I woke up in the same room as before, my head pounding painfully.
I sat up quickly and touched every part of my body.
Oh my gosh… I'm alive. I'm actually alive.
After everything I saw yesterday—the blood, the screams—I truly thought I was going to die.
I checked my wrists and ankles.
Thank goodness. I wasn't tied up this time.
A woman entered soon after. She looked like a maid, probably in her late thirties.
"Good morning, ma'am," I greeted her politely.
"Good morning, dear," she replied with a warm smile. "The boss wants to see you. Everything you need to shower is ready in the bathroom. I'll bring you a dress shortly."
I froze.
He wants to see me? Is he angry that I fainted last night?
Well, he can't blame me—I saw more blood in one night than I had seen in my entire life. And I definitely wasn't ready to see my own.
She must have noticed the fear on my face. Her voice softened.
"Don't worry, dear. He won't hurt you today. He didn't look angry when he gave the orders."
Today?
Does she mean he's planning to hurt me on another day?
Gosh… what have I gotten myself into?
"Ma'am," I asked quietly, "do you know why he wants to see me?"
"I don't," she said. "But if you want to find out, you need to hurry. He doesn't like waiting. You have ten minutes."
I thanked her. She left.
Finally—someone treated me kindly in this house of horrors.
I really hoped he was planning to let me go. Because if not… I might enter a coma for real this time.
This place felt like a beautiful, luxurious hell.
I went into the dressing room. Everything was empty, covered in dust sheets, but the room itself was stunning—bright lights, perfectly crafted shelves, and a huge mirror with every cosmetic product imaginable.
The maid must have prepared all this for me.
Only one shelf had anything in it: brand‑new towels neatly arranged.
I undressed, took one out, and wrapped it around myself before heading into the bathroom.
The bathtub was already filled with warm, soapy water. I sank into it and sighed.
This… this is actually refreshing.
I scrubbed myself with the fluffy sponge, rinsed off, and wrapped myself in the towel again.
Back in the dressing room, I applied lotion and fixed my hair, waiting for the maid to bring the dress.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Why isn't she coming?
I remembered how those half-dead men still struggled to meet Mr Grey's deadlines. The last thing I wanted was to be late and get him angry.
I wasn't mentally prepared for another nightmare.
Finally, I made a decision I knew I'd regret—I would go to him with nothing but a towel on.
A part of me screamed Don't do it! considering how men can be…
But being late would definitely be worse.
I gathered all the courage I had and stepped into the hallway.
Gosh, the house was beautiful.
Just when I thought I'd seen the best parts, I kept discovering more.
It looked heavenly—well, except for the murderous people who lived here.
I asked a couple of guards for directions. They led me to Mr Grey's room.
I stood in front of the door, awkwardly debating how to knock.
Lightly?
Hard?
Why was I stressing over a knock?
Finally, I did it.
No reply.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
On the fifth knock, a sharp voice cut through the silence.
"Come in."
My stomach dropped.
I opened the door slowly and walked inside.
He was working on something on his computer.
I greeted him.
That was when he finally looked at me—slowly, from head to toe.
He scoffed.
"Look, lady, if you're planning to seduce your way out of this, it's not going to work."
I blinked.
Where does he even get these insane ideas from?
Honestly, he should consider being a film director.
And why would I ever try to seduce him of all people? He looked like someone who could paralyze a woman in bed with just one night—not in a good way.
I sighed. "No, it's not like that. The woman who was supposed to bring my clothes hasn't returned."
He gave me another look before saying:
"Turn on the TV."
"Sir?" I asked.
He shot me a glare so sharp I nearly melted.
"Oh—sorry!" I rushed to the TV and switched it on.
And then my heart stopped.
HEADLINE:
"CEO and latest murder suspect Miss Scarlett Snow hands all property to fiancé, then is seen fleeing with dangerous mafia don. Coincidence or partnership?"
What the…
This was all nonsense. How could they say that?
I didn't "hand over" my property—I was forced to!
I fought for years to save my father's company after his death.
Why was no one seeing the truth?
Why was everyone pointing fingers at me?
And the worst part?
I was trapped here with the most dangerous criminal I knew—the Mafia Don himself.
The reporters on TV argued about whether it was coincidence that the cops saw me "running with a mafia boss," or whether he helped me kill my father.
One reporter even suggested I was working with him.
I wanted to slap her through the screen.
They didn't even mention he was dragging me by force.
Not one cop defended me.
Then the next person appeared.
My mom.
"My name is Vanessa Wilson," she said confidently. "This year's presidential candidate—and I vow to ensure that my daughter pays for her actions if she is found guilty. I will not tolerate corruption, even from my own blood."
The crowd cheered, calling her a true leader.
My chest tightened.
How could she say that?
Instead of defending me, she made everything worse.
I stepped back. My vision blurred.
I didn't know who to trust anymore.
I didn't want to believe my mother was against me…
I bent my head and let the tears fall. My heart felt crushed.
"I didn't call you here to cry," Mr Grey said flatly, sounding annoyed.
Couldn't he at least consider that I was hurting?
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