She had just finished bathing, her hair slightly damp. They say a woman before and after makeup are two different creatures, yet she seemed to bear no significant change.
Her bare face was tender and flawless, clear and translucent as if it could squeeze out water. Her clean and fresh bedroom also seemed to be filled with the scent of her bath.
The way he gazed at her made Charlotte Green feel like a small snake under the watchful eye of a hawk, chilling to the bone.
"Do you have someone you like?" he suddenly asked.
She stood at the foot of the bed, shaking her head uneasily, "No."
"So you haven't tasted a man then?"
His words were too insulting. She blushed, biting her lip.
Then, the air fell silent…
He continued to stare at her with cold eyes, as if contemplating how to deal with prey that had fallen into his hands.
After a long while, Kevin Cliff finally flipped over the photo frame beside him, "Put her up there."
Charlotte Green stepped forward and took the photo frame, turning pale and trembling all over as she looked at it.
The girl in the photo was the spitting image of the death photo he had brought to the wedding, only this photo was colored, making the girl's smile appear even more innocent and cheerful.
Who exactly was this girl? Why did they have to display her in their room?
Moreover, why place it on the bedside table on her side?
In the end, he didn't touch her; he simply lay down and went to sleep. As for her, she slept on her side, facing the photo, feeling so uneasy that she couldn't sleep—her body curled up into a small shrimp-like shape, taking up less than a third of the bed, she lay awake until dawn.
The man got up at seven, went downstairs at ten past seven, finished breakfast at forty past seven, and left the house, as if he had formed standard procedures, very regular.
Once there were no more sounds of him downstairs, Charlotte Green immediately opened her eyes from feigning sleep, not daring to take another glance at the photo on the nightstand. She found the clothes she wanted to wear in her suitcase and ran into the washroom.
After covering the dark shadows under her eyes with powder, she went downstairs. When the housekeeper, Liu, asked what she would like for breakfast—out of duty, yet still feeling unexpectedly honored—she requested a Chinese-style breakfast, perfectly prepared Nutritious Porridge with some uniquely pickled side dishes, warm and comforting to her heart.
Liu, the Manor's housekeeper, was just as expressionless, cold, and stern as the Manor's owner. Here, everyone called her 'Miss Green,' simply because the manor's owner hadn't announced her status to them.
From the moment she stepped in, it seemed she had nowhere to stand.
After breakfast, Charlotte Green went upstairs to organize her personal belongings, but she hadn't been in her room long before Liu brought a foreigner upstairs.
"Miss Green, this Mr. Smith is a renowned psychiatrist, brought by the Master to treat you," Liu said.
Charlotte Green's heart instantly turned cold with pain, her face paled, and she lost control of her emotions.
"I'm not sick! Let him go! Let him leave now!"
"Patients like this usually claim they are not sick; her condition seems quite bad," responded Dr. Smith regretfully. He then motioned to the two assistants behind him to hold her down, speaking in English, but she understood.
Her feeble strength could not break free.
Medicine filled the syringe, spilling from the sharp needle tip... These images were all too familiar to her—it was a tranquilizer.
Fear, helplessness.
So, nightmares would never end. Never...
Before passing out, she saw a figure standing in the doorway, coldly watching her struggle, watching her despair, and then...
She saw him smile, just a brief, cold curve of his lips, but a definite smile, a cruel one...