Chapter 73

"Sorry, my nickname is Vampire, not Cannibal... Or maybe being a cannibal would be okay?"

"Ouch!"

She bit her toe hard.

The wet tongue that didn't stop there licked up her foot, making Grace shudder. The sense of superiority she had wanted to feel for a moment was nowhere to be found; instead, she felt humiliated.

"Pervert."

Finally, he seemed to realize his place. He no longer reacted to being called a pervert.

The pervert let go of Grace's foot and picked up the stockings. The way he placed her foot was also perverted.

It was right in the middle of her lower body.

While he was putting on the stockings, the sensation on the bottom of her foot gradually changed. The soft, unpleasant flesh became harder. Being hard was just as unpleasant.

When she tried to move her foot, Winston grabbed her ankle. In the end, she had to press her feet against his bulging crotch the whole time while he put on both stockings.

Even after he finished putting on the stockings, he didn't let her legs go. He stroked her smooth, silk-covered calves, then touched the protruding thigh flesh compressed by the band, and kissed her calf.

The arrogant Leon Winston bowed his head and kissed her calf from below.

Seeing this, the sense of superiority she had so desperately wanted finally came to her.

'Yes, keep acting like a slave. Worship me.'

Lost in this futile sentiment, she let him do as he pleased. Eventually, 30 minutes later...

"That pervert with abnormal sexual desires should be locked up in a mental hospital for life..."

She had to sit on the bathtub and wash her sticky toes and calves. She threw away the torn stockings.

"Hah..."

Grace lay back on the bed, wrapped only in a blanket and stockings. This time, instead of staring at the ceiling and feeling useless regret, she picked up the magazine and pencil on the bedside table.

She had begged him for this a while ago. When she asked for a radio or newspaper, his first reaction was not good.

"Do I look that careless to you?"

He didn't want to give them to her because they might contain hidden orders disguised as advertisements or articles. It made sense.

"Seriously, I'm going to go crazy from boredom. Try spending just two days here, and you'll understand."

"Why would I do that when I'm not a prisoner?"

After saying this and leaving coldly, he brought her a few magazines and a pencil. All the magazines were from before Grace was captured, so she couldn't receive any orders.

"Smart bastard..."

Flipping through the half-finished crossword puzzle, an article about the queen's third pregnancy appeared. Grace quickly read through the overly praising article. She read it so fast that it seemed more like skimming. Occasionally, she would stop as if she had found something and lightly trace a letter with her pencil.

"If you try to escape again, I'll put a small door in that door and tie you up so only your ass is sticking out. The soldiers' morale will be quite high."

"Great. I was getting tired of your thing anyway. I need to try different flavors, don't I? Oh, there's already a door. Should I go and lie down with my ass out?"

After making a crazy comeback during a punishment, the torture room guards were all replaced with female soldiers.

After confirming once again that Winston wanted to monopolize her body, Grace genuinely wondered.

'Does this man want to monopolize just my body?'

So she traced letters from the magazine to create a code.

[Jimmy, my heart is always with you.]

Then she told the woman who brought her meals to throw away the magazine because it was no longer interesting. She expected it to end up in Winston's hands.

That night, she suffered as much as the day her identity was revealed.

Winston, with a face full of rage, relentlessly pursued Grace. Usually, if she cried and clung to him as he wished, he would let her go after a while, but not that day.

He didn't even mention discovering the message, let alone interrogate her. She could guess his thoughts. He wouldn't admit that he was angry because of a line of affection left for another man.

'Why do you like me?'

She wanted to ask him while being crushed by his body, gasping for breath.

'This is the third time. You've been tricked twice, and I'm the daughter of your father's killer. Why do you still like me?'

Madman.

Idiot.

After that day, both her body and mind sank like a waterlogged sponge.

She stopped exercising to stay alive and spent all day lying in bed. Being in the blanket made her feel like that night at Abingdon Beach, hiding under the covers and crying. She could even hear the voice calling for Daisy.

I pity you. I hate you. No, I'm sorry. But I'll kill you! No, I don't want to kill you.

Her feelings towards the man changed drastically.

Grace, you idiot.

No, madman.

Being locked up for so long and only seeing that man might be driving her mad.

Grace continued to trace specific letters from the article with her pencil. When Winston discovered this, he would probably think it was another message to Jimmy and try to decipher it...

[Leon Winston is an idiot.]

What face would he make if he realized it was a message to herself?

The moment she finished the last letter, she heard footsteps. A man's footsteps.

'He's here again, right after taking out the chastity belt.'

Lately, Winston would visit Grace unexpectedly.

Sighing, she recalled the story Winston told her earlier in the day. He said a scientist had successfully trained a dog to salivate at the sound of a bell. He wanted to train Grace like that dog.

"I wonder if you start getting wet the moment you hear my footsteps."

But all she could manage was a sigh.

The sound of locks being undone one by one began. Grace put down the magazine and picked up the dog collar hanging on the bed rail.

If he caught her taking off the collar again, he would replace it with a metal ring like shackles. She couldn't let that happen.

Quickly putting on the dog collar, the door opened.

"Hello, Bella."

It was a greeting one might give to a dog guarding the house when the owner comes home. Winston held a chair with wheels and no backrest, and two paper boxes.

Grace sighed again. The more things he brought, the harder the time ahead.

He placed the chair and the black box in the middle of the room and approached the bed with the small box tied with a pink ribbon.

"Did the dog play well alone?"

Grace, thinking about what she had done while he was gone, smiled bitterly and replied.

"I thought about you all day."

The man, who was about to give her the box, hesitated. But he wasn't stupid enough to interpret her words romantically and soon twisted his lips into a smile.

"Why? Did you imagine killing me painfully?"

"That's old news."

"Good. You should imagine it to your heart's content."

Winston placed the box on Grace's lap and started to take off his jacket. Grace didn't open the sweet-smelling box and looked up.

'Why are you giving me this?'

The man, receiving her questioning and accusing gaze, narrowed his eyes and walked to the opposite wall, answering.

"I didn't know people use the excuse of giving leftovers to dogs. I really brought it for the dog."

Sitting in front of the wooden table, Grace opened the box and glanced at Winston's back as he hung his jacket on a hook on the wall. The dessert in the box wasn't leftovers.

In the end, it was just an excuse to say he was giving 'leftovers' to the 'dog'...

If he had really given her leftovers, she might have eaten them happily with a lighter heart.

But Grace couldn't refuse. After experiencing hunger, she no longer prioritized emotions over food.

The dessert was clearly expensive. Even the disposable paper plate it was on had an elegant lace pattern. The chocolate sauce pooled on the plate glistened. In the middle was a swan-shaped pastry filled with custard cream between its back and wings.

It was so beautiful that she hesitated to touch it, but the aroma was so good that it easily overcame her hesitation. She picked up the long, thin neck and dipped the sharp beak into the chocolate sauce. She then soaked the chocolate-covered pastry in the light yellow custard cream and put it in her mouth.

The cream melted on her tongue, spreading the sweet aroma of vanilla. The bitter, rich flavor of the chocolate and the crispy texture of the choux pastry perfectly complemented each other.

Grace momentarily escaped this place, imagining she was enjoying a gourmet meal at a high-end restaurant.

"Does our dog like it?"

But the moment the man, sitting on the edge of the bed behind her, stroked her head like a dog, the fantasy shattered.