our child."

Her voice drifted back through the door, muffled but determined. I could picture her racing down the hallway, phone already out, calling anyone who might help. Her hope was a knife in my chest.

"Even if I have to sell the car and house, I'll give up everything."

She was already making plans, her priorities crystal clear. The resolve in her voice left no doubt—she would stop at nothing. Nothing would stand in her way.

Covering her face, she ran out. On the screen, Mason's screams still echoed.

She disappeared into the night, sobs muffled by her hands. The livestream continued, Mason’s cries echoing in the background, each one a dagger to the heart. The agony was endless.

"Dad, Mom, save me! Save me!"

Mason’s voice, high and terrified, cut through the noise. The words were simple, but the pain behind them was infinite. The chat exploded with outrage. Strangers, united in horror, called for justice.

I wasn't worried at all. I leaned back on the sofa, apathy settling over me, and casually opened the company group chat, clicking on a file.

My phone buzzed with new messages—investors, employees, the PR team. I scrolled through the group chat, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. My posture was relaxed, almost bored. The world outside felt far away.

Before I could finish reading, Autumn came back, her face contorted with fury this time.

She burst through the door—face flushed, hair wild. She looked like a woman possessed, fueled by pure adrenaline and maternal fury. Her energy was electric, dangerous.

"Graham, you're too cruel. Why won't you let me touch anything in the house?"

She accused me, voice shaking with rage. She pointed at the safe, at the locked drawers, at the security system I’d set up to keep her out. The accusation was a slap in the face.

"Won't you even give me a chance to save our child?"

Her words were both a plea and a challenge, daring me to deny her again. The room seemed to shrink, every eye fixed on me, waiting for my answer.

Glancing at the livestream, I kept my expression cool and unreadable.

I didn’t flinch. The camera’s red light blinked in the corner, capturing every twitch of my jaw, every flicker in my eyes. I let the silence stretch.

"Ten million is too expensive."

I spoke slowly, letting each word sink in. The silence that followed was thick with disbelief. The tension was suffocating.

"Besides, there's no law saying I have to pay a ransom. If I don't save him, no one can blame me."

I shrugged, the legal technicality sounding hollow even to my own ears. The words hung in the air—cold, clinical, and final.

My words were so cold that Autumn was left speechless, shaking all over.

She stared at me, mouth open, searching for words. Her whole body trembled, the shock of my indifference leaving her paralyzed. The room felt frozen in time.

A bodyguard stepped up to support her, but she pushed him away. The seconds dragged on. Then someone brought in a small box from outside, saying it had been left at the company entrance, specifically addressed to me.

The package was small, ominous. The bodyguard hesitated before handing it over, his face pale. The label read my name in bold, blocky letters. Every eye in the room was glued to the box. Dread settled over us like a fog.

"What's that?"

Autumn eyed the black box, dread creeping up her spine. Her voice quivered, barely above a whisper.

Her voice shook, barely a whisper. She stepped forward, hands trembling, as if drawn by some terrible magnet she couldn't resist.

She snatched the box first. The moment she opened it, her screams tore through the room, tears glistening in her eyes like shattered glass.

The lid popped open, and her scream was primal—animal. She staggered back, clutching the box, tears streaming down her face. The sound was unforgettable.

"Ahhh!"

The scream was so piercing it made the hair on my arms stand up. People in the room recoiled, some turning away, others frozen in horror. No one dared breathe.

Inside was a pair of eyeballs.

The sight was grotesque—two bloodied orbs nestled in a velvet-lined box. A collective gasp rose from everyone present, a wave of nausea and disbelief.

Her face went white, and Autumn collapsed to the floor, the box displayed for all to see.

She crumpled, knees buckling. The box slipped from her hands, landing open for everyone to see. The horror on her face was mirrored in every pair of eyes in the room.

Wailing and cursing filled the room as the kidnapper called again.

The phone rang again, shrill and mocking. People shouted, cursed, some even wept openly. The tension was electric—every nerve on edge, every heart pounding.

"Mr. Graham, did you get my gift?"

The kidnapper’s voice was oily, smug. He sounded like he was savoring every second of our torment. The words oozed malice.

"Want to hear your son's voice?"

He dangled the offer like bait, relishing the power. The whole room held its breath, waiting for the next horror to unfold.

Meanwhile, the livestream showed the kidnapper's actions. In the video, a figure appeared. Mason's chubby face was bruised and battered, a streak of blood smeared across his forehead.

The camera panned to Mason, his face swollen, blood matting his hair. The viewers gasped—some typing prayers, others curses. The chat was a maelstrom of grief and rage.

"Wuwuwu, Dad, Mom, I'm scared."

Mason’s voice was barely a whisper, his fear palpable. The chat slowed for a moment, as if everyone paused to grieve. The world seemed to hold its breath.

Autumn's vision blurred. She nearly fainted, watching her own son tortured beyond recognition. Tears streamed down her face and wouldn't stop.

She swayed, hand to her chest, gasping for air. Someone caught her before she hit the ground. Her sobs were endless, her body wracked with pain. The room spun.

"Don't be afraid, honey. Mommy will come save you!"

Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to sound strong. She pressed the phone to her ear, whispering comfort she could barely believe herself. Every word was a lifeline.

More people joined the livestream. Finally, someone realized something was wrong and started tagging the police. Others began analyzing the kidnapping location, hope flickering in the darkness.

The chat filled with amateur sleuths—people screenshotting backgrounds, comparing details, trying to pinpoint Mason’s location. Hashtags trended, and the police were tagged again and again. The digital world mobilized.

Through the phone, I heard a familiar voice. Mason's voice was weak, trembling. I pictured him curled up in fear, knees to his chest, trying to disappear.

His words trembled, barely audible. I imagined him huddled in the corner, knees to his chest, clutching at hope with tiny hands. The image haunted me.

"Dad, Mom, I'm scared. Don't come here, there are bad people everywhere."

His warning was heartbreaking—a child’s attempt to protect his parents. Even in terror, he tried to be brave. My chest ached.

"Let the police officer come. I'm not afraid. Dad said I'm a little man."

He tried to sound strong, echoing words I’d told him a hundred times. The chat lit up with hearts and encouragement, strangers rooting for a child they’d never met. The world held its breath for him.

Autumn's tears flowed even harder. She choked up as she tried to comfort her child, her hand holding the phone trembling uncontrollably. Her pain was palpable.

She could barely form words, her voice thick with tears. Her hand shook so badly she nearly dropped the phone, but she held on, desperate not to lose contact. She refused to let go.

"Sweetie, why would you call the police? What if they hurt you?"