Chapter 362

Zinnia was missing. Yannis and the others were searching frantically. Given Zinnia’s current health condition, they couldn’t afford the slightest negligence.

“Find her. Conduct a grid-by-grid search. Lock down the entire city—no one leaves. Check every unfamiliar vehicle,” Yannis barked. His presence was sharp and commanding, a chill radiating from his every move.

Jackson’s face was grim as he ordered, “Do whatever it takes. We must find her.”

Meanwhile, Nathan meticulously searched the hospital room, his features set in a look of utter coldness.

Zinnia was discovered missing at 5 a.m. Yannis had kept vigil by her side all night, but today, on Grace’s death anniversary, he’d left for half a day. When he returned, Zinnia was gone.

They checked the surveillance footage, only to find it had already been tampered with.

With Zinnia unconscious, taking her away wouldn’t have been easy. Whoever managed to take her, disable the cameras, and navigate this town so well was clearly prepared. It was probably someone who knew them.

Only one person came to Nathan’s mind. “Stop searching. I know who did it,” he said, his voice icy cold.

Yannis and Jackson both turned to look at him.

The private jet circled overhead over a private island. Nathan gazed down at the villa below. On the empty stretch of beach, Quincey sat alone.

Hearing the sound of the jet, Quincey looked up as Nathan descended from the sky.

Quincey called out cheerfully, “Nathan, you’re as sharp as ever. It’s only been three hours since I took Zinnia.”

“Where’s Zinnia?” Nathan demanded, skipping any pleasantries. He shot an anxious glance toward the villa behind him, then fixed his tense gaze on Quincey.

Quincey had taken Zinnia. After more than a decade as a hardened mercenary, he was a highly skilled combatant.

But Nathan couldn’t understand why Quincey betrayed both him and Zinnia.

Quincey tapped out a cigarette, lit it, and took a heavy drag. As he exhaled, blue-gray smoke obscured his sharp features. His voice was cool and detached. “Don’t worry. I watched Zinnia grow up, too. I don’t want her dead.”

“She won’t die,” Nathan shot back, his tone icy and severe.

“I hope so too. But there are conditions,” Quincey said, his lips twisting as he looked at Nathan’s cold face.

Quincey studied the man across from him—the same guy who’d been so pale and frail at New Year’s, clinging to life in bed, yet somehow managed to pull through.

In just a few days, Nathan was already up and walking. Zinnia really did have a way about her.

Quincey’s eyes flickered with complicated emotion—admiration, reflection, and a trace of resentment. “Florivive really worked. I thought no one could save you this time, but Zinnia actually brought you back.”

“But Nathan, how does it feel, knowing Zinnia is dying now because of you?” Quincey raised an eyebrow, watching him closely.

Nathan clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms at those words.

Noticing Nathan’s anger, Quincey couldn’t help but laugh, “Zinnia really is your weakness. Just mentioning her gets a rise out of you. If she really dies because of you, Nathan, could you live with yourself?”

“Don’t even think about provoking me,” Nathan said, looking up with eyes gone dangerously dark. “Your terms.” His voice dropped to a terrifying depth.

Quincey arched an eyebrow at Nathan. “What’s the rush? Can’t wait to die?”

Nathan’s eyes were as cold as ice, and he did not respond.

Quincey took a long drag from his cigarette, his gaze fixed on Nathan. “Here’s the deal. Only one of you gets to live—either you or Zinnia. You decide.”

“I’ll die,” Nathan stated, his eyes showing no trace of surprise at Quincey’s condition.

Quincey sneered, “Such decisiveness? You’re healthy now, with good years ahead of you. Zinnia’s not the same. She’s had heart disease from the start. If I’m right, her body’s already at its limit, and she’s in no shape for surgery.

“She’ll likely die. Are you really willing to risk your life for Zinnia’s uncertain fate?”

Nathan’s health had recovered. Now, his life was far more certain than Zinnia’s, who was lying unconscious with her fate unknown.

Whether Zinnia’s body could even handle surgery in the future was a question—she might not survive the operation at all.

“She won’t die,” Nathan said, his voice low and his expression like frozen steel.

Hearing his stubbornness, Quincey didn’t argue. “So you’re sure? You’re willing to die?”

“Absolutely,” Nathan replied.

Quincey suddenly drew a dagger and flung it at Nathan’s feet. “Pick it up. Stab yourself. Die, and I’ll return Zinnia.”

Nathan stared at the dagger by his feet, then stooped to pick it up. He studied it, Quincey’s ever-present dagger, its hilt set with a ruby, red as blood. He noticed an inscription beside the ruby, Zick.

Quincey sneered, “Getting cold feet?”

Nathan froze, gripping the dagger tightly. Quincey’s eyes gleamed with derision.

“Quincey, do you hate me?” His sudden question hung in the air, the dagger still in his hand.

Quincey’s expression slowly stiffened. His reaction said it all.

Nathan pressed, “Why?”

They’d known each other for over a decade. ‘I’ve never wronged him,’ Nathan thought. ‘I even saved his life. Why would he hate me?’

Nathan hadn’t missed that flicker of hatred in Quincey’s eyes when he saw him getting better.

“Is it because of Fiona?” Before Quincey could answer, Nathan shook his head. “No, it can’t just be about her. That wouldn’t be enough for you to resent me this much.”

Nathan thought, ‘Quincey’s grudge isn’t just about some old romance.’

Quincey’s expression turned icy. Sometimes, he truly hated how clever Nathan could be. “Nathan, do you really think you’re that smart?”

“At least let a dying man know the truth, Quincey.” Nathan genuinely couldn’t figure out why Quincey hated him so much.

They’d known each other for over a decade. Quincey used to treat Nathan very well. When Nathan fought to reclaim the Moore family, Quincey went through hell alone with him.

“Don’t look at me like that. You really think that’ll make me let you off? No way.” Quincey’s expression darkened, his voice trembling with anger.

He snapped, “Fine. You want to know why? Let me spell it out for you. Twenty years ago, a little boy collapsed at your family’s doorstep. The Moore family could’ve saved him.

“So why didn’t you? Why did you just stand there and watch him die? Didn’t your family always pride itself on being compassionate healers? Weren’t you supposed to be the great humanitarians everyone praised?

“So why, when a living child was dying right in front of you, did you do nothing?”