Chapter 183
Beatrice spoke coldly, "We already broke up."
"Five years ago, when you took Frederick's money and recommendation letter to go abroad, we were over."
"That was just a strategic move!"
Lucius roared, "I needed that money as a stepping stone! I needed to become stronger, strong enough to win you back from Frederick! I did all of this for you!"
Beatrice found it absurd.
Looking at this distorted version of Lucius before her, the memory of that boy in a white shirt, smiling at her in the sunlight, had completely vanished.
She didn't want to argue with Lucius about anything anymore. She gave up struggling.
But Beatrice's silence and detachment cut deeper than any fierce resistance could. The madness in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a flicker of panic.
He suddenly released his grip, his tone softening: "Bea, I'm sorry, I... I'm just so terrified of losing you. Don't be angry, okay?"
He pointed to the sea of roses outside the window, trying to regain control of the situation.
"Look, I prepared all of this for you. When the wedding planner asked what size diamond I wanted for the engagement ring, I said No diamond."
He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Inside wasn't some massive diamond, but a uniquely designed ring. The main stone was an aquamarine, clear and transparent like a summer sky.
The ring's design featured two swans with intertwined necks. Another one of her design sketches.
"You love aquamarine most. You said it looked like freedom."
Lucius's tone was gentle enough to melt, "I still remember. Every word you've said, I remember it all."
He dropped to one knee, holding the ring up to her, his eyes filled with devoted expectation.
"Bea, marry me. Leave Frederick, come back to me, and I'll give you the best of everything in the world."
Beatrice looked down at the ring without moving or speaking. Her coldness made the devotion on Lucius's face harder to maintain.
He stood up, forcing a smile: "It's okay, I know you need more time. I'll wait."
"Touch up your makeup first. Tonight, you'll be the most beautiful woman."
He pressed the intercom and called for the styling team.
The makeup artist entered trembling, lipstick in hand, not daring to lift her head.
"Continue," Lucius commanded.
The makeup artist approached shakily, and due to her extreme nervousness, her hand trembled, causing the edge of her nail to scratch a thin red mark at the corner of Beatrice's lip.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
The makeup artist was terrified out of her mind.
A sharp slap echoed throughout the room.
Lucius struck the makeup artist with such force that she fell to the ground, blood immediately appearing at the corner of her mouth.
"Useless!" His eyes were sinister, like they'd been dipped in poison.
"Can't even handle such a simple task!"
After hitting her, he immediately turned around, cupping Beatrice's face and carefully examining the insignificant scratch. He was both heartbroken and furious: "Did it hurt? What a bunch of incompetent fools!"
Beatrice's body went rigid.
She looked at the makeup artist, collapsed on the floor, covering her face and crying, then at the twisted concern on Lucius's face. A chill shot from her feet straight to the top of her head.
She finally realized that Lucius wasn't just crazy. He had become a complete stranger to her. A selfish, obsessive, violent monster.
She raised her hand, slowly but firmly pushing his hands away.
"Lucius," her voice was calm but cold as ice, "you've become a stranger."
Lucius's expression froze.
"Or rather," Beatrice looked into his eyes, "I never truly knew you at all."
She stepped back, maintaining distance from him.
"I won't go with you."
Lucius narrowed his eyes, carefully savoring Beatrice's words. That phrase "never truly knew you" pierced him like a needle.
He suddenly laughed. The smile was somewhat eerie, as if mocking her naivety.
"It doesn't matter," he said, "you'll get to know me again. We have a very long future ahead."
He walked to the bar, poured himself a whiskey, and downed it in one gulp. The liquor reignited the fervor in his eyes.
"You must be hungry," he said matter-of-factly, "I had them prepare your favorites."
He snapped his fingers, and someone immediately wheeled in a food cart. Escargot, black truffle risotto, seared foie gras... All the high-end foods that Beatrice would occasionally splurge on during college.
Like a child showing off treasures, Lucius arranged each dish in front of her.
"Eat something, don't wear yourself out."
Beatrice looked at the greasy food before her, her stomach churning. She turned her face away without moving.
Lucius's patience was clearly wearing thin. Cracks appeared in his gentle mask, and his voice deepened: "Bea, stop throwing a tantrum."
Beatrice still wouldn't look at him or speak.
Silence was the most powerful weapon. It made all of Lucius's one-man show seem ridiculous and pathetic. His carefully prepared sweet words crashed against an invisible wall, receiving not even an echo in return.
The standoff lasted who knows how long before Lucius finally gave up. He waved for the servants to clear the food, and the room returned to deathly silence.
Time crawled by minute by minute. Beatrice was imprisoned in this luxurious cage. She didn't cry or make a scene, just sat quietly on the sofa, her ankle injury beginning to swell and ache again.
Lucius stayed in the room with her. Sometimes he handled work, taking calls that sounded like billion-dollar deals; sometimes he'd go to the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the grand stage being prepared below for his impending victory; sometimes he'd ramble about his planned future...
Beatrice turned a deaf ear to it all.
Like a soul detached from her body, she coldly watched Lucius perform in front of her. His confidence, his madness, his certainty of success—to her, it all looked like a farce about to reach its final curtain.
She didn't know if Frederick had heard that brief phone call, whether he'd become suspicious, or what she would face. But her heart was resolute: even if it meant death, she would never go with Lucius.
Ten hours were enough to completely destroy a person's psychological defenses. But not Beatrice's.
Lucius thought she was gentle-natured, like how she used to depend on him. But he forgot that she had grown up in the Jennings family. Endurance and silence were instincts carved into her very bones.
Night deepened.
At eight-thirty PM, only half an hour remained before Lucius's planned "proposal of the century."
The crowd had already gathered in the plaza below, countless people holding up phones, facing those massive dark screens, waiting to witness this romantic spectacle.
Lucius changed into a new white suit with a bright red rose in his breast pocket. Adjusting his cufflinks, he approached Beatrice with a triumphant smile of impending success.
"Bea, it's time."