Chapter 83
Lydia stared at Charlotte in horror as she sat up, finding the girl's eyes sharp and clear — like two blades cutting straight into her heart.
Nothing like the dazed, vacant look she'd had during the day.
"You... you're not..."
Seeing Lydia stumble over her words in panic, Charlotte let out a cold laugh, threw off the covers, and slowly got out of bed.
"I'm not what? Not supposed to be out of my mind, doing whatever you want with me?"
"I... I..."
Lydia kept backing away as Charlotte closed in on her, step by step.
Until she had nowhere left to go, her back pressing against the cold wall, the chill making her shudder.
"What are you going to do?... Stay back! Stay away from me! Help!"
Lydia tried to scream, but pure terror had strangled her voice down to a faint whimper. No one outside could hear a thing.
Charlotte ignored her cries and raised her hand.
Lydia thought she was about to be slapped and squeezed her eyes shut.
But the expected blow never came. Instead, a sharp, forceful chop landed on the back of her neck.
The next moment, Lydia went limp and crumpled to the floor.
Charlotte dragged her to the corner and propped her against the wall. From a distance, she looked like someone who'd simply dozed off from exhaustion, head hanging low.
Once that was done, Charlotte walked back to the bed and picked up the syringe.
She studied the liquid catching the cold glare of the fluorescent light, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then she took out her phone and snapped several photos of the drug and Lydia.
A thought crossed her mind. She went back over to Lydia and searched her pockets.
Sure enough, she found her phone. No lock screen. She had no trouble pulling up the chat history between Lydia and Chloe.
【Once it's done, three hundred thousand will hit your account right away. Don't worry.】
【Make sure it's clean. Don't leave any evidence.】
Charlotte read through the messages, a cold smirk on her face, and photographed every single one.
Just as she finished, the door to the hospital room swung open. A sleazy-looking man poked his head in, his small eyes gleaming with something disgusting.
"This is the place, right? Wonder if it's been taken care of yet..."
But when he saw who was standing in the middle of the room — and the nurse slumped unconscious in the corner — his face changed.
In his head, the girl was supposed to be out cold, helpless in bed, his to do with as he pleased.
But the person in front of him looked completely composed, eyes clear and sharp. Not a single sign of being unconscious.
"You..."
The man was thrown off by what he was seeing and instinctively stepped back. "But they said..."
"Said what?"
Charlotte's eyes were cold as ice, her voice completely flat. She walked toward him at an unhurried pace. "That I was already unconscious? That you could do whatever you wanted?"
Called out directly, the man's mind went blank. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead instantly.
"No, no, that's not it at all — this is just a misunderstanding, that's all..."
He waved his hands and kept backing away. "I must have the wrong room. Sorry, I'm leaving right now!"
He spun around to run.
But Charlotte wasn't about to let that happen.
The moment he turned, she moved like a shadow and drove her foot hard into the back of his knee.
He let out a cry and pitched forward, slamming face-first onto the floor with a heavy thud.
He tried to scramble up, but Charlotte was already standing over him, her foot pressing down on the back of his hand and grinding in.
It didn't look like much from the outside, but the man immediately let out a shriek, his whole face twisting in agony.
"Let me go... I swear I'll never come back..."
Charlotte ignored his begging and looked down at him. "Who sent you?"
"I... I don't know..."
The man was sobbing through the pain, tears and snot smearing across his pockmarked face — a truly revolting sight. "It was a woman... a really pretty woman. She paid me and told me to come to this room and film something. That's all I know, I swear..."
"What did she look like?"
"Young, really good-looking, long hair — smooth and shiny. She had makeup on, and she was driving a red sports car..."
That was all Charlotte needed to hear. It was Chloe.
First, drug her and make her seem mentally unstable. Then send someone to assault her, film it, and destroy her completely. Leave her with nothing — no reputation, no way to show her face again.
What a vicious piece of work.
Charlotte clenched her jaw, looked down at the man at her feet, and pressed down slightly harder. A sickening pop came from his hand.
The man screamed again.
"Remember this," Charlotte said, pausing as she leaned down slightly. "If you ever pull something like this again — I will make sure you can't live and can't die."
Then she pulled her foot back, walked into the bathroom, stripped the shower curtain ties, and bound him tight. She stuffed a towel in his mouth, then dragged him into the bathroom stall.
After that, the room went quiet again.
Charlotte glanced over at Lydia, still out cold. She put everything away, climbed back into bed, and settled in to rest.
The prey was already in the net. Now she just had to wait for the other one.
---
Early the next morning, just as the sky was beginning to lighten, Chloe opened her eyes.
She'd been too wound up to sleep all night. Every time she pictured Charlotte being assaulted in that hospital room, the excitement was almost too much to contain.
She kept thinking the man had probably already sent the video to her inbox, and the anticipation made her restless.
But she didn't rush to check her email, because she had something more important to take care of first.
After a whole night of scheming, she'd decided that a video simply couldn't compare to watching it happen live.
So she called Gilbert, the lead reporter at the City Morning Post, and invited him to St. Regis Private Hospital.
After that, she put on her makeup, left at nine, and personally drove to pick up the reporter, Gilbert.
On the way there, Chloe played the part of a gentle, innocent friend sick with worry over Charlotte.
"Gilbert, I'm sorry to bother you so early. I'm just really worried about Charlotte. She's been under so much pressure... I'm scared something might happen to her."
Gilbert had spent enough years in the business to catch the faint undercurrent in her words. He smiled.
"Ms. Johnson, please don't mention it. Getting the chance to interview the one and only Queen — I wouldn't miss it."