Chapter 96
Emily Windsor's POV
Lawrence stared at me, his already sinister gaze deepening into something unfathomable.
After a long moment, he suddenly let out a low laugh. The sound echoed grotesquely in the grim basement.
"Emily, you really are clever." He leaned down, his warm breath invading my ear yet plunging me into an icy abyss. "So clever that I find it almost a waste to kill you."
He reached out and brutally gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"You're right—Luke is lucky to be alive. But so what? Right now, he's nothing but a rat in the gutter, while I am the master of this game." Lawrence's eyes gleamed with certainty as he extended that poisoned olive branch once more. "Whatever Luke could give you, I can give you a hundredfold. Just nod right now, come to my side, and you'll still be the high and mighty Miss Windsor. Fame, fortune, even the Victor family—I can lay it all at your feet."
He looked at me like a trophy he'd already claimed, his tone dripping with nauseating condescension.
I stared at that face—so close, so utterly false—and my stomach churned violently.
Luke had knelt before this scum to protect me. He'd thrown himself into the flames for me.
And this man actually believed he could buy my love and hatred with money and power.
To hell with his olive branch.
I summoned the last bit of strength in my chest, mixed with the metallic sweetness rising in my throat, and spat viciously in his smug, refined face.
"Dream on."
Scarlet blood-tinged saliva slid slowly down Lawrence's cheek. His smile froze instantly, and a tsunami of murderous intent poured from him.
That bloody spit was like a resounding slap, shattering his hypocritical mask into pieces.
The air fell deathly silent. The only sound was the faint drip of blood trailing down his face—chilling in the oppressive basement.
Lawrence slowly raised his hand and wiped the blood from his face.
His movements were deliberate, almost gracefully cruel.
He stared at the vivid crimson on his fingertips. The last trace of mockery in his eyes finally burned away, replaced by a bone-chilling viciousness.
"Good. Very good." He laughed lowly, his voice cold as a serpent's hiss. "Miss Windsor's backbone is harder than I imagined."
He stood abruptly, his tone icy as he commanded the bodyguards behind him: "Take her away."
"Stop!" Lily stepped forward, blocking his path.
She still held the blood-dripping riding crop, her beautiful face filled with defiant pride. "Mr. Lowe, I brought her back. I interrogated her. I haven't finished venting yet. If you take her now, are you disrespecting the Victor family?"
Lawrence stopped and turned his head. Those smiling eyes now held only cold, dead stillness.
"The Victor family?" He sneered, his gaze sweeping over the trembling elders behind Lily with utter contempt, as if viewing a swarm of ants. "Lily, have you not grasped the situation? The Victor family right now is nothing but meat on my chopping block. As for you..."
His eyes flashed with menace as he waved sharply: "Seize her!"
Lily clearly hadn't expected Lawrence to tear off the mask so brazenly. She instinctively tried to resist, but Lawrence's bodyguards were all top-tier operatives. Within moments, two burly men had twisted her arms behind her back and forced her to her knees on the cold floor.
"Lawrence! You dare touch me!" Lily shrieked, thrashing violently.
"Lily! Stop this!" The elders turned ashen with fear, immediately groveling before Lawrence. "Mr. Lowe, please calm down! She's young and foolish—please don't hold it against her! Take the woman—the Victor family has no objections whatsoever!"
Watching these usually sanctimonious elders now grovel like homeless dogs, I felt wave after wave of nauseating sorrow.
Lawrence ignored the old men entirely. He walked up to Lily and looked down at her condescendingly before taking the riding crop—still warm with my body heat and blood—from a bodyguard's hand.
"Miss Victor, you seemed to enjoy that flogging quite a bit, didn't you?" Lawrence lifted Lily's chin with the crop's handle, his tone playful yet dangerous. "Since you love punishing people so much, let me show you whether the Victor family's discipline is thorough enough."
He waved sharply: "String her up."
"No! Lawrence, you lunatic!"
Lily was roughly shackled with iron chains around her wrists and hoisted onto the same frame where I'd been tortured.
Her toes barely touched the ground, her entire posture radiating humiliation.
Lawrence didn't strike immediately. Instead, he turned back, those sinister eyes locked onto my face, searching for even the slightest crack in my expression.
"Miss Windsor, watch closely." A cruel smile tugged at his lips. "This is the price of betraying Luke. Didn't you hate her? Didn't you say she sold out her own brother? Now, I'm getting revenge for you."
The moment the words left his mouth, the whip sliced through the air.
The vicious lash struck Lily's shoulder, instantly tearing through her expensive black suit and exposing the torn flesh beneath.
Lily let out a muffled groan, her body trembling violently.
I lay in the pool of blood, watching coldly.
I even deliberately twisted my lips into a mocking smile, my voice weak but laced with venom: "Good... Serves you right, Lily... This is what you get for being a lapdog..."
Seeing the satisfaction on my face, the doubt in Lawrence's eyes seemed to dissipate further.
He intensified his assault with the whip, each strike delivered with full force.
The basement filled with the sickening sounds of splitting flesh and Lily's agonized moans.
Only when Lily's strength gave out and she hung limply from the chains like a broken marionette did Lawrence finally stop, still clearly unsatisfied.
He casually tossed aside the snapped whip, accepted a handkerchief to wipe his hands, and turned his sinister gaze back to me.
"Take her."
I was roughly shoved into Lawrence's private car.
Throughout the ride, I maintained my silence, letting the blood from my wounds stain Lawrence's expensive leather seats.
Lawrence seemed to savor this sense of control. He sat silently beside me, fingers tapping lightly against his knee, like a collector appraising a prized acquisition.
The car eventually stopped in front of a private villa on the outskirts—one of the Lowe family's properties.
The security here was airtight. Rather than a residence, it resembled a gilded cage.
I was brought to a bedroom on the second floor. It had clearly been meticulously decorated—thick Persian rugs, a dazzling crystal chandelier. Every detail screamed opulence, yet it all radiated a suffocating sense of oppression.
Lawrence shoved me into the room and locked the door behind us.