Chapter 477 I Take You Flying
When Anne was finally allowed to breathe, her entire body went limp.
Her cheeks flushed pink, especially when she felt his fingers grip her waist again, their touch damp. The memory of what he'd just done made her burn all over, every inch of exposed skin tinged with red.
She slapped him again, though her hand carried no strength whatsoever.
"Trying to tickle me?" Willard's voice, normally rich and deep, now carried a husky edge of desire that made her sense danger.
Thankfully that slap had no force behind it. Otherwise, trapped in his grip as she was, who knew what he might have done to her in retaliation. She couldn't fight him, couldn't escape him.
Her emotions surged, and the tears came unbidden—that frustrating tendency to cry when overwhelmed.
Willard pulled out a tissue and gently wiped her face, but his words humiliated her even more. "I'd prefer to see you cry in bed."
Anne, still recovering her breath after being kissed to the point of suffocation, couldn't form a response. Her breathing had only just steadied, and now this emotional outburst had her in disarray again. She could only push against him with what little strength she had, like a kitten batting at a lion.
Willard kept his arms around her, completely unmoved. Seeing that her tears wouldn't stop, he gave up trying to dry them and let them fall.
"You really are wet all—" he began.
Anne covered his mouth, glaring at him with the only defense she had left. Willard's eyes remained visible above her hand, crinkling with mischief.
She felt his lips tickle her palm and quickly pulled her hand away.
Finally finding her voice again as the emotional tide receded, she looked coldly at Willard. "All this pursuit—you just want to sleep with me, don't you?"
The amusement vanished instantly from Willard's eyes.
Anne pulled open her robe, regarding him with detachment. "Willard, if I give you what you want, will you leave me alone?"
Willard let out a cold laugh, grabbing the blanket to cover her. He leaned in close, his voice icy. "Anne, your reverse psychology won't work on me. I didn't take you today because we're on a plane. But once we land, if you dare say something like that again, you'll face the consequences—whatever they may be."
"What do you want from me?" Anne clutched the blanket, her voice hoarse.
Willard raised his hand, making her flinch and close her eyes. But his palm merely landed on her head, ruffling her hair casually.
Anne opened one eye to see Willard standing up, straightening his clothes. "I've given up hoping you'll love me," he said evenly, "but Anne, you'll spend the rest of your life by my side. Even in death, we'll be buried together."
"Why?" Anne couldn't understand. "Willard, we were getting along fine before, and you pushed me away. So why are you insisting on this now, torturing us both?"
"It's hardly torture for me," Willard said, opening the door. "As for you... like I said, you'll just have to endure it."
Anne still didn't understand, but before she could ask, the door slammed shut.
Francis had been sitting on the sofa popping mints into his mouth ever since receiving Lyndon's call.
When Elissa woke and came out, she found him sitting in darkness, the curtains open, moonlight bathing him in silver. He looked desperate and helpless. If not for years of practiced restraint, she imagined he'd be pacing frantically around the living room.
"What's got you so worked up?" Her sudden voice startled Francis, causing him to choke on a mint.
Elissa rushed forward to help, but Francis held her back, concerned for her. He drank some water and forced the mint down.
"We need to go to the hospital," Elissa insisted, worried.
"I'm fine..." Francis's voice was slightly hoarse. His Adam's apple bobbed as he took a deep breath. "Really, it was just a mint. It dissolved in the water."
Elissa cupped his face, trying to examine his throat before realizing the lights were off. As she moved to turn them on, he pulled her into an embrace.
"I'm truly fine. Don't worry. Just let me hold you for a moment."
Stroking his head, she asked, "What happened?"
He hesitated to tell her about Anne, fearing it would upset her, especially since he hadn't expected her to wake up.
"Nothing. I'm just feeling overwhelmed with your due date approaching," he lied.
Elissa sensed something was off. "Haven't we agreed not to keep secrets from each other?"
Before Francis could respond, his phone vibrated. The number had no contact name, but Elissa grabbed it before he could and put it on speaker.
"Willard's leaving the country. What are you doing? Why haven't you made a move yet?" came the voice.
Francis ran his finger across his eyebrow. "Lyndon..."
Elissa cut him off. "Lyndon, what do you want with Willard? Has he taken Anne?"
Sudden silence fell.
On the other end, Lyndon's breath halted for several seconds. His silence was confirmation enough.
She looked at Francis, who quickly explained, "I just found out myself. I was about to send someone to bring your sister back."
Lyndon spoke up, "I wasn't trying to hide it from you. It was late, so I told Francis to wait until you woke up."
Francis inwardly cursed Lyndon's timing.
He took Elissa's hand. "Don't worry. I promise your sister is safe."
Elissa pulled her hand away. "I remember you've said that many times before."
When Willard had first gone off the rails, Francis had decided to stay out of everyone's business. When Lyndon took Anne to Silverlight City, he'd been relieved, thinking any future problems wouldn't involve him.
But now Lyndon had lost track of her on his own turf, letting Willard take her, and was asking for his help—putting him in an impossible position.
"Honey, listen—"
"There's nothing to discuss." Elissa stood up. "Go rescue Anne immediately."
She started to rush out, but Francis caught up and lifted her into his arms.
"I'll go myself. You wait here for news. They're on a plane now, and if they're leaving the country, you shouldn't be flying for that long in your condition."
Elissa didn't argue. "Put me down."
Francis carried her to the bedroom and gently laid her on the bed.
"I'll be back soon."
Elissa pulled the covers over herself and said nothing, which made Francis even more anxious.
Under the circumstances, he could only say, "Lyndon and I will work together. This will be the last time—Willard won't get another chance after this."
But he never anticipated that this time, he wouldn't be able to bring Anne back.
Concerned about Elissa, Lyndon flew overnight from Silverlight City. There was no point in staying there anymore. Willard was clearly planning to leave the country to evade him.
Now only Francis, with Jerry's help, could intercept Willard before he left.
Meanwhile, Willard received intelligence that Francis and Jerry were planning to stop him before he could leave the country.
"Get the parachutes," Willard ordered calmly.
Anne had composed herself but found no way out. She hadn't had time to grab her phone, and the room contained no communication devices.
Just as she was about to venture out, hoping to find a way past Willard, he entered the room.
She backed away quickly, hugging herself, her voice trembling, "What are you going to do?"
Willard tossed her some clothes, his tone neutral. "If I wanted to do something, could you stop me? This is unnecessary."
Anne didn't want to engage with him further. Though he had brought the clothes, she didn't refuse them. In her situation, proper clothes were better than a bathrobe, especially if she found a chance to escape.
"Aren't you... going to leave?" she asked, about to change and noticing Willard leaning against the door, arms crossed, watching her with amusement.
It was hard to believe that a mature 35-year-old man was behind all this. She'd never realized Willard could be so childish at his core.
Seeing he had no intention of leaving, she turned her back and began changing. After what had just happened between them—they'd done nearly everything but the final act—there was no point in being coy.
After quickly changing, she said, "I need to use the bathroom."
Willard straightened up and opened the door for her. Anne started to walk right, but he pulled her left.
In the bathroom, Anne contemplated escape routes. But before she could formulate a plan, she exited to find herself being strapped to something—tightly bound to Willard.
At the cabin door, she realized with horror: "You're not planning to jump from the plane, are you?"
Willard didn't answer directly. "I'm treating you to an adventure. You're welcome."
"Are you insane?" Anne's voice cracked. "I'm terrified of heights!"
Willard knew this but couldn't be concerned with it now.
"Close your eyes. I'll fly with you."
Anne nearly ground her teeth to dust. How had she ended up with such a madman?
The plane descended slightly. The cabin door opened, and the rush of air silenced any further protests from Anne.
Positioned in front, her hands had nowhere to go. Willard covered her eyes with one hand while gripping the cabin door handle with the other, slowly moving to the edge.
Through the roaring wind, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Jumping now."
Anne felt herself plummeting downward.
"Ahhh!" she screamed, her limbs flailing wildly.
Even in her terror, she somehow heard his soft laughter in her ear.
With a whoosh, the parachute opened, and their descent gentled.
The hand covering her eyes moved away, but she kept them tightly shut, unwilling to look. As her hands waved frantically, she grabbed onto something and held it with a death grip.
Willard let her hold on, whispering in her ear, coaxing her to open her eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you. Try opening your eyes now. We're flying through the sky—you can see the magnificent landscape below, a beauty you can't capture otherwise."
In truth, Anne wasn't that afraid of heights. She'd climbed mountains to photograph sea clouds and had flown countless times. But jumping from a plane? That was something she'd rather avoid.
Yet somehow—perhaps the photographer's instinct to capture everything—she opened her eyes and looked down.
She didn't know which city lay below, but the view was breathtaking. Willard was right; it was an uncapturable beauty.
But she still wanted to try photographing it. Just as she thought this, a camera appeared before her.
"You..." She couldn't see Willard's expression behind her, but she could imagine his slight smugness. Childish old man.
"We'll be landing soon. You don't have much time. Are you going to take pictures or not?"
"Yes!" Anne quickly took the camera and hung it around her neck, capturing the scenery.
After she finished, Willard maneuvered them toward landing.
When her feet touched the ground, Anne felt her soul return to her body. She immediately tried to undo the straps binding them together but struggled with the mechanism.
Willard took advantage of this, holding her from behind, laughing at her fumbling attempts.
Anne, too exhausted to be angry, cursed him, "You're such a jerk."
"Hmm." Willard rested his chin on her shoulder and kissed her neck. "Say more."
Anne gritted her teeth. "Let me go. I need to use the bathroom."
Willard released her, undoing the harness and straps. The moment she was free, Anne ran.
Only then did she notice their surroundings—a vast coastal area surrounded by water. It appeared to be an island.
Willard removed his gear and walked toward her. "I'll show you to the bathroom."
Anne saw no boats, so she had no choice but to follow him.
They passed through a grove of trees and came upon a small house—not a makeshift shelter, but a two-story cottage with a large yard. The surrounding trees had been cleared to make way for vegetable and fruit gardens.
A suspicion formed in Anne's mind. Recalling the landing spot, which seemed specially marked for parachute landings, and seeing this well-appointed cottage, she realized this wasn't spontaneous.
Willard's abduction of her from Silverlight City wasn't impulsive. Their landing here wasn't a last-minute decision to evade Lyndon. This had been planned all along.
"Willard!" she called out.
Willard stopped at the bathroom door and turned to see her flushed, angry face. He raised an eyebrow, smiling.
Anne grew even angrier. "You shameless bastard!" she shouted, cursing him thoroughly.
Willard took it all without flinching, no matter how crude her insults became. Eventually, Anne tired of shouting, frustrated that her words seemed to have no effect on him—like punching a pillow.
"Go ahead," Willard nodded toward the bathroom. "I will make you some food."
Anne had lost track of time but realized she was indeed hungry. She used the bathroom, trying to brainstorm an escape plan, but came up empty.
Leaving the bathroom, she explored the cottage, finding nothing useful, then headed to the kitchen.
Willard stood at the stove wearing a gray apron, busy cooking. Anne's gaze fixed on his pants pocket. He must have some communication device on him.
Willard noticed her from the corner of his eye but remained still.
Anne tiptoed toward him and suddenly embraced him from behind, her soft hands searching his pockets. Finding no device, she heard him grunt softly and tried to flee.
Before she could escape, he caught her and pinned her against the counter. Willard leaned in until their noses touched, his dark eyes dancing with mischief.
"So eager for something other than food?" he asked.
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