Bride of Retribution: Aloof Billionaire's Dominant Game

”I’m not in pain, it’s okay...” Cecilia’s voice slowly echoed in the spring night, like a stabilizer drifting into Little Five’s turbulent heart. Little Five’s face, bright as the moon, carried a gentle smile as he carefully applied the medicine to Cecilia’s wound.

When the medicine was slowly applied to Cecilia’s wound, the exposed tender red flesh tingled with pain, causing it to tremble slightly.

Little Five’s eyes also trembled, then after tending to her wound, he softly instructed, ”Get some good rest...”

He helped close the room door and walked downstairs, even his steps on the staircase were light.

But the moment the door closed, his eyes, which seemed to be filled with the clear breeze and bright moon, were suddenly clouded with gloom.

Things are looking bad...

The housekeeper cautiously followed behind Little Five; this time it truly seemed like a major issue was brewing.

Over the past three years, their Fifth Young Master’s fondness for Cecilia seemed to deepen into a habit.

Initially, they thought the freshness would pass, and naturally, the excitement would fade away.

But what they did not expect was that the heat was sustained over time, with the fire burning ever brighter inside their Fifth Young Master.

Even though Cecilia lived here, the two of them were like lovers, but something always seemed missing.

Fifth Young Master poured his heart into it, yet remained overly cautious.

When Little Five reached downstairs, he heard his phone ringing in the flower hall.

Picking up the phone, his voice sounded cold as ice.

”Little Five, it’s my fault for not anticipating they’d dare step onto your turf.” Atlas Hallow, still at the hospital, spoke with a weary, hoarse voice, like clouds blocking the sun.

”What does this have to do with you? You mentioned that they dared to come onto my turf, so it’s now my problem.” Little Five replied indifferently, while the housekeeper promptly served a calming cup of jujube tea to their Fifth Young Master sitting in the flower hall.

In the middle of the night, drinking a cup of calming jujube tea couldn’t be more fitting; the fire in the heart of the Fifth Young Master was likely burning brightly, making it difficult for him to fall asleep.

”Little Five, my daughter has been pestering you for a few days now.” Atlas massaged his temples, feeling oppressively suffocated.

Perhaps today, he would become someone whose both parents passed away.

No matter how strong one is, such a blow is unbearable.

His father had been extremely strict with him from a young age, demanding that he surpass Amir and take control of the Hallow Clan; he hated all of this but managed to accomplish it. Although he disliked his parents’ conduct, it didn’t mean he was estranged from them.

These years, they were far away in Europe, but at least Atlas knew his parents were still alive.

This return trip was primarily to visit Mia, and upon learning of the granddaughter’s existence, his parents rushed back to take a look.

Perhaps part of the hurry was due to the motive of securing the eight percent stake; after all, the first Hallow Family grandson could claim an additional eight percent.

Unexpectedly, such an incident occurred; the brake lines were cut, although the car was parked at the Hallow residence. Checks were routinely conducted before each use—how could they possibly not have known about the cut brake lines?

”Hmph...” The hum on the other end carried a mix of pride, yet Atlas understood Little Five’s intentions.

Right now, he could not afford to be distracted; he needed to fully confront those terrifying invaders.

If possible, he’d prefer to protect Charlotte and Mia around the clock, but it truly wasn’t feasible.

On a spring night, hints of chill seeped into the long hospital corridor; under the bright fluorescent lights, it felt excessively desolate as if the lonely atmosphere had permeated every corner of the air.

After hanging up the phone, Little Five glanced at the housekeeper standing nearby, his eyes exuding a deep coldness.

”Spread the word, this is by my order: whoever pushed Miss Wilson will have to chop off their own hand. If they pushed with one hand, chop one hand; if pushed with both, chop both hands. I want to see it done by tomorrow evening.” Having said this, Little Five took a sip of jujube tea, his gaze settling on Cecilia’s room next to his bedroom on the second floor.

His expression turned warm and meticulous once again, warmly reflecting the girl residing within that room, capturing the essence of her smiles and frowns, sketching her delicate features, down to her fine, clean hair devoid of impurities.

Three years...

She remains an inexplicable presence to him.

As if heaven extracted a part of him and cast it into the world of people, he’s been searching since birth for that part of himself.

Until Cecilia appeared, gradually making him feel complete.

Such a feeling made him content and joyful, even afraid to alter it.

He dared not even touch the person, yet someone had the audacity to shove the Miss Wilson, who was dear to his heart, to the ground—the nerve must be borrowed from heaven.

”Fifth Young Master, please don’t be angry; it’s easy to hurt your body during the night. I’ll handle it immediately.” The housekeeper smiled cautiously. After all, it’s just hands; if Fifth Young Master wants it, someone within the Foster Clan will undoubtedly carry out the task.

How could he not be angry?

The doctor examined her, though bones were unaffected in the fall, her mobility over the next couple of days would certainly be hindered, and her elbow was still quite injured, stirring a sense of unease within him.

”Prepare a nourishing dish for tomorrow.” He’s unsure what exactly she needs to eat for her injury, so he simply issues a vague order.

”Sir, rest assured, this matter is also in my hands; I’ve already instructed the kitchen to prepare fish maw chicken stew for recovery tomorrow.” If these straightforward tasks need Fifth Young Master to personally command for execution, it signifies a complete lack of competence.

”Prepare additional fruits and snacks she enjoys for tomorrow.” Little Five, somewhat uneasy, requests plenty of refreshments to ensure she’s occupied at home due to her injured foot.

”Everything will be prepared accordingly; please go and rest assured.” The housekeeper chuckles while accompanying him, sending the small Foster family ancestor to her room for sleep, quickly calls below to instruct for the destined pair of hands Fifth Young Master should receive.

It’d be best if someone voluntarily delivers them by tomorrow; otherwise, if Fifth Young Master has to venture out of this alley to enforce his desire, it won’t only require a single hand.

Once Little Five returned to his room, the housekeeper summoned the few working servants for a small meeting.

”In these coming days, esteemed guests will be arriving at the front courtyard. You must maintain caution and familiarity. Two of you are tasked with daily cleaning duties, and ensure the kitchen delivers prepared meals punctually—ensure no skimping on snacks or fruits for our guests, lest they suspect our master’s stinginess. Your diligent effort reflects the Foster Family’s hospitality. Understood?” The housekeeper standing before a row of people proclaimed quietly yet authoritatively.

Unlike his demeanor before Little Five, here emerged the authority befitting his role.

Everyone nodded earnestly; none dared respond out loud, fearing to disturb Fifth Young Master’s slumber.

”Moreover, there’s a young miss among the guests whose snacks require special preparation—non-greasy and visually pleasing.” The housekeeper specifically addressed the cooks. Observing her identity as Atlas’s daughter made their relationship clear; she was evidently carved from the same mold.

The chef nodded, knowing guests residing here certainly require proper hospitality.

Starting tomorrow, they’ll prepare additional mini pastries to ensure the child’s happiness.

The housekeeper managed various affairs until the middle of the night; over the years, due to Cecilia, Little Five’s demeanor had calmed considerably, yet now it seemed a significant issue might arise.

Daring enough to come here, dealing with the hand alone won’t suffice—everyone knows here is Foster territory; even dog walkers avoid passing through, fearing to disturb the residents within.

Various tales about Fifth Young Master circulate, including rumors of vampires, or claims he’s lived several centuries. He never leaves the house, nor meets guests, even avoids sunlight, appearing white as if submerged within icy jade pools, spawning myriad speculations.

In reality, he was allergic to sunlight as a child, taking a long time to adjust, though nobody deliberately suns themselves without need.

These rumors prove somewhat beneficial, at least deterring many from entering, providing them some reprieve, yet who could have anticipated some would dash toward certain death? Determining to push their Fifth Young Master’s precious Miss Wilson?

Ultimately, time was given; if the opposing party fails to sever the hand themselves by tomorrow evening, Fifth Young Master inevitably steps forth. It’s clear the scale of this isn’t feared, for unless Fifth Young Master intervenes, the Foster heir’s capability remains unseen.