Chapter 95: Methods (1)

She hadn’t eaten anything that evening, so all she vomited was sour bile. The gut-wrenching sounds she made seemed as if she were about to heave up her very organs. Seeing her so frail and pale, a strange feeling spread through Mu Sihan’s chest. Gazing at the bruises marring her fair, delicate body, the haze of alcohol in his mind cleared considerably. There was not a single unmarred place on her; every inch bore the traces of his cruelty.

She kept retching, her face as white as paper, her eyes terrifyingly red and shrouded in a thin mist of tears, yet she stubbornly refused to let them fall. His chest ached with a strange pang. He lifted his large hand, reaching to brush her cheek, but she shrank away in panic and fear. His hand hung helpless in the air.

“Why? Why? What have I done wrong? Why do you all have to hurt and torment me?” If it weren’t for Xiaokai, she didn’t know what reason she had left to keep living. No matter how strong she appeared on the outside, inside she was already riddled with wounds.

Mu Sihan pressed his thin, cold lips into a tight line. He untied the silk scarf from her wrists and carried her to the bathroom to bathe her. She was utterly spent, with no strength left to resist him.

Like a soulless shell, she let him have his way. After washing her, he laid her back on the bed. His trousers were soaked from the bathroom, the fabric clinging to his skin, making his legs look even longer and more powerful. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushed aside a damp lock of hair that veiled her face, and said, “Your mistake was provoking me. Whether you meant to or not, since you’ve caught my eye, you’re mine now.”

Nan Zhi’s lashes fluttered violently. For a long moment, she could only muster a feeble response. “Even if I’ve slept with other men, you don’t care? You clearly think I’m filthy, so why—”

His expression turned frigid as he cut her off. “From tonight on, you’re my woman. If you dare seek out another man, I’ll break your legs.”

Nan Zhi let out a laugh, equal parts anger and despair. “Young Master Mu, you really are sick.”

Mu Sihan stroked her small face, lowered his head, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I am sick, that’s why I need you to be my cure.”

Her eyes rimmed red, Nan Zhi glared at him, her lips trembling, but no words came out. She was so very tired. She didn’t want to waste another word on a madman.

Watching her close her eyes, refusing to engage with him any further, Mu Sihan’s gaze lingered on her lips, red and swollen, the vivid color stark against her pallor, a tantalizing contrast. His long, well-defined fingers traced the corner of her mouth before he lowered his head and bit her lips a few more times. “My little kitten, no matter what it takes, I’ll make you obediently become my woman.”

He patted her cheek, straightened up, and strode out.

It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that Nan Zhi slowly opened her thick, curled lashes. Her whole body felt as if it were about to fall apart, and her nose was even more stuffed than before. She buried her face into the pillow, furious and aggrieved. How had things come to this?

…

Mu Sihan left the apartment and descended to the courtyard below. A gust of night wind sobered his alcohol-fogged mind considerably. His tall figure swayed a little as he turned to glance up at the sixth floor.

What had he just done up there?

Remembering her pale face as he left, his jaw clenched and he muttered a curse. As expected, he shouldn’t drink too much—his emotions became ten times harder to control when he did.

Rubbing his brow, he returned to the car. Wei Lin started the engine, but they hadn’t gone far before the man in the backseat, face cold and dark, suddenly spoke. “Stop the car.”