Chapter 119

Scarlett’s POV

The cold liquid slowly trickled down my forehead, congealing into a sticky sensation on my eyelashes.

I tried to open my eyes, but could only feel the piercing pain radiating from various parts of my body.

My consciousness drifted between darkness and clarity.

Through the haze, I saw Richard standing there, the blood on his hands particularly glaring under the light.

His expression remained as calm as usual, as if he hadn't been torturing me but merely handling some trivial matter.

I vaguely thought to myself, this is the current head of the Gray family, my fiancé, a gentleman on the surface but a twisted monster inside.

"Mr. Gray, please use this to wipe yourself," Tom's voice reached me.

My consciousness slipped back into darkness, only faintly hearing Tom say: "Regardless, keeping her alive benefits us more. Also, I've made some progress on the investigation you asked me to look into... Would you like to know about it?"

When I was awakened by excruciating pain again, I was being dragged along.

My arms were pulled through the corridor until we reached a dusty attic.

My body was thrown heavily onto the ground, splayed like a broken puppet, yet I didn't even have the strength to groan.

"She had a big fight with Mr. Gray and was tortured like this," a man's voice came through dimly, with a hint of schadenfreude.

"Seems she thoroughly angered him. Mr. Gray told us to hang her up here," another person responded, his tone utterly indifferent.

"We're not really going to let her die here, are we? She's the daughter of the Smith family."

"The Smith family? That's a fallen house now, how could it compare to our Gray family? Besides, she's only an adopted daughter."

Adopted daughter. These words pierced my nerves like a sharp blade.

Had I become so lowly that even the Gray family's servants could treat me however they pleased?

They roughly tied my hands together.

I heard the sound of rope scraping against wooden beams, then my body was lifted up, suspended in midair.

My arms immediately felt a tearing pain, the sensation of cut-off blood circulation nearly made me scream, but my throat felt blocked, filled with the taste of blood.

Before they left, I sensed a flash.

I barely managed to open my eyes a crack to see one of the bodyguards quickly putting away his phone.

He took a photo? Why? Who was it for?

My brain struggled to work out his purpose.

But now all I could breathe was the smell of mold, while pain and cold invaded my body, and my consciousness returned to darkness.

When I woke again, my hands had lost all feeling.

Only spider webs, dust, and I kept each other company in the room.

I wanted to call for someone, but my throat felt like it was on fire.

I had never been so close to death before.

Using all my strength to kick my legs, someone finally came in to give me a little water.

But soon the room returned to silence.

I didn't know how much time had passed—perhaps a day, perhaps longer.

A dull ache from my arms reminded me they were still attached to my body.

Will I lose my arms? This terrifying thought circled in my mind.

If blood circulation remained obstructed, tissue death was inevitable.

I tried to move my fingers, but the sensation was distant and foreign, as if I were controlling someone else's body.

My consciousness began to blur again. Just then, the attic door was pushed open.

I barely managed to open my eyes and saw Tom entering with several bodyguards.

"Let her down," he commanded.

The rope was cut, and my body fell heavily to the ground like a puddle of mud.

Tom approached and crouched in front of me.

"Still alive?" he asked coldly, his voice tinged with mockery.

I used all my strength to lift my eyelids, trying to see his face clearly.

The blood congealed on my eyelashes blurred my vision, but I could feel his scrutinizing gaze.

I struggled to make a faint sound, proving I was still alive, though at that moment, death seemed like a relief.

Tom gave a cold smile: "Take her down and have someone clean her up."

Two maids were called in. They carefully carried me to the bathroom and began washing my body.

Afterward, they changed me into clean clothes and gave basic treatment to my wounds.

I was alive again, despite this battered body.

I will survive, then make you all pay.

This thought took root in my heart, giving me the strength to continue.

I was taken back to a room where Tom was waiting.

"What happened? Why did you suddenly decide to release me?" My voice was so hoarse it hardly sounded like a woman's.

Tom adjusted his cuffs, not even looking up as he answered: "Miss Smith, I'm surprised you're still alive. You should thank Mrs. Blair for your release, otherwise..."

Mrs. Blair? I searched for this name in my mind.

Just as I was about to ask, a familiar voice sounded:

"My goodness, Miss Smith, what happened? Why are you so badly injured?"