Chapter 343

Vincent brought Hannah to a place she didn't recognize, its heavy security making it feel more like a fortress than a refuge.

Inside, she was settled into a grand, sprawling room that gleamed with luxury, though it offered her no comfort. Her cheeks were still streaked with tears, her chest tight with one desperate thought-what had become of her mother?

"Vincent!" Hannah clutched his wrist with trembling fingers, her voice ragged, weighted with panic.′′My mom collapsed back there! Please, let me go to her-I have to know if she's alright!"

Vincent turned around with deliberate calm, his gaze an abyss no one could cross. His voice held no warmth, no flicker of emotion, as he declared firmly, "From this moment on, this is where you belong.You will not go anywhere else."

"Let me go right now!" Her voice cracked despite her desperate attempt at composure, every word trembling with fear and pleading. "Please, just let me check on my mother. If you let me see her, I'll act as if none of this ever happened today."

"Act as if it never happened?" Vincent's gaze sharpened, a faint flicker of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "Not a chance!"

He had dragged her away before witnesses; to him, that meant she belonged to him now.

Hannah's face drained of color. She stumbled back a step, her eyes burning with crushed hope and raw disappointment.

Vincent looked away, his expression unreadable as he strode toward the door. His voice, low and unyielding,carried a final command. "From now on, your movements are restricted to this room."

A hollow laugh escaped her lips, brittle and laced with scorn. Her eyes glittered with bitter mockery.11SO you're locking me up again, Vincent? The last time, when I couldn't even see, you had imprisoned me under

the excuse of protecting me. And now?"

She stepped forward, her words like sharp glass. "What's the noble justification this time? Because I'm getting married? Because I finally found a way to slip out from under your control?"

Vincent lingered at the threshold only for a heartbeat before pushing forward. He didn't turn back or bother with an explanation. The door shut behind him with a heavy finality.

Outside, the butler waited in perfect silence, posture straight and hands folded.

Vincent's command came curt and cold. "Keep an eye on her. Deliver meals three times a day on time. Post two guards at her door. She couldn't take a single step out."

"Got it, Mr. Jones," the butler replied with a deep bowN, his tone steeped in deference.

Vincent strode off without another word.

Later that day, when Vincent finally wrapped up his company affairs, dusk had already bled into night. He came back to the estate, jacket hanging from one arm, the precise cut of his shirt underscoring his simmering unease.

"How is she?" He halted at the threshold, his tall frame casting a shadow onto the door, though he didn't open the door and step inside. His tone was flat, stripped of warmth or worry.

The butler bowed slightly, hands clasped at his sides, and spoke in a muted voice. "Mr. Jones, Ms. Scott..."

Vincent's brows drew together, a flicker of disapproval flashing across his face. "Call her Mrs. Jones."

"Yes, Mr. Jones," the butler corrected instantly. "From the instant you departed until now, Mrs. Jones has refused every meal and drink brought to her. She hasn't spoken a single word either."

The air instantly grew thick and still.

Vincent's presence thickened the air, oppressive and dark. He didn't glance at the butler, his gaze locked instead on the steel door, his eyes as cold and unyielding as the metal itself.

After a long stretch of silence, he yanked the suffocating tie from his neck, the motion sharp and impatient.

A muted beep followed, and the steel door slid open without a sound.

Inside, the room was shrouded in gloom. The lights remained off, leaving only the neon glow of the city beyond the towering windows, streaks of pale blue and red dragging across the polished floor like restless shadows.

Hannah sat perched on the edge of the bed, her posture stiff and unyielding. The wedding dress still clung to her like a cruel reminder of everything she had lost. Her back remained turned to the door, shoulders locked in tense defiance.

Even the faint hiss of the door sliding open failed to draw her attention.

Vincent advanced into the room with measured, deliberate steps, saying nothing.

Hannah's voice sliced through the gloom before he could speak. "How is my mother?" she rasped, the sound raw, as though torn from her throat.

He stopped just behind her, so close that his presence pressed against her shoulders like a weight. His reply was clipped, almost cold. "She's in the hospital."

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the air between them.

Vincent's dark gaze dropped from the rigid line of her neck to the untouched tray of food beside her."Why haven't you eaten?" he asked, voice low but sharp.

She offered nothing back.

He waited, seconds dragging into something heavier.

A buried rage, one he had smothered all day, began to swell and harden in his chest, fed by her unyielding silence. That wedding dress-white, unblemished-turned into an intolerable provocation in his sight.

"What about Claude?" At last, Hannah's voice broke through, ragged but steady.

Vincent's throat bobbed with a sudden jerk, his pupils shrinking with sudden intensity. Without warning,he bent down, his icy grip clamping onto her delicate shoulder with the unyielding force of an iron shackle.

"So you still have the nerve to think about another man!" he growled, his voice low and trembling with a thread of intensely suppressed fury.

Hannah recoiled, startled into turning her face toward him. Looming above her, his features were carved in rage, darkened by a brewing tempest.

In one swift, merciless motion, he drove her down against the frigid mattress. His gaze fell on the wedding gown spread wide across the bed beneath her. It was nothing but a blight in his eyes.

The sharp tear of fabric split the silence. With a vicious tug, he ripped the dress apart, shredding the last symbol of her defiance.

"What the hell are you doing?" she gasped, her voice breaking between anger and disbelief as she thrashed against him.

"Claiming you," Vincent muttered, his tone sharp and absolute.