Chapter 351: Must Stay Strong (Part 2)
Alison nodded softly, a faint relief flickering — at least he’d spared her for now.
He reached out and gripped her chin tightly.
“Listen. Stop thinking about running away.” As he spoke, he tightened his grip, and the pain made Alison’s face instantly pale.
“But in my world, there are no second chances. If you try to escape again, you’ll wish you were dead.”
Then he pressed a button beside the bed.
A shocking scene appeared on the television screen — a woman being attacked, her screams filling the room.
My God, what a brutal scene!
The footage showed her surrounded by men — chaos, violence, and cruelty.
Alison tried to turn away, but Pierre gripped her jaw tightly, holding her still.
“Watch carefully,” he said. “If you try to escape again, you’ll become another her.”
The woman collapsed — the scene dissolving into animal howls, violence cutting to black.
The horror clawed at Alison’s stomach.
“Ugh…” She groaned, desperately wanting to vomit.
“Pierre, get away from me,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand.
Pierre finally released her.
“Don’t vomit on the bed,” he chuckled.
“Ugh…” She ignored the pain in her feet and rushed toward the bathroom.
She fought back the urge to vomit, gagging as she moved.
“Shit!” He cursed, rushing forward.
He scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom. The moment he set her down in front of the toilet, she vomited violently, with tears and snot streaming down her face. Even after her stomach emptied, the heaves wracked her body.
He frowned, tempted to leave, but held back.
“Call the doctor. Make sure to wait for my permission before entering,” he pressed into the intercom.
He didn’t want her body to be exposed.
Finally, with nothing left to vomit, she gasped for breath as her clarity returned.
She suddenly realized her period hadn’t arrived this month.
Shakily pulling herself up by the toilet, her face remained pale, yet her heart stirred with fragile hope.
As she tried to stand, the wound on her foot throbbed more intensely.
“Ah…” The sharp pain made her grimace instinctively.
Pierre bent down and lifted her.
“Don’t walk. The doctor will come up shortly. Your external wounds should be dressed; otherwise, they might leave scars,” he said coolly, though his tone softened for a moment.
“What? Do you care about my injuries?” She leaned into his embrace, her gaze tinged with disbelief.
After all, he was the son of that formidable crime lord.
Pierre’s expression shifted as he carried her toward the bed.
“I wouldn’t want the scars to dampen my mood in bed,” he explained coldly.
He gently laid her on the bed, then pressed the room’s button.
“Bring two new sets of women’s nightgowns,” he ordered.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.”
“Mr. Bruce, these are Miss Fairchild’s nightgowns,” said a well-proportioned maid.
He glanced at her and waved his hand dismissively.
“Change them. Who told you to bring such sexy ones?”
The maid turned pale with fright and hurriedly replied, “I’ll go get another one.”
“Hurry up.”
The maid lowered her head, flinching.
Moments later, she returned with two modest cotton nightgowns — one pink and one green.
Pierre held them up before Alison.
“Pick one,” he said.