Find me in your labyrinth (Stella and Jonathan)
Chapter 1889

The two guys behind her were staring at Estelle like she was their next meal, a sneer playing on their lips, their intentions clear as day. Without even trying to hide their movements, one of them reached for Estelle's neck. "Hey, gorgeous, how about you forget the fare and hang with us for a bit, huh?"

Estelle's voice was ice. "Take your hand off me. Now."

The guy just smirked, that dark look in his eyes growing even more sinister as he pulled out a syringe, quick as a snake striking. But just as the needle grazed Estelle's skin, she spun around, her hand snapping up to grab his wrist and twist. There was a sickening snap, and the guy's howl cut through the air as Estelle threw him out of the cab like yesterday's trash.

He hit the pavement hard, rolling along the asphalt, his screams trailing behind him.

The other two guys inside the cab paled, their previous bravado gone. The driver slammed on the brakes, leaving thick skid marks on the road. Before the car had even come to a full stop, they lunged at Estelle.

She was on her feet in a heartbeat, one hand pressing against the door for leverage, her foot connecting squarely with the driver's chest, sending him flipping out of the cab. Her movements fluid, a sweeping kick landed on the other guy's face, sending him sprawling out of the vehicle too.

The driver, now knowing he had picked a fight with the wrong woman, rubbed his aching chest and pulled out a switchblade, his face set in grim determination as he lunged at Estelle again.

She jumped out of the cab, caught his arm, twisted her wrist, and with a swift motion, the blade was now aimed downward, plunging toward his groin. Blood spurted, and the man's face twisted in shock and agony before he passed out on the road.

The third guy, a burly man, just stood there staring at Estelle in disbelief, his own knife clattering to the ground as he turned tail and ran.

Estelle didn't bother chasing him. She tossed her leather jacket onto the passenger seat, picked up the dropped syringe, and smirked to herself without making a sound.

Taking the driver's seat, she floored the gas pedal and sped off into the night.

The first thug and the one who had fled looked on in stunned silence. Hadn't they been the ones trying to pull off a heist?

Fuming, the remaining guy whipped out his phone and dialed furiously. "We just got tricked by some chick, she took the damn car. Stop her, take her down." He was practically spitting with rage. The road was empty as Estelle pushed the car to 200 mph, the wind whipping through her hair with a hiss.

Driving one-handed, she cranked up the music, letting the heavy metal rock blast through the speakers. With sunglasses perched on her nose, her expression was unreadable. At this moment, she was the epitome of the cool, detached Stella.

A hundred miles down the road, now within the territory of Citadel, the car's tires suddenly blew out, punctured by a spike strip laid across the pavement. Unfazed, Estelle kept the steering wheel steady, decelerated smoothly, and continued driving at a controlled pace.

About ten miles further on, two cars blocked the road, their occupants-muscle-bound men with tattoos covering their arms and chests—sat waiting.

Estelle narrowed her eyes and gripped the wheel. At about a hundred meters out, she gunned the engine and barreled toward the blockade.

The men's faces registered shock and panic. He thought, "Was this woman crazy?"

The heavy SUV roared closer, too fast for anyone to escape.

A thunderous crash echoed as the vehicles collided, throwing three men from the blockade. Estelle quickly unbuckled, pushed off with one arm, and landed a kick on the first man to approach. Using his body as a springboard, she leapt up, grabbed another by the hair, and plunged the syringe she had kept into his eye with ruthless precision.

Screaming, he fell from the car, writhing in agony on the ground.

Estelle jumped down from the roof of the SUV, her body moving with lethal grace as she dodged a punch and drew a dagger. Its blade glinted coldly as she slashed, and the man clutched his bleeding wrist, howling in pain.

The remaining men roared and charged at Estelle in a blind fury, intent on tearing apart the woman who had become their most hated and dreaded adversary.