Chapter 131:I don’t hit women

Chapter 131: 131:I don’t hit women

Junior returned a moment later, his heavy boots echoing across the marble floor. In one hand, he carried a metal bucket sloshing with ice-cold water; in the other, a heavy, five-tail leather whip. He handed the whip to Alan, keeping a steady, tight grip on the bucket.

​Curry looked up from the glowing screen of his tactical laptop, his fingers flying across the keys. "Boss, I’ve pulled her intel. Her real name is Joy Earin. She operates directly under Trison."

​Alan’s brows knitted slightly, a shadow crossing his eyes. "Trison... that name sounds familiar."

​"He’s the one who tried to siphon your power back in the day, Boss," Curry clarified. "He failed because of an unexpected ambush and has been a ghost ever since. We assumed he was dead."

​Alan’s expression smoothed out, replaced by a chilling, predatory calm. "Damn it. I thought he was rotting in the ground, but he’s actually still breathing. He really thinks I am still that naive kid, doesn’t he?" A dark, dangerous smile curved on his lips as he stared down at Joy’s unconscious body. "Well, since he is still alive, I will have to send him a proper appreciation gift. After all, if it weren’t for his little assassination attempt, I wouldn’t have learned to be so perpetually vigilant."

​He gestured lazily with his hand. "Pour the water, Junior."

​"Yes, Boss." Without a second of hesitation, Junior upended the heavy bucket, dumping freezing water directly over the woman’s face and wounds.

​The brutal shock of the ice water snapped Joy back to reality.

​"Ahhh!" she screamed, her eyes flying open as she violently gasped for air. She convulsed on the wet floor, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as she took in her grim surroundings. Her panicked gaze darted past the men, finally locking onto the terrifying, blue-eyed Alan sitting on the couch.

​"You’re awake," Alan said, his voice a low, velvety purr that radiated lethal intent. "I thought waking you up this way would be much more polite. I hope you aren’t feeling too chilly?"

​"What... what do you want to do to me?" Joy stuttered, shrinking back against the cold, wet stone.

​Alan’s smile widened, devoid of any warmth. "Calm down. I don’t hit women."

​Right on cue, the sharp, rhythmic clicking of high heels echoed from the grand staircase.

​A young woman bounded down the steps, dressed in a pristine, form-fitting blue gown. Her long hair was tinted a vibrant, striking blue, and her eyes sparkled with blatant infatuation as she locked eyes with Alan.

​"Alan! What do you think of my dress?" she chirped, spinning around gracefully. "I went straight up to change the second I heard you arrived. Do I look pretty?"

​Alan didn’t even spare her a glance. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the heavy leather whip directly at her.

​The woman caught the weapon skillfully out of mid-air. The bubbly, innocent smile vanished from her face the moment she processed Alan’s icy, furious aura. She slowly turned her head, her gaze landing on the shivering, bleeding woman on the floor.

​"Make sure she doesn’t die yet," Alan ordered coldly.

​The woman gritted her teeth, her eyes flashing with sudden, venomous hatred as she glared at Joy. "So, you are the piece of trash who ruined his mood," she thought bitterly. She turned back to Alan, her sweet smile instantly returning.

​"May I know what she did wrong, and whose dog she is?" she asked in a syrupy tone.

​"She is Trison’s lapdog, and she just ruined my peaceful day," Alan replied flatly, his eyes already drifting away.

​"Trison." The woman’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before settling back on Joy with sadistic glee. "So, you are the unlucky one today. Not bad," she murmured, stepping closer.

​"What... what are you doing?" Joy stammered, scrambling backward.

​"I’m going to beat the hell out of you," the woman replied simply.

​Without warning, she raised her arm and brought the whip down with terrifying speed and ruthless precision. The leather tails cracked against Joy’s flesh like a gunshot.

​"Ahh!" Joy shrieked in agony, her body seizing. "Stop! Please, I’m begging you! I can provide you with as much information as you want!" she cried, feeling as if her skin had been set on fire.

​"Provide us with information? There’s no need for that, my dear," the woman sneered. She raised the whip again, bringing it down with even more vicious force.

​"Ahhh!"

​Joy’s agonizing screams echoed through the grand hall. She sobbed and pleaded for mercy, but the woman turned a completely deaf ear, her face a mask of violent concentration as she lashed Joy repeatedly. The brutal assault didn’t stop until Joy’s eyes finally rolled back, and she collapsed into a bloody, unconscious heap.

​Panting slightly, the woman tossed the blood-slicked whip onto the floor. She looked down at her beautiful blue dress, now ruined by streaks of crimson splatter.

​"Damn it, she dirtied my clothes," she muttered in deep annoyance. She looked up at the completely expressionless Alan, her tone immediately softening. "My outfit is ruined. Wait right here for me, Alan, I’m going to go change!" Without waiting for an answer, she eagerly rushed back up the stairs.

​Alan stood up, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his jacket. "Lock her in the basement," he ordered his men, gesturing to Joy. "Make sure you continue torturing her until she breathes her absolute last and of she die early drop her body at Trison’s place."

​He turned on his heel, ready to walk out the front door.

​"Boss, you aren’t staying here?" Curry asked, surprised by the abrupt departure.

​Alan shook his head, the coldness in his eyes softening just a fraction. "It’s getting late. I’m going to meet my wife."

​With that, he walked out, the heavy doors shutting behind him.

​Curry sat frozen at his laptop, completely tongue-tied. "When the hell did he get married?" he muttered, staring blankly at the closed doors.

​A few minutes later, the woman rushed back down the stairs, having changed into a stunning, strapless red mini-dress. She posed at the bottom of the steps, only to realize the couch was empty.

​"Huh? Where is Alan? Did he go to the master bedroom to rest?" she asked Junior, who was now quietly mopping the blood and water off the marble floor.

​Junior sighed heavily, leaning against the mop handle. "The Boss already left."

​"What?!" she gasped, her face falling. "He just visited us today, and he left just like that? Did something happen?"

​Junior glared at her, his jaw tightening in annoyance. "I’m genuinely wondering why you care so much about the Boss’s personal affairs, Linda. What exactly are you after?"

​"You don’t understand, Junior. The poor girl has a massive crush on the Boss," Curry chimed in, laughing mockingly.

​Junior cast Linda a cold, warning look. "A piece of advice: you had better not let the Boss find out about your foolish little feelings for him. He won’t hesitate to throw you out on the street. Seriously, having a crush on him? You should go re-read the contract you signed. Don’t break the rules."

​Linda clenched her fists tightly at her sides, her manicured nails digging into her palms. She stared at Curry, who was laughing dismissively, and Junior, who had gone back to ignoring her.

​"Just you wait," she thought, forcing a sickly sweet smile onto her face while pure delusion fueled her mind. "When Alan falls in love with me and makes me the Lady Boss of this organization, I will personally slap the faces of every single one of you."

​"Don’t... don’t speak like that. I was just concerned," Linda defended herself weakly, playing the victim. "He rarely visits the headquarters lately. I was just afraid his family might have been troubling him."

​"Fool," Curry muttered under his breath, not even bothering to lift his head from his screens.

​"Just get out of here, Linda," Junior replied tiredly, dipping the mop back into the bucket. "If you really want to worry about someone, go worry about Silas. He hasn’t visited the organization lately, either."