PopularNovelChapter 334 He wasn't wrong.
Lysander's eyes were bloodshot as he struggled to restrain the girl, who had becalmost wild in her frenzy. He held her tightly, refusing to let go.
This was only the beginning he couldn't afford to show mercy.
"Don't be afraid. It'll get better. Just be good, listen to me." His voice was gentle, meant to soothe her.
But the girl in his arms wouldn't listen. She sobbed uncontrollably, the force of it stealing her breath. Couldn't he see? Things would never be better-never, ever again! She couldn't understand.
What had she done to deserve this? Was it all because of that drink? But Lysander had been the one to snatch the glass-she'd never wanted him to drink it. So why was she the one paying the price? Why? Eventually, Mila cried herself into unconsciousness and slumped against him.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtHearing the commotion, Leonard entered the room.
The dim light revealed a young man clutching the girl, who had fainted from crying. He stood amid the wreckage of the bathroom, blood trickling down his temple. His eyes were red, his expression frozen and lost, a rare look of confusion flickering in his typically sharp gaze.
"Leonard, did I do something wrong?" Leonard's eyes lowered; his face was unreadable. "You are the only heir of the Montgomery family, sir. You're the pillar of the house. You can't be wrong." He must not be wrong.
He couldn't waver, couldn't show weakness, couldn't afford to have a soft heart. And above all, he could not have any weaknesses.
Later, a doctor was called to examine Mila.
She'd only fainted from emotional distress-no real harm done. After that, Lysander held her through the night, neither of them stirring from sleep.
The next morning, as he stepped outside, his eyes had regained their old resolve. The confusion and vulnerability of the night before had vanished, as if it were nothing more than a bad dream.
The car pulled out from the villa and stopped in front of a warehouse.
Inside, a man in a once-white shirt, now stained with dust and blood, was forced to the ground. His glasses lay shattered on the floor, collecting grime.
Lysander strode in, crushing the broken glasses under his heel. Before Forrest could lift his head, someone grabbed his hair and yanked his face upward, leaving him disheveled and exposed.
Even in this humiliating state, Forrest remained remarkably calm, suppressing the pain from his scalp. He spoke coldly, "Is this all you've got, Lysander? Luringhere by using my father? Do you really think this will make Mimi care about you?" Lysander's eyes glinted with icy amusement as he gave a chilling laugh. "Using you?" "How do you not realize it was your dear father who sold you out to me? He's gained quite a bit from this arrangement." "I could leave you crippled here today, and all I'd need is a signature from your next of kin. Your father would probably thankfor it." Forrest's pupils constricted. He opened his mouth to retort, but his head was yanked back, and a guttural cry of pain escaped him.
"Ah!" Lysander crouched beside him, accepting a hammer from Leonard. He tapped Forrest's cheek with it, a smile on his lips but nothing but coldness in his eyes.
"And by the way-who said you could call her 'Mimi'?" Forrest's gaze fixed on the hammer, unease rising in his gut. "What are you going to do?" Lysander only smiled, saying nothing.
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One of the men stuffed a rag into Forrest's mouth, clamping it firmly shut. Others pinned down his arms and legs, stretching his hands out in front of Lysander. "These are the hands that played piano that night, aren't they?" "So unbearably arrogant." Still smiling, Lysander slowly raised the hammer. As terror widened Forrest's eyes, Lysander brought it down with brutal force.
Blood splattered.
The man pinned to the floor couldn't make a sound, the rag choking any scream, but his dinhb's convulsed with agony: Cold sweat broke over his skin. Three savage blows later, Forrest lay limp, his body twitching in shock, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
His once-elegant hands were now a grotesque ruin-blood streaming from shattered, twisted bones, all beauty obliterated.
Someone ripped the rag from his mouth.
His ragged, gasping breaths echoed through the warehouse, punctuated by choked sobs of pain.
Lysander dropped the hammer and planted his foot on Forrest's ruined hand. As Forrest's whole body trembled with agony, Lysander spoke, his tone almost casual.
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