Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase Novel

Chapter 1226 Chapter 1228: "So you're awake at last, boy," the hunter muttered, his voice rough and laced with fatigue. "Lucky for you. Another few hours, and you'd be food for the worms." Rummaging through a worn wooden box, he pulled out a syringe and examined it under the lamp's glow. "Your wounds have gone bad," he said flatly. "This shot's all I've got left, and it might just keep you breathing." "Ahh!" Jarrod hissed as the needle pierced his skin, pain slicing straight through his spine. "Can't handle a bit of pain, huh?" the man said, withdrawing the syringe and setting it aside.

"Listen carefully. Your body's too torn up to move. Three days, maybe more, before you can even stand. I don't usually help strangers, but I'd rather not have a corpse rotting in my cabin and drawing rescuers out here. Once you're fit enough, I'll see to it that you're out of these woods." Silence fell between them. After a moment, the hunter reached into his boot and drew out a sharp dagger. Under the lamp's faint glow, the blade gleamed coldly, slithering with light like a serpent poised to strike. His voice dropped, chilling the room. "Listen well.

When you leave this place, erase it from your memory, including me. If you break that rule, I will track you down and make you pay, no matter where you hide." A sharp spike of fear constricted Jarrod's pupils, and the air around him turned dangerous. Just who was this man, carrying such a calm, lethal menace? Leaning forward until his breath warmed Jarrod's ear, the hunter murmured, "Believe me. I know who you are. You're Jarrod Morgan, the son of the Morgan family." A cold panic surged through Jarrod, stealing his breath in an instant.

His tongue went dry as he forced out a trembling question. "You... you really know me?" "I know more than you think. You have a little sister named Maia Morgan, and she was always unbearably sweet." A flicker of memory crossed the middle-aged man's face as he slowly slid the dagger back into his boot. "She used to follow you everywhere, calling your name as if she couldn't stand being apart from you, didn't she?" His tone suddenly turned cold again. "I know where you live and who your parents and sister are, so do exactly as I say." He rubbed his beard, his eyes boring into Jarrod.

"Otherwise, I'll wipe them out. I'm not bluffing." Jarrod's voice came out ragged. "Who the hell are you?" He tried to shift, but a searing pain tore through his back. Sweat beaded on his forehead, tracing cold paths down his face. With a sneer, the middle-aged man tossed a damp wallet onto the cot. The leather fell open, revealing Jarrod's own ID. . . .