Bride of Retribution: Aloof Billionaire's Dominant Game

Not even allowed a sip of water? So stingy?

Actually, Joseph is a very generous person. In his eyes, there’s no concept of value or money. He can give you the most precious gadgets, but when he gets angry, he really doesn’t want to let anyone have even a glass of water.

Atlas Hallow’s deep, shadowy eyes carried a touch of amusement, his thin lips parted as a low voice with a hint of playfulness: ”Didn’t you say you don’t like it? Then what’s there to worry about? If you like masseurs, I can introduce you to one, and if you prefer tomboyish styles, they’re not hard to find, right?”

”You seem to have a lot of experience with massage, and you know many people, don’t you?” Joseph stood in front of Atlas Hallow, his narrow eyes slightly squinting. He almost scoffed at the past antics of Atlas and Joseph Shaw; he wouldn’t stoop to their level.

”Quite a few...” Atlas Hallow nodded. A small piece of ambergris melted under the heat of silver charcoal, releasing a unique fragrance throughout the room. Joseph’s little quirks were numerous; perhaps he picked up some smells he didn’t like from Snake Alley.

As soon as he entered the room, Joseph knew he had gone to see Flower Snake, as his nose was as sharp as a dog’s. In fact, Atlas himself didn’t notice any scent on him.

”Do you think she really got into an accident?” Atlas Hallow’s words still made Joseph worry faintly. This situation seemed a bit off.

Cecilia Wilson was never late, and she never agreed to come and then didn’t show up.

After some thought, Joseph picked up his phone and dialed Cecilia Wilson’s number. The long beep made Joseph’s face start to darken gradually. Did she really get into an accident?

Joseph hung up the phone, his gaze turning incredibly sharp. He dialed another number; the person on the other end picked up immediately, and a cold yet emotionless voice echoed in the warm room: ”Go check and see if Cecilia Wilson is in the police station or the hospital.”

If something really happened, those would be the places Cecilia would end up.

Atlas Hallow lazily leaned back in the chair, handling his tasks quickly. If someone suddenly loses contact in the city, they’re likely either in a hospital or police station, but neither is a good outcome.

Less than ten minutes passed before there was a result.

”Fifth Young Master, Miss Wilson first went to the police station today, then the hospital, and she’s now in the hospital...” The message from the phone made Joseph furrow his brows lightly. It seems Atlas Hallow’s words turned out to be true; something did happen?

The Grade A hospital was always horrifyingly crowded. Joseph’s gaze turned to the packed crowd with extreme dislike. He didn’t like so many people; each carried a human scent that’s as repulsive as mutton’s smell.

Everyone else couldn’t smell it, but he could. He had never told anyone, not even his mother, about his fear of the human scent. Staying a moment longer might make him pass out. Holding a snuff bottle in his hand, which he never used, he brought it today to the hospital, sniffing it occasionally to clear his head.

”Fifth Young Master, it’s here.” The hospital had already been arranged; Cecilia had a private room, and two people led Joseph towards it.

As the door to the room opened, Joseph saw Cecilia Wilson seemingly drowned under the heavy white quilt, her small face flushed red as if blood would drip out, with several light scratches. Her arm was extended outside the quilt, sleeve rolled up to reveal a pitifully thin arm, a needle stuck in her hand.

Joseph glanced at the IV bottle; his men stood respectfully behind him, quietly reporting the events of today: ”Fifth Young Master, here’s what happened today. Miss Wilson was crossing the street to hail a cab when she was scraped by a car. The driver insisted Miss Wilson was faking it and pushed her, just when the police saw and took her in for questioning and she fainted there.”

The matter was simple, really; the driver didn’t want to pay a cent, so he claimed Cecilia was faking it.

”I’ve just asked the hospital. Miss Wilson’s condition is as follows: her fever reached 39.5 degrees, and she’s getting an IV drip. Once it’s finished, they can prescribe medication and she can go home. There are no serious injuries, and the marks on her face won’t scar.” After the report, his men said nothing further. Fifth Young Master didn’t like too much chatter; talking too much would only get them into trouble.