Chapter 65 A Fate Worse Than Death
The man caught the chill in Celeste's tone and rushed to speak before the silence crushed him.
"Yes... exactly as you ordered. We made our move by the fountain. The woman nearly drowned—she stopped moving, I swear. But then, somehow, she suddenly thrashed back to life, stronger than I expected.
"I... I was afraid the noise would draw attention. Guests were leaving, people were passing near the side door. I didn't dare linger. I knocked her out, dragged her through the freight passage, and shoved her into the car. She's still with me... unconscious."
"Worthless." Celeste's voice cut like an ice-edged blade against his ear. "You let the one who should be dead live. Do you have any idea how much trouble that leaves behind?!"
"I'm sorry, Miss! I had no choice! If someone had seen us, they would have traced it back to you. She's alive now, but... maybe it's better to hand her over to you for disposal?"
Idiotic.
Celeste's fury roared inside her chest, but then another thought coiled around her mind like a venomous serpent.
Alive... perhaps that was even better. Killing her outright would be too merciful.
Alexander's earlier panic—wasn't it because Caroline still drew breath, because she could still matter to him?
If Caroline lived, but lived in a way that was worse than death... if she watched everything she had crumble, her dignity shattered to dust...
If Alexander found her only to see a shell—breathing but ruined, filthy beyond recognition...
The image alone made Celeste's blood run hot, her fingers trembling with a feverish anticipation that devoured her anger.
Her voice dropped to a cold, deliberate whisper. "Listen carefully, fool. I'm coming there now. Prepare a car. And..."
She paused, eyes narrowing with a glint like frost under moonlight.
"Find something for her. Not to kill her—make her awake. Make her feel every step into hell."
She ended the call and drew in a deep breath, already savoring the vision of Caroline screaming under her hands, begging for death and denied even that.
The thought calmed the fury Alexander's absence had left behind.
Sliding her phone away, Celeste strode toward the staircase.
Caroline's mind clawed its way back to consciousness through a haze of biting cold.
Her wrists and ankles bound, she tried to move but found herself lashed to a steel frame, something like a torture rack.
Water seeped into her clothes, icy tendrils creeping along her spine. In stark contrast, a searing heat surged through her veins, flooding her head like molten poison.
Her thoughts swam—pain and numbness tangled until she could no longer tell them apart.
The clash of ice and fire drew a low whimper from her throat.
She struggled against the ropes, coarse fibers biting into her skin, the knots pulled so tight she could barely twitch.
The room was dim, only a high, narrow window leaking a sliver of light—too faint to reveal the space around her.
The oppressive air was familiar. It reminded her of one place—the basement of the apartment.
Her heart lurched.
She tried to scream, but only a fractured moan escaped.
Ignoring the pain, she fought against her restraints, but the iron frame held her fast. The dizziness swelled, the heat inside her rising until it burned away the edges of thought.
A hollow, aching need spread from her core to every limb, an urge that made her skin crawl with shame.
Her eyes flew open in horror. She knew this sensation—it was the same drug Alexander had used before.
That time, he had wrung her to the brink of death, then tossed her into the basement.
So this was punishment for leaving without a word? Dragging her underwater until she nearly drowned, then using this to humiliate her?
"Ah..." The sound tore from her throat, thick with something she despised.
It was laced with a sultry note she wanted to bite her tongue to kill.
She had never found pleasure in intimacy—only pain, only degradation. This alien hunger, this emptiness in her own body, was a violation in itself, a shame so deep she wanted to vanish.
She tried to curl into herself, but the ropes denied her even that.
Her teeth clenched, yet the sounds kept slipping free, thick with humiliation.
Her body twisted in tiny, involuntary motions, seeking any scrap of friction to ease the torment—only to make it worse.
Tears and cold sweat slid down her temples, disappearing into her hair.
Then, without warning, the bulb above her blazed to life, its harsh yellow light stripping away her last refuge in shadow.
Heavy footsteps came from the stairwell, accompanied by low, filthy laughter.
"Well, well... awake, are we? Look at you—almost makes a man feel sorry."
Three figures blocked the light, looming over her.
This wasn't the apartment basement, but it was no better.
She shrank back instinctively, but the steel frame held her in place. No escape.
Her head jerked to the side, eyes squeezed shut, breath ragged. The drug's grip made her tremble as if bound by chains, shame and fever coursing together through her blood.
"Look at you..." one man chuckled, his voice thick with cruel delight. "This stuff hits hard."
"What's wrong? Craving something?" Another leaned down, rough fingers clamping her jaw, forcing her face up.
"I hear Alexander's cold to you—leaves you alone in those long nights. Judging by this, even without the drug, you'd be burning up."
Their laughter was shared, knowing, vile. Greasy fingers trailed down her shoulder, sliding with intent, tearing at her gown until the fabric gave way.
The light laid bare what she most wanted hidden.
Caroline's shame burned hotter than the drug. She fought, desperate, but the frame held.
"Don't pretend you don't want it," one sneered. "We'll make sure you're... satisfied."
A filthy hand reached for her.
Her face drained of color. She shut her eyes tight...