Chapter 298: Satisfied with What You See?

Chapter 298: Satisfied with What You See?

A gray-black structure loomed in the twilight. Rusted chain-link fencing bore faded "NO TRESPASSING" signs, but the padlock had long since been cut, the severed links dangling uselessly.

When the three stepped out of the SUV, their boots sank half a foot into the snow.

Sophia's breath crystallized on her scarf in tiny ice droplets. She tilted her head back, eyes tracing the building's exterior.

The bloodstains that had been so grotesque in summer were now buried beneath layers of ice and snow, leaving only a few suspicious dark-red icicles clinging to the window ledges—like frozen tears of blood.

A brand-new combination lock hung on the rusted chain at the main entrance.

"He's definitely inside," Michael said, inspecting the mechanism. "Should I force it?"

Sophia shook her head. She pulled off her glove and breathed warm air onto the lock cylinder. Through the white mist, she punched in four digits—her birthday.

The lock clicked open.

Nate raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

They moved down the dim corridor. Michael scanned their surroundings—abandoned slaughterhouse equipment lay coated in thick dust, but fresh footprints marked the floor.

Nate adjusted his glasses, his gaze sweeping over a surveillance camera in the corner. Its red indicator light showed it was still operational.

"He's in the basement," Sophia said, heading straight for the stairwell at the back. Her steps never faltered.

She knew Andrew too well. Before coming, she'd sought out Victor and asked him only one question: where was the entrance to the slaughterhouse basement?

The wooden stairs groaned under their weight. Wall-mounted lamps cast their shadows like nocturnal beasts prowling through darkness.

The iron door to the basement was covered in claw marks, as if some wild creature had once struggled there in madness.

Faint light seeped through the gap beneath the door, mingling with the pungent smell of raw meat and disinfectant.

Sophia took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

A wave of stifling heat hit them immediately.

In the flickering candlelight, Andrew sat at the far end of a long table. On the silver plate before him lay a bloody steak.

The carving knife in his hand sliced through the meat with surgical precision. Blood droplets fell from the blade's tip like a miniature sacrifice.

"You never listen," Andrew said suddenly, looking up. His gaze passed over the others to land on Sophia's ears, flushed red from the cold. "I told you not to come. Yet here you are—and you chose the coldest day to do it."

Candlelight carved eerie shadows across his sharp features. Behind his glasses, his eyes resembled two stagnant pools.

On the table sat his amber prayer beads—the ones he never took off. Under the bloodstained light, they gleamed with an unsettling luster.

Nate's breathing quickened noticeably. Behind his lenses, his eyes sparkled with excitement. Andrew's craving for fresh blood far exceeded his expectations.

A new specimen of humanity.

But Andrew paid no attention to anyone else. His gaze remained fixed on Sophia. "Satisfied with what you see? As you can tell, I'm a monster."

Sophia walked straight to the table. Under Andrew's suddenly constricting pupils, she seized the amber beads in one swift motion.

Andrew's expression froze. In the candlelight, his eyes glinted like ice. "Put them down."

"I will," Sophia said, gripping the beads tightly as she met his stare. "Cooperate with Nate's treatment, and I'll give them back."

The air solidified instantly.

The candle flames flickered violently, throwing their confrontation onto the mottled wall—two beasts poised to strike.

A drop of blood slid from Andrew's uncleaned lip, landing with a soft sound in the deathly silence.

Andrew slowly set down the knife, his knuckles white from the force. He stared at Sophia, then suddenly smiled. "Do you know where these beads came from?"

His blood amber beads were different from the ones Michael had given Sophia. Hers were natural amber. These were just ordinary crafts.

To him, though, they were anything but ordinary.

Many people couldn't understand why someone as powerful as Andrew would wear such a cheap trinket close to his skin.

It was attractive enough, sure—but worthless items made the wearer look cheap too.

Only Andrew understood their value. And Sophia knew too—they were made from her blood. True "blood amber" in every sense.

"You were ten years old," he said, his voice soft yet twisted with a strange tenderness. "John had an episode and pushed you down the stairs. You were covered in blood when they brought you to the hospital." He paused. "I collected your blood. Made these beads from it."

He'd worn them for over twenty years. Never took them off.

Sophia walked toward the furnace. Melted blood droplets slid down her wrist into her cuff like a cold serpent.

"Last chance," she said. Frost still clung to her lashes. "Treatment—or I throw them into the fire."

A spark burst from the furnace, making the blood droplets inside the amber seem to tremble as if alive.

Andrew's knife plunged deep into the steak. Blood splattered onto his white shirt like plum blossoms blooming suddenly on snow.

Michael's expression darkened instantly. In this place where anything could trigger Andrew's violent tendencies, he couldn't guarantee Andrew wouldn't suddenly lose control and hurt Sophia.

He quietly moved several steps closer to her, ensuring he could shield her at the first sign of danger.

Andrew's gaze flickered briefly before returning to cold indifference. "Finished? Give me back the beads."

Sophia didn't move. She simply looked at him quietly. "Andrew, I owe you a 'thank you.' And an 'I'm sorry.'"

Andrew laughed coldly—a sound inexplicably tinged with bitterness. "I taught you better than this back then. Seems you forgot."

She was supposed to hold her head high forever, never bowing to anyone. She had the right to owe everyone—and was worth everyone's sacrifices.

It was a biased theory, but it was how Andrew believed Sophia should be—forever the unique existence in his heart who deserved all things beautiful.

Sophia bit down hard on her lip but couldn't stop her nose from tingling or the mist forming over her eyes. "I won't bow my head. I still hate you just as much as before. I hate how self-righteous you are, how you make decisions for others without asking, how arrogant you are—and how you're giving up on yourself now."

Andrew's breathing caught imperceptibly for a moment. His eyes darkened abruptly as he said coldly, "Who gave you permission to cry? You're even weaker than when you were little."

Though he tried to sound harsh, the faint tremor and helplessness in his voice were still caught by those present.

Michael relaxed slightly. He didn't believe this version of Andrew would hurt Sophia.

"Andrew…" A tear slipped down Sophia's cheek. Through tear-blurred eyes, she looked at him—the flickering candlelight reflected in her gaze like swaying flowers. "Come back with me… please?"

Andrew's pupils trembled violently. Suddenly blood surged through him—he clutched his chest and uncontrollably spat out a mouthful of fresh blood.

"Andrew!"