The Tyrant's Stolen Bride-Chapter 117: Intruder in Griffin’s House

Griffin had just returned when he noticed Alice sitting on the low fence in front of his house, her back slouched as if she had been waiting for a long time.

He drove slowly and parked a bit farther away from the gate. He slammed the door, pressed the lock button, and walked toward her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone far from friendly.

Alice, who had been nodding off while waiting, jerked to her feet.

"Griffin..." she muttered as he walked past her.

Relief washed over her face. After hours of waiting, the person she had been hoping for had finally appeared.

"I came from the hospital. I was looking for Dr. Ashford, but she wasn’t there, so I came here for a favor."

The name caught Griffin’s attention. He found it strange that the former maid from the Cortez mansion was suddenly looking for the doctor and somehow, of all places, had ended up at his house.

"Come in," he said at last, opening the gate and gesturing for Alice to follow him inside.

As she waited in the living room, her eyes wandered around the house. It was small, but neat, everything in its place, nothing excessive.

Moments later, Griffin appeared, setting a cup of tea in front of her. Despite his rough exterior and unfriendly demeanor, he treated her like a proper guest.

"Thanks," she said softly, lifting the cup to her lips and letting the warm tea moisten her dry throat.

"Speak," he said, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the sofa, looking completely comfortable.

Alice set the cup back on the small table, her eyes locking on him.

"Do you have a photo of Dr. Ashford?" she asked.

Griffin’s brows knit together instantly. "A photo? What do you want to do with it?"

"Um... I want to get money from it," she said, and she bit her lower lip.

He straightened, leaning forward, his relaxed posture disappearing. For a moment, he wondered if he had heard her correctly.

"Say that again."

Alice swallowed. "I said... I plan to get money using Dr. Ashford’s photo."

Griffin shook his head. Her curt answers puzzled him.

"Alice... explain it properly. Who’s going to pay... who’s buying it?" he asked, his voice tightening and pressed her further.

Alice fidgeted, hesitation written all over her face. Kiera had warned her, no one else could know about this.

"Alice..." Griffin called her name again, his patience wearing thin.

"Um... someone asked for it and promised me money. I don’t know what she needs it for."

She explained just enough, hoping Griffin would stop asking. But he didn’t.

"Who is that woman?" he pressed.

Regret crept in immediately. Asking Griffin for help had been a mistake. He asked too many questions.

"Griffin... If you don’t have her photo, it’s fine. I’ll take my leave."

She reached for her bag, fingers tightening around the strap. Suddenly, Griffin seized her wrist, and the unexpected contact made her flinch.

"I don’t have it, but I can ask Dante for one."

The offer made her eyes sparkle, and he released his grip. She settled back on the sofa.

"Really?" she asked, hope rushing into her voice.

"I need it quickly. I only have a few days left to hand it over." She explained hurriedly, hoping Griffin understood the urgency.

"Yes. Come back by tomorrow night. I’ll try to get one for you," he said.

Then his gaze sharpened. "But now tell me... who is she? The one who wants the photo."

Alice twisted the edge of her fabric nervously. "Promise you won’t tell anyone."

Griffin nodded.

"Her name is Kiera. That’s all I know. I just need to send the photo to her number."

Griffin’s eyes widened. He was stunned. But then he quickly composed himself. As far as he knew, that was the name Dante always muttered when he cursed.

The conversation ended there.

By the time Alice left the house, the sky had already darkened.

Griffin closed the door and slumped back onto the sofa. In truth, he already had one.

He had only said it to stall Alice, to buy himself time before making a move.

Now, he hesitated. He wondered whether telling Dante was the right move, and more importantly, what benefit it would bring him if he did.

After deep thought, he decided to leave the matter alone, at least for now, and went to sleep.

But at midnight, someone slipped silently into his house. The intruder moved cautiously through the shadows, a cold piece of metal clenched tightly in his hand.

He went to the only room. He eased the door open and inched closer to the bed, looming over the figure lying on the soft mattress.

His gaze locked onto the steady rise and fall of the chest, the slow rhythm of breathing.

He raised the knife with both hands, ready to drive it down.

In a split second, Griffin’s eyes flew open. He kicked out hard, catching the intruder in the leg. A grunt of pain broke the silence as the blade slashed through empty air.

With no time to think, Griffin grabbed a pillow and held it up as a shield. Feathers burst free, filling the room like pale smoke.

The intruder lunged again.

Griffin ducked low and kicked at his leg. The knife glanced off his arm, fire streaking through his nerves. Gritting his teeth, he kicked again, sending the intruder crashing onto his back.

He leapt on top of him and slammed a fist into his neck. A choked groan escaped the intruder’s lips.

The blade flashed toward him, but he caught the wrist mid-strike, trapping it above his head. His other hand closed around the intruder’s throat.

The man struggled, gasping, fingers clawing weakly at Griffin’s arm.

Moments later, the resistance stopped, and the body went limp.

Griffin rose from the lifeless body, wincing as pain flared through his arm. He staggered to the side and slumped against the wall, leaning there helplessly.

His face had gone pale from the amount of blood he had lost.

He shook his head, dizziness washing over him, his vision blurring as he nearly fainted.

Forcing himself to move, he managed to get up only as far as his knees. Slowly, he crawled toward the small table beside the bed, his fingers trembling as he reached for the phone.

With what little strength he had left, he made the call. Dante was the fastest person he could think of. The only one who might get to him in time.