The Million-Dollar Heart novel Chapter 500

Rivenwood.

The abandoned GTO research facility stood eerily silent.

A woman with a leather jacket and a high ponytail stood at the entrance, her gaze icy as she surveyed the desolation before her.

The layout, the machinery—it all felt vaguely familiar as if it had once danced through the edges of her memory.

But no distinct recollections surfaced. It was a lot to expect, given that the remnants of her infancy were entangled with this place.

Familiarity? That was asking too much.

"Willa, I swear, it was empty when we got here. You gotta believe me."

The woman was none other than Willa, who had grown up under the watchful eye of Jasper within the Perez family.

The speaker was a scattered disciple of the Perez family, once a subordinate under Willa's command in the organization.

Even though Willa had left the Perez family, they had never revoked her access. She could summon the family's resources at a moment's notice, anywhere in the world.

Willa’s expression remained unreadable as she fingered a bracelet on her wrist, engraved with the mysterious moniker "F-Poison."

Her waterfall-like hair swayed in the breeze, occasionally whipping the face of her former subordinate, who stepped back quietly. Willa cherished her hair, and it would not do to lose its luster on someone else's face.

After a final stroke of her hair, Willa turned and strode away, her subordinate hurrying after her. Before he could utter a word, a deafening explosion shattered the silence.

They turned to see the GTO facility now reduced to rubble.

Willa did not look back. Tossing the detonator over her shoulder, she hopped onto her motorcycle.

"F-Poison, where the hell are you? Alive or dead, I need to know. I have to get Sasha back!"

Her subordinate let out a heavy sigh. "Willa, how am I supposed to get back?"

But no plea would bring her back. He reluctantly pulled out his phone and dialed the number.

"What's going on?"

The voice that came through was deep and charismatic, yet the tone carried a hint of amusement.

The subordinate was used to this and did not miss a beat. "Bro, Willa took off on her motorcycle and blew the place."

"Blew it up? She's not hurt, is she?"

"Willa? Of course, she's fine. But I'm stranded," he complained. "I rode here on the back of her motorcycle."

"What! You got to ride Willa's motorcycle? Dammit, don't you dare come back. I'm green with envy. Just disappear!"

The line went dead, leaving the subordinate feeling like the sky was falling.

Meanwhile, the man the subordinate addressed as “Bro,” righteous indignation fueling his wait at the airport, sat in a flashy sports car, his aviators barely concealing his frustration.

"That's just unfair. I grew up with Willa. That motorcycle was my present to her for Children's Day, and I haven't even ridden it yet, but that bastard got to it first!"

As he cursed, VIPs began to emerge from the airport terminal. He floored the gas pedal and pulled up at the pickup area, leaping out without even opening the car door.

From a distance, he saw Vivienne and Percival walking arm in arm.

His gaze lingered on Vivienne. She was the spitting image—it was no wonder the old man had demanded two paternity tests.

He closed the gap quickly, waving as he approached. "Vivienne, I’m here!"

Vivienne paused, puzzled.

Who was this eccentric calling out to her?