Chapter 63

"I'm afraid of you."

Grace's eyes snapped open.

'Blinding.'

She closed her eyelids again. In that brief moment, she realized that her vision was tilted.

She was no longer hanging from the ceiling. Instead of the tension of the rope, the soft touch of the mattress and blanket was transmitted to her skin. Grace was lying on her side on the bed.

She slowly opened her eyes. A man, clearly the one who had laid her there, was sitting in a position where the bed was directly in view.

However, he wasn't looking at Grace. With a pen in his hand, he rested his chin on it and looked down at the documents spread out on the table. Grace quietly observed Winston.

"I'm afraid of you, Grace, to be honest."

She chuckled, recalling the voice echoing in her mind.

There's no way he would say something like that.

In a world where money is becoming omnipotent, a tycoon who owns an entire state in the West is a god. In the military, where class is the law and superiors are gods, Winston was an exception.

A man with no fear in the world. Such a person wouldn't be afraid of a mere woman held captive in his prison.

Moreover, he hadn't called her Grace since the one time he mockingly did.

She must have dreamed after losing consciousness.

'What a ridiculous dream.'

She had been grinding her teeth every day, vowing to make him beg one day, and now it had even appeared in her dreams.

She almost died without achieving her goal. She didn't know why Winston was still here after finishing his business, but she didn't want to deal with him anymore.

Just as she was about to close her eyes, which she had been keeping slightly open,

Thud.

Winston stood up from his seat and lifted the tray in front of him with one hand. A luxurious silver tray with a silver lid was placed on it.

He went out the door with it and returned immediately, empty-handed.

She pretended to be asleep, closing her eyes. She really wanted to sleep, but her attention kept being drawn to the sound of the pen scratching on paper.

While trying to distract herself by counting sheep in her mind, someone knocked on the door. The sound of the pen stopped, and other noises followed. Unable to contain her curiosity, Grace opened her eyes slightly.

Winston received a silver tray identical to the one he had just taken away from someone whose hands were visible and closed the door. As she watched him place it back on the table, her interest waned, and she was about to close her eyes again.

"I know you're faking it."

"..."

"I'll let you know when this gets cold."

Grace, who had involuntarily opened her eyes wide, looked at the man who had sat back down and picked up his pen with a puzzled expression.

'Did he wait for me to wake up to feed me dinner?'

Is he feeling guilty for almost killing me?

Another delusion.

He should have killed me slowly and painfully, but it seems to have happened too quickly.

Grace, who was hungry, got up. She looked down at her naked body, which was not tied by any rope. Her body, which should have been sticky with sweat and other fluids, felt fresh. Did he clean her?

'Who knows?'

Grace stopped the delusional thoughts that had been continuing since earlier and got out of bed. Lacking the energy to fully dress, she sat down in a nightgown over her bloomers. Winston didn't even glance at her.

"Do you, by any chance, like me?"

The more she thought about it, the more perplexed she became. The answer should obviously be 'no,' so it was just a meaningless provocation.

Among the taunts they had exchanged like boxers before a match, this light mockery was the decisive blow to Winston.

His eyes, which couldn't hide his agitation, kept flickering. As she stared blankly at the now calm man, he let out a short sigh.

"There's no princess here."

Misinterpreting Grace's gaze, Winston opened the lid of the tray.

Steam rose from the consommé soup, mashed potatoes, soft butter rolls, and for dessert, a custard pudding with caramel oozing out.

All the food was easy to swallow.

Slap and kiss.

Leon Winston was the human embodiment of that common saying.

That didn't mean Grace would refuse his 'kiss.' She picked up the spoon obediently.

The only sound was the clinking of the spoon against the bowl. The sound of the pen had long stopped.

Winston, who had been silently watching her eat while smoking a cigar, suddenly spoke.

"I used to like Daisy."

Surprised by the unexpected confession, Grace looked up at him.

"Salisbury Bristol, yes, I still like her."

His teal eyes, which had taken on a blood-red hue, trembled as he clenched his teeth.

"But I hate Grace Ridley."

Was he being sincere, or was he lying? The smoky haze that had quickly risen made it impossible to see Winston's eyes.

"At least when you accept it quietly and cry, you look a bit pretty. If you want to keep your life, behave yourself."

At these words, his teal eyes stopped trembling and glared at him with a murderous intent.

"I won't even spare your rebellious eyes."

Was he done talking and about to leave?

Grace, who had been glaring at the man organizing the documents, quietly pushed her tongue between her teeth. Crunch. The pain and the metallic taste spread as she bit down.

Her hand, trembling from the pain, picked up the spoon. As soon as she brought the spoon, filled with soup, to her lips, Grace coughed slightly.

The moment a drop of blood fell from the edge of the soup bowl, the hand closing the pen cap stopped.

Clang.

Her hand, which had been loosely holding the spoon, trembled violently, and the spoon plummeted into the soup bowl.

"Hack, cough..."

Grace covered her mouth with her hand and coughed spasmodically. Her palm quickly turned red with blood.

"What's wrong?"

Winston, who had been walking calmly, rushed over. Before he could take more than a step, Grace let her blood-soaked hand fall and relaxed her body.

Thud. She fell into his warm embrace instead of the cold floor.

To see him run, who always walked calmly, was satisfying.

"Open your eyes."

The hand slapping her cheek was cold, unlike his embrace. She forced herself to open her eyes slightly, pretending to be in pain as she intermittently spat out the blood in her mouth. The moment her eyes met Winston's, Grace had to use all her strength to suppress a smile.

Those eyes again.

Winston was agitated, just like when she asked if he liked her.

Why? Didn't he say that death was just a new beginning? Didn't he say that the sight of blood excited him?

Why do you look like that?

Leon Winston, you can't tame me.

Grace closed her eyes again.

"Damn it..."

Leon, who had been checking the pulse of the woman who had fainted and was spitting blood, stopped. His palm, as pale as his mind, was drenched in crimson blood.

His heart was pounding wildly. It was different from when the woman had bitten his lip and drawn blood.

The scent of death was not welcome.

It was the first time since he had found his father on a remote cliff long ago.

He was afraid of blood.

No, he was afraid of this woman's blood.

* * *

Leon extended his gloved hand toward the small capsule. When he lifted it into the sunlight, the white crystals inside the translucent membrane were faintly visible.

"Poison hemlock, I presume."

He put the poison capsule back into the small wooden box and took off his gloves while asking Campbell.

"Where was it found?"

"It was inside the mattress ordered for the torture room."

"You must have learned that it was only supplied to the torture room through that woman."

"Yes, that seems to be the case."

"I thought she was needlessly diligent even when she was doing housework."

Campbell remained silent, unsure of how to respond.

"Still, the leadership is quite stupid. Do they know the probability of the woman receiving it if it's placed in a mattress?"

But since they had used up all the mattresses in the warehouse in a month and had to order more, it wasn't a completely wrong strategy.

"They only gave me a hint that the woman knows some important information. Information that could endanger the leadership if revealed."

The resistance had never issued such a suicide order before. Until now, those captured were either minor figures or, if a major figure was captured, they remained silent like fanatics.

The leadership, who had a strong belief in their comrades, wanted to eliminate this woman. It meant that there was a reason for her, a fanatical believer, to defect.

Is it related to the reason why her parents died and her brother left the resistance?

'But the woman hasn't defected yet.'

How can I make her defect?

She thought that having the woman in her hands would be enough. But humans are greedy creatures, and she was no exception.

Should I meet Jonathan Ridley Jr. and dig into the reason?

It might end up like cutting open a goose that might lay golden eggs one day. He might run away or become wary of his surroundings and refuse contact with old comrades if he doesn't know he's being watched.

Leon decided to make this the last resort and turned his attention back to the letter from Little Jimmy, which was in the box with the poison.