Anderson dragged Ouyang into a dark, narrow basement. With overwhelming force, he slammed her against the hard wall behind. Struggling to break free, she shouted angrily:
“What are you doing? Let me go!”
“Don’t worry. Even if you scream your lungs out, no one will hear you.”
The room had signal jammers and soundproof walls. It was a refuge designed by the castle’s original owners, the Mosterians, to escape human hunters. Bombs couldn’t destroy this sturdy basement.
Anderson locked Ouyang’s arms over her head in a ceiling shackle. On top of her silver handcuffs, he added another restraint.
Sturdy black iron rings pinned limbs to the stone wall above and below her.
Frowning tensely, Ouyang looked up to see her hands secured tightly.
As Anderson bent to clamp her ankles in the lower ring, she used her arms for leverage. She kicked hard at his approaching head, hitting him square. Anderson stumbled back, clutching his skull.
She refused punishment absolutely. She had to escape this place.
Even skipping the maid training and being labeled unqualified, she must flee. But no matter how hard she strained, the double wrist restraints held firm.
Her mind fixated on one extreme method: cutting off her wrists at the handcuffs to break free.
She scanned the room. To grab a knife, she first needed to move.
“Brat...”
Hearing Anderson’s stern scold as he advanced again, Ouyang snapped alert. She yelled ahead:
“I warn you—don’t touch me! Or else...”
She glared furiously at Anderson, now a werewolf. Silently, she vowed with burning intent: “I will kill you!”
Repeating the kick would only stalemate him. It wouldn’t control his actions.
Tense and furious, Ouyang watched Anderson stride to a glass-fronted bookcase on the left. He pulled out a stoppered glass tube of clear liquid and a clean white cloth. He walked back toward her.
“Don’t worry. I don’t want to touch you.”
Disgust twisted his face as he glared down at the young Blood Clan member pinned to the wall. Right here, he’d slaughtered many of her kin.
“Touching your foul Blood Clan reminds me of my hateful past.”
Anderson spoke, his blue eyes blazing with rage. He wouldn’t hear fake pleas. He’d shatter her spirit with cruel methods.
“What are you doing...”
Ouyang tracked his every move tensely. He sighed softly: “Poor little thing. Hate the relatives who abandoned you. They never told you your innate weakness.”
He popped the stopper easily. A pungent, foul stench spread from the tube. Even holding her breath, her body recoiled instinctively.
The smell was familiar but far worse. Yellow specks floated in the liquid. Recalling past scents, she knew: garlic water.
“No... don’t...”
Ouyang’s eyes widened in terror. She shook her head frantically, rejecting his approach utterly.
An ingredient once loved in home cooking was now absolutely forbidden.
Anderson’s sinister grin spread. She struggled nonstop but couldn’t escape his iron grip.
His hand clamped her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. His sharp claws pried her teeth apart slightly. Holding the garlic water, he leaned close.
“Wasn’t it you who told me to shut up?”
Ignoring her reply, he poured every drop down her throat. He stuffed her mouth with the white cloth.
The taste was worse than bitter medicine—unforgettable agony.
The moment the garlic water hit her stomach, her skin flushed red. It burned and itched, breaking into rashes. Unable to scratch, she glared miserably at Anderson’s smug delight. Every inch of her ached.
Sweat soaked her back, stinging the rashes like crawling ants. The silver cuffs slowed her healing. She endured silently, hoping the Blood Clan-hating werewolf had a shred of conscience.
True to his word, Anderson didn’t touch her. He wanted her to savor torment worse than death.
Gasping to calm her skin and stomach, Ouyang’s numb head heard a crisp snap ahead.
“How’s that? Feels great, doesn’t it? Let me make it better!”
A jolt like electricity struck her itchy thigh. Unbearable pain made her slam her head against the wall. Tears blurred her vision as she stared at the dark ceiling, fighting to stay clear-headed.
Damp air mixed metallic tang, garlic stench, and sweat. These scents hardened her resolve. Fear vanished, replaced by rage and revenge.
She had to kill him. Kill Anderson.
Anderson whipped the young Blood Clan member dozens of times. She didn’t whimper. He lost interest.
Pity she wasn’t his personally chosen maid. He’d love to keep this little Blood Clan pet locked away forever.
Her shiny silver hair dulled. Blood matted the back of her head. Her crimson eyes lost hope—angry yet hollow, just as he wanted.
“Dare you talk back again?”
Dazed, Ouyang shook her head. Her state pleased him.
“I’ll give you one chance to speak properly. One wrong word, and I’ll lash your wounds with garlic-soaked whip.”
He yanked the cloth from her mouth and tossed it aside. Delighted, he studied her exhausted face:
“Who are you?”
“I am... Number 4...”
“And who am I to you...?”
Her vision spun. Anderson stood waiting, whip in hand. The black collar around her neck throbbed faintly.
Straining to speak, Ouyang frowned and whispered:
“You are my...”
