At the most critical moment, Ouyang clung tightly to the last shred of stubbornness deep within her heart.

Her entire body ached and itched—no spot felt even remotely comfortable. Yet thinking of her long-term plans, a flicker of hope ignited in her eyes. She declared firmly toward the front:

“They’re the enemy…!”

“So you still deserve a lesson…”

The low, furious words reached Ouyang’s ears. Wearily, she watched Anderson storm to the glass bookcase, pull out another test tube of garlic water, and stand before her. She already knew the consequence of those words.

Powerless to break free, she felt the burning, nauseating liquid forced into her mouth again, seeping deep into her stomach. This body’s heightened sensitivity doubled the torment—excruciating pain, maddening itch, and a storm of rage.

“I will kill you. Absolutely.”

Spitting the vow through pain and fury, Ouyang slammed the back of her head hard against the stone wall. She collapsed instantly, motionless as a swollen corpse.

“Tch. What a stubborn little brat.”

Anderson sighed in frustration, flicking his whip. He lashed it hard against her thigh—numb, unfeeling.

Only her fair arms and delicate thighs bore the marks. Per the special contract with the client, the little Blood Clan member had to be returned intact—person and clothing. Anderson stared disdainfully at the unconscious, filthy Number 4 and reluctantly ended the session.

When Ouyang awoke, Anderson was gone.

Groggy, she noted the lingering redness, swelling, and stubborn rash. Whip wounds healed painfully slow. She sighed inwardly.

*Clearly, I forgot to check the almanac before stepping out—no wonder I’m cursed with this luck: locked in a basement, forced to drink two bottles of garlic paste.*

Even smacking her lips left the pungent, sickening garlic taste clinging in her mouth and gut.

She longed to scrub herself clean—inside and out, head to toe.

How long would Anderson keep her here? This mission was utterly failed.

The slightest shift of neck or limb sent echoes of pain through her, stirring a quiet sadness.

Her principles had earned only endless torment. From Anderson’s words, she sensed his hatred wasn’t for Ouyang—but for her Blood Clan identity, her very appearance.

She hadn’t chosen this form. Why must she always suffer? It was so unfair.

“Number 4. Your punishment ends now. Next time? It won’t be just two bottles of garlic water.”

Footsteps from afar brought hope. Meeting his cold, angry gaze, she listened solemnly.

“Understand?”

“Understood.”

Finally, an answer that satisfied him. Anderson stepped forward and unlocked the black cuffs on her wrists.

Weak-kneed, Ouyang swayed the moment her feet touched ground—nearly stumbling into him. *Don’t say anything but “yes.”* Terrified, she shook her head frantically, refusing to fall into his arms. He dodged instinctively. *Thud.* She hit the floor.

“You filthy thing—don’t you dare touch me.”

*Convenient. I don’t want to touch you either.*

Seeing his disgusted face, Ouyang silently agreed.

She followed Anderson to the castle washroom. He stood at the door, voice icy:

“Clean yourself. Come out when done.”

Glancing at the restraints binding her wrists and ankles—hands locked prisoner-style ahead—she met his indifferent stare and walked in silently.

The room smelled of fresh shower gel. Spacious and quiet, two large white machines stood labeled 【WASH】 and 【DRY】.

Curious, Ouyang stepped into the 【WASH】 unit. Rain-like spray drenched her, then a gentle tumbling cycle scrubbed every speck of grime from skin and clothes.

To mask the garlic taste, she drank a few sips of soapy water.

Once 【WASH】 stopped, she moved to 【DRY】—a pet dryer-like chamber that auto-shut at 90% dryness.

Refreshed, she followed Anderson again.

*Don’t waste this chance.* Using her new ability to see through walls, she kept her head low, scanning for the room holding Anderson’s illegal records.

After endless empty rooms, hope fading—she found one stacked with files.

No cameras lined the halls or rooms since her arrival. But werewolves’ hearing surpassed the Blood Clan’s. The ankle chains’ faint clink would betray her location instantly.

*First, find the key to these silver cuffs.*

Anderson gave no solo opportunity. He led her straight to a new training ground.

“As maids, you stay alert. If the master calls at night—you answer. No deep sleep. Tonight, you sit here. Awake. Until dawn.”

His whip cracked sharply against the floor.

“Fall asleep? My whip will wake you.”

Freshly returned, Ouyang clutched her stomach. Soapy water churned inside. She clenched her legs, face paling, staring tensely at Anderson.

“What’s wrong with Number 4?”

Seeing her distress, Anderson sighed. “Need the restroom?”

He walked to a corner cabinet, pulled out an item, and smiled with fake warmth.

“No restroom during training. Use this if urgent.”

*Like hell.*

Horror froze her. *An adult diaper? In front of everyone? No.*

Muted by his orders, she stomped in place—chains clinking desperately. *You want me to wear this? Unlock the chains first!*

Anderson’s patience snapped.

“Restroom’s left down the hall. Ten minutes. Fail—and I’ll whip you raw.”

Permission.

Ouyang nodded fast, took quick tiny steps, and vanished from the room.