Chapter 1582 Nothing Left But the Will to Survive
Her body was thrown by the impact, sending her tumbling down the adjacent hillside.
The driver slammed his fist against the steering wheel and spat out the window. "Damn it! She went over the edge. We need to make sure she's dead!"
"Forget it," his companion replied. "That fall will either kill her or leave her crippled. Let's get out of here—there are too many cameras around. No point risking prison over a few hundred grand."
"Shouldn't we check?"
"Check what? Move it! There's a car coming." The two men hastily drove away, their taillights disappearing into the misty rain.
The light drizzle had turned the ground muddy and treacherous.
When Ann regained consciousness, the sky was still pitch black. Every inch of her body screamed with pain.
She managed to roll over, wincing as her bones protested with sharp, stabbing agony. Cold raindrops mingled with the blood on her face. The location was too remote—no one had found her, no one had called for help.
She attempted to crawl forward, but the pain was excruciating, like thousands of needles piercing her skin. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably.
The ground beneath her was soaked, the dampness seeping into her clothes, but she couldn't feel the cold. All she felt was the desperate will to survive. Some primal instinct warned her that if help didn't arrive soon, she wouldn't make it through the night.
Dragging her numb legs, she inched toward her handbag. Relief washed over her when she found her phone still inside.
She pressed a speed dial button, her mind clouded by pain and shock. In her delirium, she didn't realize she was calling Paul—the same Paul who had long since blocked her number.
The phone displayed "connecting," and she kept redialing with shaking fingers, barely registering that no one was answering.
Meanwhile, Paul was at the hospital with Elara, who had just been rushed in for stomach pumping after being poisoned. The doctors confirmed it was deliberate, and besides Connie, there were no other suspects.
Paul had immediately ordered Connie's arrest and interrogation. But Connie kept insisting that Ann had put her up to it.
With a deep sigh, he removed Ann from his blocked contacts list. The moment he did, her call came through—as if she had some sixth sense about it.
Paul felt a surge of irritation. Was she so desperate that she'd been calling him repeatedly despite being blocked?
He answered the call and immediately launched into an accusation. "Elara was poisoned at the reception. Your mother did it, and she claims you orchestrated the whole thing. What do you have to say for yourself, Ann?"
When the call connected, Ann's mind cleared for a brief moment, but hearing his hostile voice made her flicker of hope fade away.
"Ann?" Paul called again when she didn't respond.
What game was she playing now, calling him and then saying nothing?
His expression hardened. "I'll be contacting my lawyers," he said coldly, implying that if she was responsible, he would show no mercy.
Something in his threat seemed to stir her. Ann struggled to prop herself up, clutching the phone with what little strength she had left. The pain was overwhelming, making each word feel like she was speaking through broken glass.
"Paul," she managed, her voice not hoarse but frighteningly weak.
Paul remembered a previous late-night call from Ann when she'd been drunk. He'd hung up on her then, annoyed by the interruption.
"I'm not feeling well. Could you—" Before she could finish, Paul ended the call.
Raindrops fell from Ann's eyelashes, indistinguishable from her tears. A bitter smile crossed her lips as she sighed softly. She tried to call someone else, but at that moment, her phone screen went black.
That had been her only chance to make a call. If she could turn back time, she wouldn't have wasted it on Paul. Deep down, she knew he would never come to her rescue.
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