Three hours had dragged by like eternity, and still, there was no sign of Loren or Velaxor. Every search party returned empty-handed, and the frustration in both households grew heavier with each passing minute. Mr. Grilas, pacing the floor of his study, tried to convince himself that his daughter was safe, perhaps sending someone in her place to mislead them. But the gnawing fear in his chest refused to be silenced.
Finally, both families decided to converge at Mark's father's farm, hoping for any clue, any scrap of information that could explain the disappearance. The fields stretched wide, morning mist clinging stubbornly to the hillsides. The air smelled of dew and soil, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in their hearts.
Mark met them at the edge of the property. His posture was calm, almost casual, but his eyes carried a weight that made the families uneasy. Mr. Grilas, unable to contain his fear and anger, lunged forward, gripping Mark's shirt with hands trembling from desperation.
"Tell me where my daughter is, right now!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the open fields.
Mark held his ground, his tone steady. "She is with her fiancé, sir. I have nothing to do with it."
A tense silence fell over the crowd. Then Mark slowly, deliberately, nodded toward the cliff that rose sharply beyond the hills. Gasps ran through the families, and a sense of dread settled over them like a shroud. Everyone rushed forward, hearts pounding, fear gnawing at their insides.
The hills stretched before them, wild and untamed, and atop the jagged slope, two small figures stood silhouetted against the morning light. The wind tugged at their clothes, tossing their hair, but their stance was unwavering. Recognition struck everyone at once. It was Loren and Velaxor.
Mr. Herbert's voice cracked as he shouted at Velaxor, ordering him to descend immediately. But Velaxor's eyes blazed with defiance, and he raised his voice so that every word cut like steel:
"You who tried to exploit us and control us, we will not let you succeed. Here, in this place, at this moment, you will no longer see our faces. We will no longer be your tools."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause. Then, in a single, synchronized motion, the two leaped from the cliff. Screams erupted from the crowd, echoing across the valley. The sickening thud of impact and the silence that followed made hearts sink. They had chosen this path rather than endure lives dictated by others, lives full of suffocating expectations and manipulation.
Mr. Grilas staggered, unable to control the scream that tore from his throat. "Loren! Loren!" he cried, over and over, as if sheer force could bring her back. Panic contorted his face, grief and helplessness blending into one unbearable weight.
Mark, standing slightly apart, watched silently until Mr. Grilas turned toward him, eyes wild. He grabbed Mark's shirt, shaking him slightly, and hissed through clenched teeth:
"You know something, Mark. Tell me the truth, or—"
Mark held up his hands, calm but firm. "Believe me, I have nothing to do with it. I tried to stop them, but..."
"Lower your voice!" Mr. Grilas snapped, still trembling. "The important thing now is that you bring my daughter back, and I will grant your request from two months ago."
Mark's eyes widened, disbelief and sudden hope flickering across his face. "How… how do you expect me to bring a dead person?!"
"You cannot allow her to die," Mr. Grilas said, voice steadier now, controlled by desperation and determination. "Two months ago, you came to ask for her hand, and I refused. But now… if you do as I say, Loren will be yours."
Mark's heart raced, hope and fear warring in his chest. He had admired Loren silently, never daring to speak of it, and now fate had thrust an impossible responsibility into his hands. He nodded, understanding the gravity of the task.
"Very well," he whispered. "I'll need something from your house first." The politician agreed without hesitation.
With the agreement reached, the crowd slowly dispersed, the tension in the air lingering like a storm cloud. Velaxor's mother, however, could not be consoled. She remained weeping openly for her son, her sobs punctuating the otherwise tense silence.
Mark lifted a large, heavy bag, the weight symbolic of the burden he now carried, and followed the families toward the mansion. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, plans forming even as sorrow and fear clung to him. Every step was deliberate, every breath measured. This was no longer just about a promise or a request—it was about survival, love, and the chance to undo a tragedy before it could become irreversible.