Chapter 74: Asher Just Treats Me as a Doll

Chapter 74: Chapter 74: Asher Just Treats Me as a Doll

"You know who that killer is, don’t you?" Seeing Asher remain silent, I gripped his hand tightly, my emotions running high. "You have to tell me who he is."

A flicker of panic crossed Asher’s eyes. As if trying to escape, he turned his back to me. "I don’t know..."

"You do know who he is!" I was getting anxious too. ’He must know the person’s identity. Why can’t he just say it?’

Asher walked ahead evasively, refusing to tell me who the other person was.

I followed behind Asher, questioning him relentlessly.

But no matter how I asked, he refused to say.

I had thought about calling the police, and I’d also considered telling Zeke Shaw and Madeline Quinn, but my current identity is Silvia Lynch... not Cecilia Caldwell.

No one would believe what I say.

Besides, from my exchange with that murderer, it was clear that there had been some kind of dealings or transaction between the killer and Silvia Lynch.

If I acted rashly against the killer before figuring things out, I would not be the only one implicated after tipping him off...

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling agitated.

Things were starting to get more and more complicated.

So complicated that I couldn’t calm down at all, nor could I really begin to untangle it all piece by piece.

It would be fine if I were just an outsider, but "Silvia" was connected to the killer. If I got myself involved too early, it would be very difficult to continue the investigation later on.

"Cece... home." Just as I was getting agitated, my mind a chaotic mess, Asher walked over to me, took my hand, and said he’d take me home.

I instinctively shook him off. "The Cece you’re calling for is Cecilia Caldwell, right? You’re not even calling my name. I’m Silvia Lynch."

I couldn’t admit that I was Cecilia Caldwell.

And I couldn’t believe that Asher was crazy enough to believe someone had swapped souls.

"You are Cecilia Caldwell! You are!" He suddenly went berserk, grabbing my shoulders uncontrollably.

His grip hurt, and for a moment, I was terrified. It was as if he... was consciously ’crafting’ me into Cecilia Caldwell. Rather than him recognizing me as Cecilia, it was more like... deep down, he was deliberately treating Silvia Lynch as Cecilia Caldwell.

He was just like Julian Fletcher, using Silvia Lynch, who was a seventy percent match, as a puppet to escape the reality of Cecilia Caldwell’s death.

’Heh, no wonder he’s been so obedient and relaxed lately.’

In his eyes, the current Silvia Lynch wasn’t a person at all, but rather an identity he had fabricated.

’A lunatic. He really is a lunatic.’

"You are Cecilia Caldwell! You must be Cecilia Caldwell, you can only be Cecilia Caldwell... If you’re not, I’ll kill you." He was still raving.

"Okay... just don’t get agitated." My shoulders were aching. I tried to placate him nervously and change the subject. "When did you... and Cecilia Caldwell... meet?"

"Many years ago..." Asher suddenly loosened his grip, his voice bitter as he spoke.

"Where was it?" I asked again.

"The orphanage," Asher answered.

I froze for a second, staring at Asher in astonishment.

’An orphanage?’

’What does that mean...’

’That orphanage?’

A sudden headache pierced through me. I raised a hand to my head and squatted down on the ground in pain.

That orphanage, those little girls in red dresses who were adopted, the red dresses...

’Why did those red dresses look so familiar from the very beginning?’

I remembered. When I was little, I also had an identical red dress.

But when exactly did Asher and I meet? Why couldn’t I remember any of it?

Years ago, my father did a lot of charity work. He sponsored many children at orphanages and donated a lot of supplies. I also used to go with him to the orphanage for volunteer events.

’Is that when I met Asher?’

’Why don’t I have any memory of it?’

"Cece..." Asher was flustered. After his outburst, he seemed at a loss, squatting nervously in front of me. "Let’s go home."

I nodded and reached out to touch Asher’s forehead. His fever had broken.

"Carry me back..." I said in a small voice, trying my best not to show my fear.

Asher’s eyes lit up. He nodded, turned around, and presented his back, motioning for me to get on.

I hesitated for a moment before getting up and climbing onto his back.

He was very strong and tall. The moment he stood up, I instinctively clung to him, startled by the feeling of weightlessness.

"Stay home for a while, and don’t go running around, okay?" I whispered, instructing Asher.

Master Lancaster and his people would stop at nothing to achieve their goals. The Lancaster Family was in turmoil. As long as they could get rid of Sebastian Lancaster, me, and the child in my belly, Master Lancaster could logically take over the Lancaster Group and everything the family owned.

We walked along the sidewalk, beside a road teeming with a ceaseless flow of traffic.

He carried me on his back, walking forward step by step.

I was getting tired... and fell asleep on his back.

I had a dream, and many images flashed through my mind.

A little boy of mixed-race descent who looked like a prince from a fairy tale.

He was carrying a little girl in a red dress on his back, running forward desperately.

"Cece, it’s going to be okay. We’re almost home."

He comforted me as he ran. "Cece, wake up. Don’t fall asleep."

"Cece, wake up, eat something..."

I woke with a start, breathing rapidly as I looked around. I didn’t know when I had gotten home.

Asher was coaxing me to wake up and eat something.

I looked at Asher and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "I don’t want to eat."

"Eat a little," Asher said, holding out a bowl, insisting I eat at least something.

"I said I don’t want to eat! I don’t have an appetite!" I snapped irritably, pushing Asher’s hand away. The bowl of soup spilled all over the floor.

He sat where he was, silent.

Agitated, I got up and walked back to my room, my head throbbing.

In that moment, I felt like I had become this madman’s captive ’doll’. The feeling terrified me.

I was just too exhausted. I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep again.

The symptoms of early pregnancy were slowly becoming more obvious: drowsiness, emotional instability...

I drifted into a heavy sleep and fell into another dream.

"Doesn’t he love you? I’ll just make you into the version of you that he loves and give you back to him..."

"You’re like his favorite doll. I’m going to make you absolutely beautiful."

"He loved you so much, so why did you lie to him? Why did you lie to him? You really deserve to die..."

"Do you have any idea what you did by lying to him? You nearly got him killed! And you actually forgot him and got together with another man. You’re so filthy... your heart is filthy, and your body is filthy, too."

In the dream, those blurry scenes began to sharpen, and the moments before my death also became clear.

The murderer stood by the bed, holding a scalpel. He slowly cut into my skin, pulled out my fingernails, and made diamonds grow into my flesh and blood.

He watched me with a crazed look, a savage grin on his face. "This is much more beautiful. This way, you can become a doll and belong to him forever..."

He placed me in a glass display case, his voice like a demon from Hell.

"This is the red dress you used to love wearing, and it’s his favorite, too. I’m turning you into the version of you he likes best. He’ll definitely be happy..."

"No! Help! Help me!"

My breathing grew ragged, my heart pounded, and my whole body thrashed.

But it was like I was trapped in the dream, unable to wake up.

"Save me... Asher, save me!"

I don’t know why, but when I screamed for help, I called for Asher.

"Cece?"

"Cece!" Asher was calling my name.

But I couldn’t wake up. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare.

"Asher... Asher, save me."

"Cece, I’m here."

In my panic, I felt someone holding me tightly in their arms, and my struggling body slowly began to relax.

...

When I woke up the next day, it was already afternoon.

I wearily opened my eyes. I was alone in the room.

"Hello?" My phone rang. I fumbled for it and answered. "A class reunion?"

"I’m not going..." I refused instinctively.

"But our teacher was always so good to you. She just had surgery recently and said she wanted to see us... She has terminal cancer. A lot of the upperclassmen from our high school graduation years will be there, too." The classmate’s voice on the other end of the line was a little hoarse.

I furrowed my brow. ’I should go see her. I can also look for clues related to the victims while I’m at it.’

"I understand. I’ll be at the hotel on time," I agreed.

"I heard you got married. Everyone’s bringing their partners today, so you should bring yours, too. Our teacher wants to meet him."