Bride of Retribution: Aloof Billionaire's Dominant Game

This is the hardest phone call I’ve ever made in my life. My hand trembles with each digit dialed.

She fell from the fifth floor to the fourth. No one can really say what happened. The servants said they only knew something happened to the young mistress when they heard her scream.

This call nearly stopped the housekeeper’s heart, but he knew it had to be made.

Even with his failing eyesight, he could see that the young master deeply cared for the young mistress. His hand shook uncontrollably as he held the phone, urging the driver to go faster, even if it meant running a red light. He needed to get back to the Hallow Family as quickly as possible.

He truly wished he had been the one who fell, and if this old body had shattered, it wouldn’t matter.

The phone beeped twice and then the person on the other end picked up.

”Young Master, the young mistress fell from upstairs...”

Even in a state of apparent unconsciousness, there is still awareness.

Charlotte Miller seemed trapped in an inescapable dark swamp. She wanted to speak but could barely breathe, as if invisible hands were strangling her throat, refusing to let go. A splitting pain seeped slowly from her lower abdomen into her heart, piercing it like a thousand arrows. Since Atlas Hallow told her he wanted a child, she had felt hesitant, but after having this child, she began to hope he would come, be with her, and fill her life with joy. Yet fate did not bring her together with this child...

In the midst of the cold and darkness, a tiny point of light slowly sparked up, and within the light an image gradually formed. It was a little boy bouncing along. She couldn’t see his features clearly, only his pair of eyes, which were as clear as pure, undisturbed water. He came over and kissed her lips, as if bidding farewell.

”Mommy, I’m leaving... I’m leaving...”

He called her mommy. Was he her little Atlas?

She wanted to reach out and hold him back, to stop him from leaving, but darkness enveloped her, invisible ropes binding her hands so she couldn’t move. She couldn’t grasp Little Atlas’s hand and could only watch those pudgy little hands wave at her, then turn and walk towards the growing light, which became so bright she couldn’t keep her eyes open and see anything...

In the hospital, people came and went in droves.

A tall man rushed hurriedly, with the first snow of the year dusting his hair and settling on the lashes beneath furrowed brows.

He moved like the wind, fast enough that his coat tails fluttered, fast enough that admiring glances from women couldn’t stay on him for more than a second.

Charlotte was taken into the surgery room. The housekeeper appeared flustered, aware that the child the Hallow Family had hoped for might not survive.

He had just seen the young mistress, cold and lifeless, being taken into the surgery room, her coat stained with blood. Where could the blood on her coat come from if she hadn’t suffered external injuries?

The young master headed directly to the hospital and should be arriving any minute.

How could he explain this? After serving the Hallow Family his entire life, such a thing had happened, leaving him with nowhere to hide his face.

Sure enough, as he was thinking about what to say, the young master arrived.

”What happened?” These words seemed to break out from between Atlas Hallow’s teeth. How could she have fallen down the stairs?

”When people downstairs heard the noise and ran up to look, the young mistress had already fallen.” The housekeeper lowered his head. This incident couldn’t really be blamed on anyone, yet it seemed as if it was all his responsibility. He stood there, rubbing his hands, and explained softly.

Atlas Hallow had never felt like this before, this helplessness as if being thrown into a cauldron of oil and stirred by a giant spatula, his throat scorched to the brink of exploding with each breath.

To fall from the fifth to the fourth floor, Atlas could imagine the scene.

The Hallow Family villa has high ceilings, and therefore the stairs are steep; he dared not imagine the picture. Just thinking about possible outcomes, his heart clenched tight like a small bundle.

The surgery took a long time, and Charlotte felt as though she was suspended in midair, watching herself lying on the operating table, her legs spread on the racks, her body covered with a green sheet, looking lifeless like a body void of warmth.

”There’s nothing we can do, can’t save it...”

”Clean up properly...”

She had a trace of a desolate, heartbreaking smile at the corner of her mouth, knowing no matter how reluctant she was, trying to hold onto was impossible. Atlas Hallow was not deserving of a lovely child like Little Atlas, and the thought of Little Atlas’s clear eyes once again ripped her heart apart.

He wanted to keep his love with Hailey Hill and also fulfill his desires with her; it was truly greedy. What did he take her for? Just a tool for venting desires? Or a machine for producing children?

Charlotte floated in midair, seemingly possessing eyes that could see through everything, even outside the surgery room.

The man wore a dark long coat, with a black shirt and trousers underneath, a chilling and grim color that on him looked mature and elegant. Yet Charlotte no longer yearned to nestle into his embrace. His hands hung lifelessly by his side, long fingers and broad palms, and these were hands she no longer wished to hold.

Floating, Charlotte felt her tears slow-dripping down. So love was indeed a mirage.

She thought she was close to love, even once believed she had attained it, but it was all a hallucination brought to her by this man.

She mustered all her strength to scream at him to leave, to go, for all her blood and tears were the outcome of his betrayal. Yet she couldn’t voice it, and her floating body was slowly absorbed by the cold, sharp light radiating from the surgical knife on the operating table, filled with a sense of weightlessness, sinking down to overlap with the cold pale body lying on the table, falling into unconsciousness...

It was uncertain how much time passed before Charlotte slowly awakened.

Everything seemed like a dream, yet felt far too real.

Dreams and reality are the same; if reality is too ideal, it feels like you’re in a dream. If the dream is too blissful, reality turns unbearably ugly. As Charlotte woke, she couldn’t discern whether she was in a dream or in reality.

The air held a familiar scent, one unique to Atlas Hallow.

That layered, distinctive faint musk scent.

It had always been a warm fragrance she was fond of and relied upon, but at this moment, the scent that had accompanied her, a scent she once wished to grow old with in love, began to fill her with great contempt.

Charlotte suddenly opened her eyes and saw the man by the bedside. Waking up to face Atlas Hallow again felt like facing a demon.

She felt panic rise that would make her scream, but the voice couldn’t break free.

In dreams and reality, all images overlapped on this man. Under the pale hospital corridor light, she could see Atlas Hallow’s face clearly.

”How could you be so careless?” Atlas Hallow sat beside Charlotte’s bed, his hoarse voice carrying boundless pain...

”Are you blaming me?” As Charlotte spoke, her throat felt as if it were scorched, dry to the point of cracking, and what pained her the most was the feeling from her abdomen.

Empty as if something was lost, someone had taken her precious piece from here, leaving her body and soul a part empty that could never be whole again.

What else could he say? Could he blame her? Blame her for being careless?

He didn’t mean it that way; he merely felt for her, and for the child they never got to meet.

Charlotte closed her eyes, she dared not meet this man’s gaze anymore; fearing she’d forever be drawn to those unfathomable eyes, those black hole-like eyes were pulling away her life’s light, leading her into inescapable darkness...

Just before closing her eyes, she saw massive pain in his eyes, why was he suffering?

Was he in pain because everything he planned for was about to vanish?

Atlas Hallow’s fingers lightly brushed her face, seemingly with warmth, but Charlotte felt them icy, devoid of any warmth, her body involuntarily trembled, even this slight touch was enough to nauseate her.

Atlas Hallow looked at her face, pale as paper, at this moment she should be much sadder than him.

”Where does it hurt?” His tender voice felt like a stone thrown into the depths of her heart, causing ripples endlessly spreading...

Charlotte shook her head. How can the dead feel discomfort?

If she could, she really would rather just die, than face all this ugliness.