Chapter 3
627words
The piercing sound of brakes shatters the tranquility of the villa district.
Edward Lawrence doesn't even have time to properly close the car door before tumbling out of the driver's seat.
The little finger of his left hand is hastily wrapped in a silk scarf, yet it still throbs with excruciating pain.
The right sleeve of his shirt is soaked with blood, sticking to his flesh, and every movement brings tearing agony.
But none of this compares to the all-consuming fear in his heart.
"Daisy Wen!"
Like an enraged lion, he kicks open the villa's main door and roars at the panic-stricken servant:
"Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?"
"She's... she's in the storage room on the top floor..."
Before the words are fully spoken, Edward Lawrence has already rushed up the stairs in a bloody gale.
The door to the top floor is locked from the inside.
*Bang!*
He violently rams it with his shoulder.
*Bang! Bang!*
After a few tries, the old lock breaks and he kicks the door open!
The scene behind the door makes his blood freeze instantly.
In the dim storage room, I sit quietly on an old wooden chair.
I'm still wearing that old nightgown he poured boiling water on, my face as pale as death, the wound on my arm deep enough to see bone has received no treatment, exposed to the air, with blood winding down, forming a small pool of dark red at my feet.
On the floor in front of me lie scattered broken pieces of glass, and the sharpest piece, still stained with blood, twirls between my fingers.
Hearing the noise, I slowly raise my head.
My lifeless eyes meet his terrified gaze, and the corner of my mouth curls into an eerie smile.
"You're back."
My voice is soft, yet like an ice pick, stabbing deep into Edward Lawrence's heart.
Edward Lawrence stares intently at the wound on my arm, then looks at the identical wound on his own arm, his breathing instantly becoming heavy.
"It's you... it was really you behind this!"
He approaches step by step, his voice trembling with extreme anger and fear, "Daisy Wen, what kind of witchcraft did you use?!"
I laugh maniacally, the laughter sounding bone-chilling in the empty room.
"Witchcraft?" I tilt my head, my gaze both innocent and cruel, "No, Edward, this isn't witchcraft. This is retribution."
"Retribution?" Edward Lawrence reacts as if he'd heard the biggest joke ever.
He suddenly lunges forward, grabbing my slender neck and lifting me completely off the chair.
"You crazy bitch! You think you can scare me with these despicable tricks? Let me tell you, I..."
His words come to an abrupt halt.
[Ding! The Host is experiencing a chokehold attack, pain sensation has been transferred 100-fold.]
Almost simultaneously, Edward Lawrence feels an invisible vise grip clamp tightly around his throat.
A suffocating sensation crashes over him like a tidal wave.
His eyeballs bulge, his face instantly turns purple, and the hand that had been gripping my neck involuntarily loosens.
"Ugh... huh..."
He clutches his own throat, his legs weakening as he falls to his knees, gasping desperately for air, yet his lungs are like broken bellows, unable to draw in even a wisp of oxygen.
I collapse back into my chair, covering my neck and coughing violently.
I watch Edward Lawrence struggling painfully on the ground, without a trace of pity in my eyes.
When the deadly sensation of suffocation slightly recedes, Edward Lawrence raises his head, and the look in his eyes when he gazes at me has completely changed.
If before it was terror, now it's the most primal, soul-deep trembling one feels when facing a completely incomprehensible, uncontrollable demon!
"What... what do you... want?" he asks.
