Bride of Retribution: Aloof Billionaire's Dominant Game

Cecilia Wilson still fell ill, but when she received the call, she struggled to get up. Her whole body felt as if the bones had been scorched by fire, ready to crumble to ashes with a slight breeze. Her throat was in unbearable pain, densely covered with thorns that made swallowing feel like swallowing fire, causing her to tremble. She thought she probably had a cold or maybe even a fever, but she also couldn’t not get up. It wasn’t that she couldn’t; it was more like she didn’t dare to.

It was snowing lightly outside. Although the Fifth Young Master had always sent someone to pick her up, she insisted on taking a taxi herself, saying she wasn’t used to that.

Cecilia found it too uncomfortable, a feeling of humiliation, like an old-timey singer being picked up by a wealthy family in a carriage. She didn’t know what would happen next. That noblewoman had said she wanted her son to be happy, and if he was unhappy, she would make Cecilia and her family join him in the grave.

It was no joke, and Cecilia didn’t even have the courage to refuse. Her insignificant life made her afraid to fight, even though she was unwilling to just follow orders.

She had already put on the thickest clothes she could wear, yet her body continued to shiver with alternating bouts of hot and cold.

For so many years, her body seemed as strong as iron. Even though sometimes she worked night shifts, she could endure, but this time she truly couldn’t take it anymore.

The Fifth Young Master heard the voice on the phone was small and said, ”Please wait for a while,” and felt relieved when it was almost time.

For the first time in his life, he worried that someone would dislike him.

The feeling was strange. From a young age, he had never interacted with any woman. Even the housekeeper looked at him with concern because he allowed Cecilia to come close stubbornly.

But Cecilia was clearly different from all other women. Perhaps it wasn’t women he disliked, but the labels unique to women. Cecilia was precisely the one without any labels.

She had none of the powdery fragrance that women have, no strange body scent, no peculiar mannerisms, no pretentious airs. She was different from all other women; she was the unique Cecilia.

On the large oil-paper umbrella, fine snowflakes fell. The man’s slender fingers looked as if carved by a sculptor, flawless to even the most discerning hands. He gently covered his eyes, watching the courtyard gate, and felt like the oil-paper umbrella, with tiny, fine snowflakes falling inside him, melting a little, leaving a cold yet somewhat comforting trace.

He placed the ginseng tea on the small table by his side. The Fifth Young Master liked old objects. It was made from top-grade rosewood, with a waist-structured tooth plate, bronze tire intertwining flower inlaid enamel. The courtyard was tranquil, a few plantains reflected the falling snow, and the table’s vibrant colors came alive, its rosewood material solid and dense, calm and steady. It had been favored by the Imperial Palace since ancient times, now placed naturally in the snow.

The housekeeper didn’t know what to say, unable to accuse the Fifth Young Master of not recognizing treasures but noting that the treasures didn’t seem as valuable in his eyes as that tomboy.

No one expected that Fifth Young Master would wait a whole day without Cecilia showing up.

He didn’t call to urge because even he found it odd to keep pushing.

After taking a couple of bites for lunch, the Fifth Young Master returned to his room with a stern face and didn’t come out again.

Atlas Hallow called the Fifth Young Master at precisely the moment he was most annoyed.

He didn’t understand why Cecilia acted this way, agreeing to come but not showing up.

He wasn’t a petty person. The money given before was arranged by the housekeeper, and he had already prepared to offer ten times the amount. Was she not satisfied?

When the phone rang, he casually picked it up and coldly grunted, ”What?”

He sounded quite irritated.

”Has the recent drop in temperature frozen your brain too? You haven’t figured things out by now,” Atlas Hallow’s voice was unrushed, with a teasing tone that further annoyed the Fifth Young Master inexplicably.

”If you know I’m frozen, stop bothering me. Let’s talk when I’ve thawed.” After speaking, he hung up the phone, tossing it onto the soft couch, his face gloomy. He had had this temper since childhood; nothing anyone said could appease him when he was upset.

On the other end, Atlas Hallow paused. Had he taken some kind of explosive? He was like a bomb, exploding at the slightest touch.

It seemed the Fifth Young Master was quite troubled these days; he had to solve things himself.

Atlas Hallow never liked getting involved in these things. There were areas he preferred to avoid because he was a legitimate businessman, but now he had to dig out the people behind Ella Johnson and Ava Walker. There was a major investor behind them, continuously supporting them financially. Solving things nowadays doesn’t necessarily require many connections; it all depends on money.

Other than the Hallow Family, who would give Ava Walker money?

”Stay home, I need to go out for a while.” After having lunch with Charlotte Miller and resting for a while, Atlas Hallow changed his clothes and prepared to go out. He was never one to delay matters, especially ones of great importance.

”Okay.” Recently, it seemed like things were always on the verge of being exposed. Charlotte thought that spending a day at home was a good idea, to avoid arousing his suspicion.

”By the way, can you help me find out what Luna Miller is currently doing?” After hesitating for a moment, Charlotte spoke softly, looking up at Atlas Hallow with clear eyes that evoked pity like a young pet beast.

”Alright.” She agreed to stay home like he asked, so when she asked him to inquire about Luna, he naturally wouldn’t refuse.

He brushed lightly against Charlotte’s lips, and as she stood to wrap his scarf, the snow outside had already blanketed everything in white.

Outside, the air was indeed cold. Atlas Hallow got into the car, feeling her warmth and scent lingering on the soft fibers of the scarf. He took off his coat but kept the scarf on.

The car drove continuously, heading towards the old town.

Cities always have some peculiar people; some, like Jiwu, who seem ethereal and otherworldly, and others whom people fear at first sight.

The old alley was where the Flower Snake was located.

”I want to see Flower Snake.” Atlas Hallow stood at the entrance of a snake meat shop and spoke to the plump woman who was butchering the snakes.

”Who are you?” The obese woman was squeezing the snake’s vital spot expertly, holding a nail with her left hand, pressing the grass flower snake at its vital spot, while her right hand swiftly sliced the snake with a sharp blade. The snake seemed to want to coil but was held down by the woman’s rough hand, then she peeled off the entire snake skin, leaving only the white snake meat with fine blood vessels nearly invisible.

”Atlas Hallow...”

The woman wasn’t startled by these three words, perhaps such a woman of the marketplace didn’t understand what the name represented.

She tossed the slaughtered snake into a large basin beside her, stood up, rubbed her hands on her clothes to wipe off the sticky fluid from catching the snake, and said gruffly: ”Wait here.”

Then she lifted the cloth curtain and walked inside.

Those who came to the old alley were connoisseurs; the snake soup here was the best, even drawing food lovers from other cities. However, Atlas Hallow was not keen on this delicacy.

Soon, the woman twisted her plump body and came out, looked Atlas Hallow over, and said: ”Go in.”

The thick cloth curtain seemed sticky, as if countless snake secretions had adhered to it, devoid of the warmth cotton fabric should have.

The contrast was too stark. Before he left, he had touched Charlotte’s small face, her skin was clearer than egg whites, feeling like flower petals and jelly at his fingertips, perfect to the touch. Now, touching the cold, sticky, and heavy curtain made him feel uncomfortable.

Behind the cotton curtain was a small courtyard. Anyone with trypophobia might collapse upon seeing this scene.

Layer upon layer of iron cages filled with snakes intertwined inside; grass flower snakes, vegetable snakes, black snakes, and many other varieties were too numerous even for Atlas Hallow to name.

If these cages were opened, thousands of snakes would crawl out, leaving trails of shiny, cold, sticky secretions all over the ground. The thought made Atlas nauseous, so he hurriedly strode across the courtyard into the interior.

It was an old building, the kind that was far from appealing. Inside the rear room, with no windows to prevent drafts, sat a man, shriveled like an old man, on an Arhat couch.

”Young Master Hallow, we haven’t met in ten years, have we?” The diminutive man’s voice was so raspy it sounded as if his mouth was filled with iron sand, and he seemed to lack any strength.

”No one visits just for nothing, Flower Snake, I need you to handle something for me.” Atlas Hallow sat across from Flower Snake, following the faint light seeping in from outside the room, looking at this old acquaintance he hadn’t seen in ten years.