Chapter 3

Next, Ethan and Summer grabbed me from both sides and dragged me out of the suite like a dead dog.

At the end of the hallway, a dozen bodyguards stood with hands behind their backs, their oppressive presence hitting like a wave.

The man in front strode forward.

I half-closed my eyes and recognized him. Hugo Smith.

Seven years ago, he was just a low-level bodyguard not even qualified to open doors for me.

While I'd been wandering outside these years, he'd apparently become my father's capable right-hand man.

Ethan and Summer's earlier arrogance vanished instantly.

Replaced by obsequious, fawning smiles.

"Mr. Smith, we've brought the girl for you."

Hugo glanced down at them condescendingly.

His gaze was like an ice-cold blade, finally settling coldly on me.

"You know Mr. Holt's rules?"

"The women sent to him must be completely clean."

Ethan nodded frantically, bowing so low he nearly touched the ground.

"Yes, yes! Absolutely clean, absolutely obedient!"

Hugo snorted coldly, looking me up and down:

"Perfect. Mr. Holt's in a bad mood tonight. He needs something to vent on."

"If this woman doesn't serve him well, you two will be buried with her."

Ethan shuddered and shoved me forward roughly.

"Cat got your tongue? Answer Mr. Smith yourself!"

I steadied myself, a cold laugh escaping my throat:

"You're really asking for death."

Ethan flew into a rage and backhanded me viciously across the face.

"Bitch! I told you to answer properly, what the hell are you playing at!"

I stumbled from the blow, my knees hitting the cold marble floor hard.

The skimpy lingerie was torn, leaving me in complete disarray.

Ethan hissed through gritted teeth:

"Useless trash! You dare put on airs in front of Mr. Smith?"

Hugo watched this spectacle coldly and finally spoke again.

"Mr. Holt despises disobedient things most."

"The last one who dared throw a tantrum in front of him—her ashes were scattered in the moat to feed the alligators long ago."

Ethan and Summer's faces turned deathly pale, their breathing stopping for a second.

I kept my head lowered, but from an angle they couldn't see, I slowly curved my lips upward.

After my mother died, my dad chopped up that woman who'd challenged her and fed her to the fish.

Since then, he both loved and hated women, torturing them mercilessly.

My father's methods remained as brutal as ever.

Thinking this, a bloodthirsty excitement flickered in my eyes.

My abnormal reaction didn't escape Hugo's notice.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, a hint of amusement flashing through them.

"You've got guts."

"Other women would've pissed themselves hearing about feeding alligators."

He looked me up and down, his tone carrying some satisfaction.

"Mr. Holt's in a foul mood tonight. He needs someone with a hard spine to take it out on."

"Your fearless attitude might just suit Mr. Holt's taste."

"If you can let the old man vent properly, maybe those of us below can catch some benefits."

Hearing this, Ethan's eyes lit up instantly.

He thought my half-dead appearance had actually caught Hugo's eye, and his courage swelled again.

He grabbed my hair and forced my head up.

My scalp tore with pain, but I bit my lip hard and didn't make a sound.

"Look, Mr. Smith! This face, this body—guaranteed to satisfy Mr. Holt!"

Ethan's eyes darted, then he lowered his voice, trying to build connections and fish for information.

"Mr. Smith, may I ask... why is Mr. Holt in such a bad mood tonight?"

"Also, I heard Mr. Holt's been looking for some white moonlight. What kind of goddess is she?"

"Give us a hint so we can find women matching that standard for Mr. Holt in the future..."

The next second, Hugo's gaze turned sharp, looking at Ethan like a cold corpse.

"Mr. Holt's private affairs—you think trash like you has the right to ask?"

Ethan's face instantly turned liver-colored.

"Yes, yes, yes, I deserve to die for asking!"

To cover his guilt and fear, he vented all his rage on me again.

He kicked me viciously in the abdomen.

My stomach churned violently. I curled into a ball from the pain.

"Bitch! Get in there and serve him properly!"

"Once you're inside, even if you have to wag your tail like a bitch, you better make Mr. Holt comfortable!"

He shoved me hard and I pitched forward.

I gripped the cold doorframe, enduring the stabbing pain in my abdomen, and slowly straightened up.

Ethan had just asked why Theodore Holt was in a bad mood?

I sneered silently. Probably because misfortunes never come alone.

Seven years ago, on the day my mother died, I'd pointed at his nose and cursed him to die without descendants.

None of his women outside managed to give him children.

On one side, a rebellious daughter who was his only flesh and blood. On the other, his dead wife. Whose mood would be good?

And just to please him, even his own daughter had to be pimped out like a prostitute and sent to his bed.

Theodore Holt, I really want to see this.

When that door opens, how will you explain this to me?