Even to this day, he always remembered those eyes he saw through the iron cage. Even bathed in blood and scars, those eyes remained as still as dead water in a pond, like a beast in the jungle staring you down.
Ready to break through the cage any moment and tear a chunk of flesh from you.
Such a person has paranoia and violence etched into his bones.
After that day, his disdain for Arnold Simmons deepened, not because he had killed Duarte, but because of an unexplainable fear.
By the time he looked up again, they were already far away, but he could still faintly hear the girl's soft, coquettish voice, "Arnold, I don't like stories, I only like you, let's kiss, shall we?"
Jimmy Simmons was so angry he wanted to smash everything around him, but he stopped himself when his gaze fell upon the swing swaying in the wind.
He called a servant over, "Take down that swing for me!"
