In an abandoned air-raid shelter, the passageways crisscrossed in all directions, and the surrounding area was dotted with derelict factories, awaiting demolition.
It was a desolate wasteland, devoid of people.
Raven and his team hid in advance, bringing ample supplies, prepared to stay for the long haul.
Bramwell followed Arabella to the hideout, where Raven was already waiting.
Before they even entered, Raven reached out, saying, "Hand over your phone."
Bramwell paused, knowing they needed to cut off communication before starting to avoid leaks.
He obediently handed over his phone and, after a quick pat-down by Raven, was allowed into the shelter.
The shelter walls were covered in moss, with vines crisscrossing the inner stone walls.
Inside, it was so empty that even a whisper would echo.
Since it was already inhabited, a large, tidy area had been cleared inside, with a few tents set up. In one corner, several simple tables were placed, and everything was very basic—conditions were harsh.
But they didn't mind. They'd seen worse on the battlefield, crawling out from piles of the dead. By comparison, these conditions were tolerable.
As soon as Bramwell entered, he faintly heard a woman's weak voice mixed with some men's laughter.
No one truly knew Arabella's full plan.
Each had their own tasks, so when he heard the woman's soft cries, Bramwell was puzzled.
Since when did Arabella have an interest in kidnappings?
The confusion was quickly resolved. In the open space, a woman was bound, her body marked with abrasions from dragging on the ground, and even her forehead bore signs of friction, likely from a deliberate car accident before she was captured.
Most people in such a situation would be terrified, especially a woman, waking up in a frightening, unfamiliar place surrounded by towering men with hostile faces—just the thought would send shivers down anyone's spine.
When Ivy woke up, she immediately realized she had been kidnapped.
As the eldest daughter of the Destiny, she had been taught from a young age about her privileged identity.
But—the Destiny had thrived for decades, unmatched by any rival, not even the Abyss dared to confront them head-on. Who had the audacity to provoke such a powerhouse?
Although her heart was filled with fear and unease, she managed to maintain a semblance of calm on her face, barely holding herself together, not yet on the brink of collapse.
She curled her body in silence, trying her best not to attract the thugs' attention.
But after two days, her wounds began to fester, the pain becoming unbearable, causing her to cry out. Finally, she couldn't hold back and asked for help treating her wounds.
Her plea only provoked mocking laughter from the guards.
At that moment, Arabella walked in, and the men immediately stood to attention, silent and obedient.
Seeing another woman among the men, Ivy felt a slight, misplaced sense of security—a natural comfort between women.
Her unease made her overlook the men's sudden reverence as she moved herself closer to the woman.
Arabella watched her approach with an amused smile, casually pulling over a chair, and in a soft, gentle voice, asked, "What's wrong? Do you have something to say to me?"
Ivy's first instinct was that this woman must be the boss's lover.
As fellow women, she hoped to elicit some sympathy from her.
"My wounds hurt so much. Could you ask them to untie me and dress my injuries? Please, as one woman to another, have mercy on me."
Listening to Ivy's plea, Arabella leaned back comfortably in her chair, crossing her legs, then turned her head and let out a light, eerie laugh.
Her laugh was soft, yet strange.
Arabella thought Ivy was out of her mind.
In front of her, a mere hostage, the group showed no pretense, revealing their true faces without any disguise.
What did that signify?
It implied that this hostage had no chance of survival.
Would a person doomed to die still need their wounds bandaged?
Arabella didn't answer Ivy, instead turning her attention to the others and asking, "Did you record the video?"
The few nearby shook their heads, and one of them bravely replied, "Raven said to wait for you, Master Unknown."
The one who answered was a burly man with a fierce gaze and powerful arms, clearly someone with formidable skills.
He used to work as a mercenary on the Spanka border before Arabella recruited him. Since then, he had followed her on countless exploits and deeply admired her.
Raven stepped forward, bent down next to Arabella, and asked, "What type of video would you like to record, Master Unknown?"
Arabella paused, surprised. She typically dealt in big operations and rarely bothered with kidnappings or ransom.
If she weren't using Ivy to lure in Quentin, she wouldn't need to involve herself in something so trivial.
"There are types?" Arabella asked curiously, showing a rare willingness to learn.
Raven didn't really know either; it was two former bandit subordinates who had told him about it. He gestured for them to step forward.
"Explain it to Master Unknown."
Ivy, half-sitting on the ground, caught on to the situation through this conversation.
Terrified, she withdrew the hand she'd placed on Arabella's leg and instinctively backed away.
In the past couple of days, she had figured out that the man called Raven seemed to be the leader of the group. When the woman arrived just now, his previously cold, silent gaze suddenly stirred, waves of emotion surging within, betraying what he tried to hide.
So she had assumed the woman must be Raven's lover.
But it turned out—Raven wasn't the leader; this woman was?
Only then did she realize that, since the woman's arrival, these fierce men had all seemed a bit restrained, tense.
The two men stepped forward respectfully, explaining in turns and detailing the different types of videos.
Kidnapping videos are usually categorized by men, women, and children.
For male hostages, bloody methods are often used to frighten the family; with children, they use scare tactics to make the child cry and evoke family distress.
As for women…
The two subordinates swallowed, not daring to show any lecherous expressions in front of Arabella.
Trying to keep a neutral tone, they said, "Shoot some explicit videos—they can be sent to family or her husband, both effective for provocation."
Hearing this, Arabella frowned slightly, muttering to herself, "Is it that complicated?"
In Arabella's view, everything should be done directly.
Killing, seizing territory, moving goods—it was all done the same way.
She hadn't expected something as minor as kidnapping to be so intricate.
She waved a hand and instructed the two, "You're familiar with it, so take care of it."
Filming a video like this was definitely a "sweet job" for the two subordinates.
They chuckled and nodded, happily agreeing to Arabella's orders.
The other men looked envious, and one bravely asked, "Master Unknown, can we help?"
Arabella waved disinterestedly, a customary smile on her lips as she commanded, "Just be quick about it. Don't waste my time."
Hearing this, Ivy shook her head frantically. For a woman, this was an even more horrifying nightmare.
Kidnapping hadn't broken Ivy, nor had her injuries, but hearing about such debasement brought her to tears, and she crawled desperately toward Arabella.
"I beg you—please. I'll cooperate. How much money do you want? My brother has it all."
"Money?" Arabella thought indifferently. Once she killed Quentin, all of the Darnley's money would be hers, useful for buying arms.
After a brief thought, Arabella turned to the two and added, "Make sure Quentin brings money as a ransom. Don't raise his suspicion."
Ivy was horrified. So this woman hadn't captured her for money? Then what for?
A kidnapping that wasn't for money—was it to take a life?
"What are you planning? Who are you? Do you want to kill someone, my brother?"
Arabella was growing increasingly irritated by Ivy's shrill voice.
Some fools were just fools, no matter where they were.
Even if she had guessed their intentions, she should never speak them aloud. Once those words were out, wouldn't it only solidify their resolve to silence her permanently?
"Too noisy. Shut her up before filming," Arabella ordered, signaling for her subordinates to hurry up. There was no time to dawdle; they weren't waiting for a midnight snack.
At her command, two men quickly grabbed Ivy, dragging her towards the photography rig that had already been set up. They didn't forget to seal her mouth with duct tape, and the men, their lust rising, gathered around.
Having traveled all night from Island to Kewa, Arabella was now hungry. She walked to another corner and told Raven to bring over food and drink.
Raven had prepared everything in advance and quickly set the items on the table.
A few men remained indifferent, while the rest began to disperse, but Arabella didn't care. Some were smoking, some drinking, and others standing idly by, watching the scene unfold. Even Bramwell stood off to the side, unmoving, seemingly observing the drama.
Only Raven, as usual, stood loyally by Arabella's side, never once straying.
And another man lingered near Arabella's table; he had always admired her, and having the chance to see her up close filled him with boundless joy.
While Arabella sat eating and drinking, Ivy was suffering endless humiliation and torment.
Those men were nothing but bandits, devoid of any humanity.
One of them laughed wildly as he poured red wine over Ivy, causing her to twist and squirm in terror.
One man, wearing a black mask, grabbed her hair and turned her to face the camera.
The men had already stripped her of her clothes, leaving her in only her underwear, sobbing heart-wrenchingly and struggling desperately.
But she was no match for the brute strength of those men.
They forced her into various poses, some making her kneel with her hips raised, others spreading her legs and pulling her underwear aside to expose her, and some even made her use her hands to touch herself.
Under the watchful eyes of others, all the men remained fully clothed—some were filming, while others stood nearby in idle amusement.
Ivy completely broke down; she had never suffered such humiliation in her life.
The shame made her skin crawl.
"Wow, this slut's pretty wild, getting wet even like this."
That comment brought peals of contemptuous laughter from the men around.
