I Want a Divorce Every Day, But the Superstar Says No-Chapter 152 - 151: Assassination
Immersed in happiness, Quiana Sutton suddenly felt a chilling, indescribable numbness coursing through her entire body.
Durrell Landon glanced down to see Quiana Sutton looking rather unsettled and anxious, and couldn’t help but feel somewhat worried: "Are you feeling unwell?"
She shook her head.
"No."
This feeling was hard to put into words—it was as if a harmless insect had crawled across her chest. She could only feel a suffocating itch and unease in her heart, restless yet unable to pinpoint the source of any danger.
Suddenly, Durrell Landon’s entire body tensed up as well—an instinctive reaction to looming peril.
The next second, without any weapon visibly approaching, he lunged straight at Quiana Sutton.
In that split moment when he threw himself at her, she clearly saw a bullet race toward her at nearly the speed of light.
Everything happened so abruptly that she didn’t have time to react—she only stumbled back a few steps on instinct.
She was used as a human cushion, pinned below Durrell Landon. Dazed and dizzy from the fall, her head buzzed, and it took her more than ten seconds to come to her senses.
But when she opened her eyes and saw the scene before her, she felt as if all the blood in her body had turned to ice.
The bullet had passed straight through Durrell Landon’s flesh and bone. Blood kept seeping from the wound, staining both her own clothes and Durrell Landon’s in a bright crimson bloom.
That vivid color yanked her reason to the edge—nightmarish memories started overlapping before her eyes.
All she could see was a mist of blood. Every image blurred together, until her recollection was soaked in dark red.
Suddenly, a splitting headache struck her.
"Ah..."
On the way back, Charles Foote and Oliver Gale simultaneously whipped their heads around in the same direction.
"Gunshots."
The two exchanged a meaningful glance: "Let’s get back to Imperial View Manor."
They even received a call from the butler while en route.
They were told that Durrell Landon and Quiana Sutton had both run into trouble.
By the time they reached Imperial View Manor, if it hadn’t been for the butler’s usual authority—strictly ordering everyone to stay in their rooms and not to speak a word—the manor would have erupted in chaos by now.
The butler eased a little when he saw Charles Foote, yet his face remained taut with anxiety:
"Sirs, there’s been an incident."
When they rushed to Durrell Landon’s master bedroom and saw the scene on the balcony, even they couldn’t stop a hint of shock from showing on their faces.
The two lay sprawled in a pool of blood, no signs of life, likely on the brink of death.
Charles Foote forced himself to stay calm: "Oliver, check the wounds. I’ll go hunt down the attacker."
He then called Aaron without a second’s hesitation: "Aaron, I want you to lock down all surveillance in Capital City at any cost."
He would never let the one who hurt Durrell Landon simply slip out of Capital City.
Oliver Gale examined Durrell Landon’s wound—it didn’t look optimistic. The bullet might well have hit the heart.
As for Quiana Sutton, she was covered in blood—alarming to look at—but showed no apparent trauma. Most likely, she had simply passed out.
He guessed that the shooter saw neither Durrell Landon nor Quiana Sutton move, so didn’t fire a second shot.
A display of absolute confidence—bordering on arrogance.
"Julian, you drive—we need to get them to the hospital, now."
It was Julian Haworth’s first time witnessing so much blood. It wasn’t until Oliver Gale called his name for the third time that he snapped out of his daze.
"Okay."
...
Riventon Hospital.
The light above the operating room flicked on.
Quiana Sutton was sent to the ward, with a female doctor assigned to check her wounds.
Three hours later, Durrell Landon was wheeled out from surgery. Oliver Gale had overseen the operation himself; Julian Haworth waited anxiously outside the operating room the entire time.
When he saw Oliver Gale emerge, Julian hurried over, face etched with worry: "Oliver, how’s Durrell doing?"
Oliver Gale’s expression was anything but relaxed: "He’ll need at least three months of bed rest."
The heart was injured—not fatally, but enough blood was lost that, had they been a few minutes later, saving him would have been impossible.
Julian Haworth asked, troubled, "Who would try to assassinate them? Was it Nathan Firth? He slunk out of Capital City last time, he must hate Durrell so much he’d grind his teeth to dust."
Oliver Gale took off his glasses, pinching his brow, an unspeakable exhaustion about him: "We’ll know once Knight Tamworth finishes his investigation. Both of them have no shortage of enemies."
If Durrell woke up and didn’t see Quiana Sutton, he’d probably drag himself out to search for her. To prevent that, Oliver Gale decided to have her settled into a room nearby.
...
The next day.
The rarest clear, endless sky—birds perched on the windowpane, their song crisp and lilting, but no one was in the mood to enjoy it.
For now, Durrell Landon was out of danger, but still unconscious.
As for Quiana Sutton, despite having almost no visible wounds and only a light scratch, Oliver Gale couldn’t understand why she hadn’t woken up yet either.
...
At this moment.
Everstar Pavilion.
It was raining outside, the pitter-patter tapping against the window as Nathan Firth stood before it, unable to find any sense of calm. He felt only a strange, suffocating loneliness.
Ever since returning to Everstar Pavilion, the same scene kept haunting his dreams.
Quiana Sutton had taken her grandfather’s cane for Durrell Landon’s sake, and Durrell had stood up to her grandfather for her.
Those determined, resolute eyes were identical to the way she looked when she left the Sutton Estate.
Northmount burst in hurriedly, face flushed with urgency:
"Sir, something’s happened in Capital City."
Nathan Firth regarded him coolly, his expression unreadable: "What is it?"
Northmount: "Since last night, Charles Foote has cut off all outbound flights from Capital City—no one is allowed to leave. It’s as if they’re searching for something."
Hearing that, a flicker of interest flashed in Nathan Firth’s eyes: "Charles Foote would never do this for no reason. Go investigate—find out what’s happened in Capital City."
"Understood."
Since last night, he’d been overcome by a restless anxiety, unable to sleep. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he had to concede: the ties of blood were sometimes inexplicably strong.
Chances were, something had happened to Durrell Landon.
If Durrell truly died, he’d be only too happy to see it.
He’d devoted his whole life to vengeance, willing to give up everything that could be abandoned in its name.
He’d even given up Quiana Sutton.
And yet, the mere thought that Durrell Landon might really be dead left him suddenly anxious and uneasy.
Like a lost child, unable to find his way home.
...
