Chapter 72

Chapter 72
Elise's POV:

"Elise." Benjamin's voice grew more urgent, more desperate. "I'm begging you... I know I wronged you... but I can't stay here... those people are going to kill me... you don't know who they are..."

"Which people?" I asked.

My voice was calm. But I knew my expression at this moment must be anything but calm.

Benjamin opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

He refused to say.

Or rather, he didn't dare to say.

He was afraid to speak that name. As if the mere utterance of it from his lips would bring consequences even more terrible than his current situation.

The room fell silent for several seconds. Only Benjamin's heavy breathing remained, along with vague footsteps echoing from somewhere in the distance.

"Benjamin Miller." Julian spoke again. This time his tone had lost its earlier coldness, replaced by something deeper—not anger, not even disgust. It was a kind of thorough, uncompromising finality.

"I won't forgive you. Elise won't forgive you. And the law won't let you go either."

Benjamin's body trembled again.

"You ruined nineteen years of her life," Julian said. "You lived off her inheritance. You lived in the house her parents bought, ate what her parents left behind, and if you had known contentment, you shouldn't have done those things to her! Did you think you could go on like this forever?"

Benjamin lowered his head. In that one good eye appeared a watery gleam. Not tears of remorse—tears of fear.

"What you're tasting now," Julian's voice dropped lower, low enough to be almost a whisper, "is probably just the beginning. We won't let any of your crimes go unpunished."

Having said this, Julian turned to look at me. "Let's go. Everything that needed to be said has been said."

I glanced at Benjamin. He still maintained that posture—hunched back, shrunken shoulders, hands cuffed beneath the table, like an insect with broken legs.

His mouth was moving.

Silently.

Over and over.

It took me a long time to make out what he was saying.

I'm sorry.

Or maybe help me.

I couldn't tell. It didn't matter anymore.

I turned around and followed Julian out of the room.

The moment the iron door closed behind us, I heard a suppressed whimper from inside. It didn't sound like crying. It was more like the final wail of a trapped animal.

---

When we walked out the police station entrance, the sunlight outside made me squint.

The air was much warmer than inside. There was wind, carrying the smell of car exhaust and dust. A row of cars lined the roadside—taxis, private cars, and a black sedan parked quietly in the shade not far from the entrance.

I saw that car.

Black. Large. A Maybach.

My heartbeat skipped.

Victor was here.

"Elise?" Julian's voice pulled me back. "Are you okay? You don't look well."

"I'm fine," I said. "Just a little tired."

"Let me take you back to rest." Julian took a step toward where he'd parked. "You need a good sleep. We can talk about everything else tomorrow."

"No need," I said quickly—perhaps too quickly, quick enough that even I felt it was somewhat deliberate. "I can get back on my own. I want to be alone for a while."

Julian stopped and turned to look at me.

Those eyes behind the silver-rimmed glasses fixed on me, carrying an expression I couldn't quite read. Scrutiny? Concern? Or something else.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure." I forced a smile. "Thank you for coming with me today. Really."

Julian looked at me for several seconds. Then he nodded.

"Call me anytime if you need anything. Twenty-four hours."

"Okay."

He turned and walked toward his gray Audi. I watched his back as he opened the door, got in, started the engine, and slowly pulled out of the parking space.

Only after his car completely disappeared around the corner did I turn and walk in the other direction.

The black Maybach still sat in its spot.

The engine was off. The windows tightly closed. From the outside, I couldn't tell if anyone was inside.

But I knew he was there.

I walked to the car, opened the rear door, and bent down to climb in.

The instant the door closed, it cut off all the light and sound from outside.

The car was very quiet. So quiet I could hear my own heartbeat—fast and heavy, like drums pounding in my chest.

The partition between the front and rear seats was raised. But I could still see a familiar figure sitting in the driver's position.

His silhouette appeared somewhat cold and stern, but smelling the familiar scent of cedar in the car, I actually relaxed a little.

"Victor..."

I began, but didn't know what to say.

He had taken action to punish Benjamin, so he probably knew about what happened at school too.

He'd said many times that he didn't like his things being touched by others.

So given the current situation, what would his attitude be?

"You don't need to explain to me," Victor spoke, and from his grip on the steering wheel—tight enough that his knuckles had turned white—I could sense his mood was far from good. "I'm taking you somewhere first."

The car didn't head toward that old city district house.

I noticed this when we'd already gotten onto the highway. The scenery outside the window changed from dilapidated streets to neat greenbelts, then to the vague outlines of tall buildings in the distance.

I didn't ask where we were going.

Victor didn't say either.

From leaving the police station until now, throughout the entire journey, he hadn't said a word. The driver was silent too. The cabin was so quiet that only the low hum of tires rolling over pavement remained, along with the faint sound of air flowing from the AC vents.

I leaned against the back seat, staring blankly at the rapidly retreating scenery outside the window.

My mind was a mess. Benjamin's bruised and swollen face. Julian's angry voice. The echoing collision of metal tables and chairs in the police station. And Benjamin's final words—"Tell that person to let me go."

That person.

I turned my head to glance at the silhouette in the front seat. Victor sat there, his profile cut into light and shadow by the light from outside the window. He seemed to be looking through something in his hands, probably documents or a tablet, his expression focused and indifferent, as if handling some trivial work matter.

He hadn't looked back at me once this entire time.

But I knew he knew I was watching him.

Forty minutes later, the car slowed down.

I looked outside and froze completely.

A building stood before us.

It looked more like a private club—gray-white marble exterior walls, a tall glass portico, two doormen in black uniforms standing at the entrance. There was no sign above the portico, only a line of very small golden letters carved into the stone lintel, too far away to read clearly.