No More Waiting, She Chooses Love novel Chapter 824

He carried himself with such confidence, it was as if the world was at his feet.

I watched the helicopter soar higher and higher, growing more distant by the second. My panic was reaching its peak. "Sinclair, you've got to save Fanny, you have to..."

But the words caught in my throat. I’d just witnessed the situation unfold, and if Sinclair didn't comply with their demands, Fanny could be in danger too.

And that danger was orchestrated by the man I loved most, the father of my child.

"Felicia," Conrad approached, "do you trust Ernest?"

I did trust him, but the way he acted just now, everything he did, felt so foreign to me.

If he was my Ernest, he would know how much Fanny meant to me. He would never harm her.

When I didn't answer, Conrad pressed on, "Then why do you think he took Fanny and not you?"

I’d been wondering the same thing.

"Do you think he couldn't bring himself to hurt you?" Conrad's question made me look at him.

Even in this moment, he remained unflustered, his demeanor calm and composed throughout.

For a fleeting second, I wondered if he had foreseen all of this, if he had it all planned out.

But if he truly had that kind of foresight, how could we be in this mess?

I felt my eyes lose focus, a confused anguish setting in. "I don't know, I'm so lost right now."

"Being lost, worried, anxious, it changes nothing," Conrad said, looking in the direction where the helicopter had disappeared. "Maybe Ernest has a different plan."

He turned to Sinclair, "Isn't that right, Mr. Anderson?"

Sinclair’s expression was cold and unreadable, offering no reply.

"Open it," a police officer commanded, and someone jumped into the grave.

I closed my eyes, unable to face the scene.

With a triumphant "We found it," I opened my eyes slowly, seeing the coffin had been pried open to reveal neatly packed, sealed bundles.

Dustin truly was despicable, using a coffin to hide his illicit goods.

“Oh Lord!” A familiar voice rang in my ears.

I turned to see Conrad, his face serene, hands clasped together.

He looked like a monk deep in meditation.

He was a lay disciple of Master Mathew, someone who had been practicing for years, but I’d never seen him like this before.