The Surrogate He Discarded

Kristoff settled into the rear passenger seat of his Bentley, loosening his tie as the luxury sedan glided through the dimly lit basement parking garage. The hum of the engine echoed off the concrete walls while fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the empty lanes.

The mall was far from impressive. It was one of Dalton Realties’ earliest developments—a dated commercial center that had long outlived its prime. Cracked paint, aging signboards, and neglected storefronts spoke of better days. Kristoff had just finished a meeting with the managing director, discussing an ambitious redevelopment plan that would breathe new life into the aging property and transform it into a sleek, modern destination.

The Bentley rounded a corner.

Kristoff’s gaze drifted across the parking level—then froze.

His blood turned to ice.

”Stop!”

The sharp command exploded through the quiet car interior.

Startled, the driver slammed on the brakes. Tires screeched against the concrete, and the sudden jolt nearly threw Kristoff forward in his seat.

Ignoring the impact, Kristoff twisted toward the rear window.

About thirty feet away, two burly men were forcing the limp body of an unconscious woman into the back of a black SUV. One of them shoved her inside while the other glanced nervously around the garage, as though checking for witnesses.

Kristoff’s pulse thundered in his ears.

He recognized the woman.

Or rather, he recognized what she was wearing.

The pale blue dress.

He had seen her in it only hours earlier.

Isobel.

”What the hell.” Kristoff cursed.

”Follow that car. Don’t dare lose it.”

The driver glanced at Kristoff through the rearview mirror. It was the first time he saw his boss so anxious.

...

The moment the SUV merged onto the southbound highway, Kristoff’s unease hardened into certainty.

Something was terribly wrong.

He pulled out his phone and quickly typed a message to his assistant.

I’ll share my location. Call the police immediately. Tell them it’s a suspected kidnapping.

He hit send and slipped the phone back into his pocket, his eyes never leaving the black SUV weaving through traffic ahead.

Who took Isobel?

More importantly... why?

The questions churned relentlessly in his mind, but there was no time to search for answers. Right now, he only had one objective.

Don’t lose them.

”Sir,” the driver said, keeping his voice low, ”if we stay behind them much longer, they’ll notice we’re tailing them.”

Kristoff’s gaze remained fixed on the SUV.

”Accelerate. Overtake them.”

The driver blinked.

”Sir?”

”Pass them, then slow down after the next exit. Let them catch up. We can’t afford to look suspicious.”

The driver gave a quick nod and pressed harder on the accelerator.

The Bentley surged forward, slipping into the next lane before smoothly overtaking the SUV. Moments later, the driver eased off the speed just as Kristoff had instructed, allowing the distance between them to reset naturally.

Several minutes later, the SUV exited the highway toward the Eastern Bay Port.

The Bentley followed at a careful distance.

The farther they drove, the lonelier the roads became. Streetlights grew sparse, warehouses replaced commercial buildings, and the city noise faded into silence.

Without warning, the SUV veered onto a narrow, dusty road.

A cloud of dirt billowed behind it as it headed toward an abandoned warehouse standing in isolation nearly ten kilometers from the main road.

Kristoff narrowed his eyes.

This wasn’t a random destination.

It was planned.

”Pull over here,” he ordered.

The Bentley rolled to a stop beneath the cover of overgrown trees.

The driver turned anxiously. ”Boss... you’re not planning to go in there alone, are you? What if they’re armed?”

Kristoff opened the door without answering.

”When I get out, drive another three kilometers, make a U-turn, and wait for me beneath that lone acacia tree.”

”Boss—”

Kristoff silenced him with a single look.

The driver knew better than to argue.

Kristoff stepped onto the uneven ground and quietly closed the door behind him. As the Bentley disappeared down the road, he slipped into the shoulder-high reeds lining the roadside.

Hidden by the swaying grass, he moved silently toward the abandoned warehouse, every step bringing him closer to whatever nightmare awaited Isobel inside.

....

When one of the kidnappers stationed outside wandered toward the bushes to relieve himself, Kristoff saw his chance.

He moved without hesitation.

The kidnapper had barely finished zipping up when a powerful blow landed at the base of his skull. The man crumpled without a sound.

Kristoff caught him before he hit the ground and dragged the unconscious guard into a patch of dense shrubbery tucked in the corner of the compound. After securing him with his own belt and gagging him with a strip torn from his shirt, Kristoff relieved him of his pistol, jacket, and cap.

A quick glance told him the disguise was convincing enough.

He pulled the cap low over his face, tucked the pistol into his waistband, and strode back to the kidnapper’s post with the unhurried confidence of someone who belonged there.

No one gave him a second look.

He waited.

He resisted the urge to rush in, watching the guards’ movements, memorizing their patrol pattern. Patience, he knew, was often the difference between a successful rescue and a fatal mistake.

Finally, an opening appeared.

While the others were distracted by a truck backing into the loading bay, Kristoff slipped through the warehouse entrance unnoticed.

Inside, the cavernous building was eerily quiet.

Dust floated lazily through shafts of light filtering from the cracked skylights. Wooden crates and rusting machinery were scattered across the concrete floor, but there was no sign of Isobel.

His eyes swept the warehouse once more.

Isobel wasn’t there.

Then he noticed the narrow metal staircase tucked against the far wall.

It led to the second floor.

Without wasting another second, Kristoff crossed the warehouse and climbed the stairs two at a time, each step measured to avoid the metallic clang that would give away his presence.

At the landing, he immediately ducked behind a thick concrete pillar.

Slowly, he peered around the edge.

Only two rooms occupied the upper level.

The door on the left stood slightly ajar, revealing nothing but darkness.

The one on the right was heavily guarded.

Two armed men stood outside it, exchanging bored conversation while one occasionally glanced through the small window in the door.

Kristoff didn’t need any further confirmation.

Isobel was inside.

His jaw tightened.

Charging in now would be suicide.

Two guards outside almost certainly meant more men inside. If he attacked recklessly, he wouldn’t just lose the fight—he could get Isobel killed.

He forced himself to stay hidden, his mind already calculating another way in.