Chapter 770
Chapter 770:
“Giffard, tell me the truth. What exactly did you obtain in Flaville?” Millie asked, her voice tight with concern.
Step by step, Giffard described what he had done back in Flaville, and Millie’s face grew more troubled with every word. She bent over his arm to examine the injury, her heart sinking with both grief and regret.
“I chose to do all of this for you, and I don’t regret it. You don’t owe me anything,” Giffard said firmly.
She shook her head as sorrow clouded her eyes. “But I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for me p>
That answer caught Giffard completely off guard.
An uneasy stillness settled inside the car.
Breaking the silence at last, Myron leaned forward. “I’ve already contacted people in Flaville. Giffard, work alongside me, and we’ll settle this problem together p>
No reply came from Giffard right away, and Millie wrapped her hands around his.
“Giffard,” she murmured, her voice soft.
Giffard’s gaze turned misty as he stared back at her, eyes rimmed red. Could she not see how devoted he was to her? Could there really be no chance for them?
She said nothing, only held his gaze.
At last, Giffard let his eyelids fall shut. “Fine,” he murmured.
Vivian continued singing live, her cheerful voice filling the air, while elsewhere, someone lurked in the darkness, smashing a glass in frustration.
“I can’t watch this train wreck anymore!” the person yelled, their patience snapping. “Vivian, you’re unbearable p>
Before Vivian could even finish her song, chaos erupted online. A single post quickly ignited public outrage, spreading like wildfire.
The hashtag “MillieCriticalCondition” shot to the very top of the trending charts, dominating every feed in a matter of minutes. It all started with a single bombshell post.
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The post contained a few photos and a short message. Someone with the username “567” uploaded several photos and a blunt threat: “Enough already, Vivian! Try playing the victim one more time—I swear I’ll spill everything I’ve got on you if you keep pushing it!” Attached were three chilling images.
The first showed what looked like a critical condition notice for Millie, though the key details had been blurred.
In another image, Millie was seen being lifted onto a gurney. Beneath the harsh glare of the hospital corridor lights, her motionless body was sprawled out, blood soaking her skin and clothes, her pupils unfocused as she gazed emptily at the ceiling above. Streaks of blood and tears ran down her face. Blood had soaked into everything—her clothes, the sheet, even the wheels.
The final photo looked down the hospital corridor, a gruesome trail of blood painting a path behind the gurney as it was rushed away. Anyone could see at a glance the blood was all Millie’s.
The trio of images sent shivers down viewers’ spines—graphic, raw, and impossible to look away from. Even more unsettling, the secretive angles of the shots made it obvious they had been snapped without anyone’s knowledge. The person behind the camera hadn’t just lingered in one place—they had moved through several spots, following Millie and capturing images from every possible angle.