Chapter 187 Found
Quentin watched the yacht pulling away with her anxiety escalating each passing moment. With her voice quaking, on the verge of tears, she pleaded with Dorian to give chase.
"Please, you have to believe me. I'm positive I saw him. Can you chase that yacht? It may be because I miss Matthew so much, or I mistook someone else for him, but I can't let this slip by. I need to get on that yacht today and see for myself; if not, I'll never be able to let go."
Dorian's indecision dissolved in an instant. They were set on intercepting that ship, so he swiveled the helm and accelerated in hot pursuit.
Fortune favored their endeavor as the targeted ship wasn't racing at full speed, allowing Dorian to close the distance rapidly. In a daring move, he steered their boat to cut directly in front of the yacht, obstructing its path. This audacious maneuver risked a catastrophic collision, yet it brought them to a nerve-wracking standstill.
The luxury cruise ship came to a sudden stop, and abruptly, a group of husky men emerged, brandishing an array of rifles aimed squarely at the unexpected arrivals. Dorian, who'd spent years in the shadows as an undercover operative, barely blinked at this sudden stand-off.
Quentin, however, was far from accustomed to such dire circumstances—the closest she'd come to this kind of danger was through a movie screen, and the tangible threat now facing her sent shivers of fear up her spine.
Casting a side-eye at Quentin, Dorian shot her a subtle, confident look that wordlessly implored her to stay calm. Her heart was still pounding, and Quentin drew a deep breath, her initial panic subsiding as she set her jaw. She steeled herself with determination, ready to face the looming danger alongside Dorian and unravel the mystery surrounding Matthew's presence aboard the ship; she set her jaw firmly.
With deliberate steps, Dorian moved forward to initiate a dialogue, conveying sincerity as he assured the armed men that their motives were benign. He explained that they simply sought to board the ship in pursuit of a specific individual, aiming to resolve the situation through peaceful means.
The stern-faced men showed no inclination for conversation. They bluntly rejected any prospect of a peaceful resolution, adamantly declaring the ship off-limits and firmly denying entry to Dorian and his companion.
Dorian assessed their situation, pondering whether a more aggressive move might tip the scales in their favor. Handling the opposition would be fine if he were alone. However, Quentin's presence complicated things, and Dorian wasn't willing to gamble with their safety.
Out of nowhere, due to the unforeseen halt, a group of men in sleek black suits spilled out from the interior of the yacht. Dorian instinctively raised his hands, signaling his lack of weaponry – an admission that perhaps they had acted too hastily. The newcomers brandished firearms, and It became evident that Dorian and Quentin were at risk of being swiftly overwhelmed by a barrage of bullets should the situation escalate.
Then, another crew surfaced, one of whom carried an air of casual authority. His long hair and relaxed dress contrasted with the formality of his armed companions. His smile held an odd allure, projecting beauty and charisma on par with the most captivating women—that was the impression he left on Quentin.
Quentin caught the subtle lift of the man's eyebrows and understood the message behind his smooth remark, "I admire your guts, but unfortunately, our pleasure craft isn't quite the place for impromptu visits from bold strangers."
Quentin swiftly positioned himself beside Dorian and directed his words to the man with long hair. "I apologize for any inconvenience, but we're searching for a friend who we believe might be on your vessel. Would it be possible for us to come aboard and verify his presence?"
The man with long hair gave a sly smile and replied, "Miss, every soul on this vessel is part of our crew. How could your friend possibly be here? And on what grounds should I trust your story?"
While the exchange took place, Dorian scanned the figures on deck but failed to catch sight of Matthew. Could Quentin have been mistaken? This crowd looked rough around the edges, and setting foot on the vessel seemed like it could be more trouble than they'd bargained for.
Dorian was still considering their options when suddenly, two men clad in black emerged on the second-floor deck, brandishing guns and aiming right at them. In the blink of an eye, two more individuals stepped out from the ship. Leading them was a woman with striking features, her blonde hair and blue eyes standing out. She appeared young and had her hair pulled back tightly. Donning a blue tank top and form-fitting jeans, she exuded an air of agility and competence.
Dorian and Quentin's eyes widened as they recognized the person emerging from the shadow of the woman—it was Matthew. Quentin's eyes instantly brimmed with excitement.
That familiar face, that unmistakable silhouette; it was indeed Matthew.
The woman, who clearly commanded the yacht with authority, allowed a flicker of annoyance to cross her frosty demeanor. "Who are you?"
In that instant, Quentin couldn't focus on anything else. Her gaze clung to the face that had haunted her every thought, day and night. The pent-up emotions she had contained for so long surged forth at the sight of Matthew, so overwhelming that she found herself voiceless. Her lower lip caught between her teeth, and tears cascaded silently down her cheeks.
Dorian, too, had laid eyes on Matthew. Quentin hadn't been wrong; it really was him, and against all odds, he was alive. To the woman's probing question, Dorian answered, "We're searching for someone. A friend of ours, we believe he's on board."
The woman's sharp eyes captured Quentin's unwavering stare fixed on the man standing behind her. With a mocking tone, she probed further, "And who might your friend be?"
Dorian locked eyes with Matthew, his confidence unwavering as he tilted his head ever so slightly. "Him."
As the tension in Quentin's body began to subside, she sensed something was amiss, and it didn't escape Dorian's notice either. Matthew's behavior was odd. He saw them that much was clear, but instead of approaching, he just stood there, his face blank, next to a blonde woman with striking blue eyes.
This was unlike Matthew's usual behavior. Typically, he would have shown some form of recognition or reaction upon seeing them. However, there was no denying that the face they saw before them was indeed his.
Unable to hold back, Quentin called out, "Matthew, that's you, isn't it?"
All they got from Matthew was a furrowed brow and a blank stare as if she were a stranger.
The woman turned to Matthew with a questioning look. "Do you know these people?"
Matthew's response came with a frown, brief and cold. "I don't know them."
The woman then faced Dorian and Quentin again, her scoff filled with suspicion. "State your purpose. Are you scouts sent by Galen? Speak now, or I won't be so polite." Her piercing gaze raked over them, punctuating the seriousness of her threat. The surrounding crowd focused their attention on Dorian and Quentin, eager to see what would unfold.
Unable to hold back, Dorian shouted, "Matthew, what are you doing? Don't you know? You don't recognize Quentin? That's Quentin!"
At the sound of the name 'Quentin,' a sharp pain shot through Matthew's head, and flashes of strange memories danced before his eyes. The pain was so intense that he doubled over, clutching at his temples.
The woman with him was clearly worried. Seeing his distress, she quickly turned and hurried to his side, then had others help Matthew into the nearby lodge. Quentin attempted to follow, but someone blocked his path.
Upon hearing the name 'Quentin,' this woman scrutinized him with condescension, finding it hard to believe that such a slender, delicate-looking man could be someone's chosen partner.
But even if he had once been Quentin, what did it matter now? She had rescued the stricken man, and as far as she was concerned, he was hers now.
Dorian quickly called out to the woman as she stood up, ready to walk away. "Don't go. The guy we just ran into is the one we've been searching for," he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation. Frustration coursed through him. He couldn't fathom what was happening with Matthew; not recognizing him was bad enough, but ignoring Quentin too? That was downright exasperating.
They had finally located their man, yet they were unable to take him into custody—it was enough to drive anyone to the brink of rage. Dorian shot a chilling stare at the woman, trying to decipher her identity. With the cruise ship adorned in a royal emblem, it probably hailed from some obscure European principality, given that her blond hair and blue eyes clearly indicated she wasn't from any part of the United States.
The woman halted, sensing the urgency in Dorian's voice. She threw a quick, penetrating gaze over at the man with flowing hair and commanded decisively, "Bring them in."
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