Try Begging - Chapter 63

Chapter 63

‘I am afraid of you.’

Grace opened her eyes.

‘…It’s so bright.’

She closed her eyelids again. What she realized in that short moment was the fact that her vision was tilted.

She was no longer hanging from the ceiling. Instead of the tension of the rope, the soft texture of the mattress and blanket was transmitted to her skin. It seemed that she was lying on her side on the bed.

As she slowly opened her eyelids again, the man who was clearly responsible for putting her down here was sitting in a seat facing the bed.

However, he wasn’t looking at her.

Grace peered silently at Winston, who rested his chin with his hand, holding a fountain pen and gazing down at the papers spread out on her table.

“Grace, to be honest, I’m afraid of you.”

She laughed as she recalled the echo of his voice in her distant mind.

That person couldn’t have said that.

In a world where money was becoming omnipotent, the rich man who owned an entire western state was God… Apart from the rules of society, class was the law, so even in the military where there were superiors, Winston was an exception.

He was a man without fear in the world. How could such a man be afraid of a woman held prisoner in his prison…?

Besides, that person had never called her Grace since he had only once called her sarcastically. After she lost consciousness, she must have dreamed of him.

‘…Such a crazy dream.’

Gnashing her teeth every day, she said that one day she would make that person beg to her that it even turned into a dream. She almost died without realizing her dream. Even though she didn’t know why Winston stayed here when his business was over, Grace didn’t want to deal with him anymore.

As she was just about to close her narrowed eyes…

Draag.

Winston rose from his seat and lifted the tray in front of him with one hand. A luxurious silver tray was covered with a silver lid.

He walked out the door with it, and he came right back. Empty-handed.

Grace pretended to sleep and closed her eyes. Although she really wanted to fall asleep, the sound of the fountain pen scraping the paper kept distracting her.

As she tried to distract herself by counting sheep in her head, someone knocked on the door. When the sound of the fountain pen stopped, and other noises continued, Grace narrowed her eyes, unable to contain her curiosity.

Winston took a silver tray identical to the one he had just removed from someone, whom she could only see the hand, and shut the door.

Watching him put it back on the table, she lost interest and was about to close her eyes again.

“I know you woke up.”

“….”

“Take care of it if this gets cold.”

Grace, who involuntarily opened her eyes, sat down and stared at the man holding the fountain pen with puzzled eyes.

‘Did he wait until I woke up to have dinner?’

Did he feel sorry for almost killing me?

Bullsh*t.

She must kill him slowly and painfully, but it must have been sooner than planned.

Grace, though hungry, stood up. She stared blankly down at the naked body without a single rope hanging on it. Her body, which should have been sticky with sweat and liquid, was dry. Did he wipe it…?

‘What’s the matter?’

Stopping her delusions, she eventually got out of bed. She didn’t have the strength to get all dressed up, so she sat down with just a thin nightgown over her bloomers. Meanwhile, Winston didn’t even give her a glance.

“Do you really like me?”

The more she thought about it, the more embarrassed she was. Of course, the answer was ‘no,’ wasn’t it? So, it was just bullsh*t that couldn’t be a serious provocation. Of all the provocations exchanged like boxers before the fight, the lightest mockery would have been the decisive blow to Winston.

The eyes that couldn’t hide the agitation kept flickering.

She stared blankly at the calm man, like a completely different person, and he let out a short sigh.

“You sure are a princess.”

Perhaps misunderstanding Grace’s gaze, Winston opened the lid of the tray. Steamy consommé soup, mashed potatoes, soft butter rolls, and custard pudding with melted caramel for dessert… all of them were easy to eat.

A kiss after a slap on the cheek.

It was Leon Winston who humanized the common saying. Regardless, Grace was not in a position to refuse his ‘kiss.’ She calmly lifted the spoon.

Only the sound of the spoon hitting the bowl continued. The sound of the fountain pen had long since ceased. Winston, who had been smoking a cigar as he silently watched her eat her meal, opened his mouth abruptly.

“I liked Daisy.”

Healing the unexpected confession, Grace raised her head and stared at him.

“Sally Bristol… yes, I still like her.”

When the blue-green eyes with a bloody halo shook, he gritted his teeth.

“…But, I hate Grace Riddle.”

Was it truth or lies? Winston’s pupils were obscured by the haze of smoke that rose in an instant.

“At least, you look pretty when you cry and accept me calmly, so if you want to save your life, take care of yourself.”

With those words, the blue-green eyes stopped trembling and glared at him as if to kill him.

“I’ll let those rebellious eyes go.”

Was he saying he wanted to go now that he had said everything?

Grace glared at the man sorting out the spread-out papers, then quietly slipped her tongue between her molars.

Clench.

The moment she bit into it, the sharp taste spread along with the pain that pierced her eyes. When she picked up the spoon with a slightly trembling hand from the pain, as soon as the soup-filled iron was pressed to her lips, Grace let out a small cough.

The moment blood dripped from the rim of the soup bowl, the hand that closed the cap of the fountain pen stopped.

Crash.

Her hand trembled, and the loosely gripped spoon plunged headlong into the bowl of soup.

“Gasp, cough…”

Grace coughed violently, covering her mouth with her hand. In an instant, her palms turned bloody.

“What’s wrong?”

Winston turned the table and tried to come her way. When he could only take one step, Grace let go of her blood-soaked hands and let go of her body.

Instead of falling to the cold floor, she fell into a hot embrace.

A person who used to walk leisurely was running… it was unsightly.

“Open your eyes.”

The hand that touched her cheek was cold, unlike his arms. She coughed up blood from her mouth intermittently, pretending to be in trouble and quietly opening her eyes. The moment her eyes met Winston’s, Grace had to use all her strength to hold back a smile.

And those eyes…

Just like when she asked if he liked her, Winston was agitated.

Why? Didn’t he say he’ll buy a new one once she dies? Didn’t he say he gets excited when she bleeds, right?

Still, why was he making that face?

Leon Winston, you can’t tame me.

Grace closed her eyes again.

“F*ck…”

Leon stopped his hand while checking the pulse of the woman who passed out coughing up blood. His palms, which were as white as his head, were wet with crimson blood. At the same time, his heart was beating wildly. It was not like when the woman bit his lip and drew his blood.

The smell of death was not pleasant.

It was the first time since that day long ago when he found his father on a remote cliff. He was afraid of blood.

…No, he was afraid only of this woman’s blood.

Leon reached out his black-gloved hand to the tiny capsule. When he lifted it into the sunlight, white crystals in the milky white film were dimly reflected.

“It must be cyanide.”

He asked Campbell, putting the poison capsule back in the little wooden box and taking off his glove.

“Where was it?”

“It was in a mattress ordered for the torture chamber.”

“They must have known through that woman that it was only supplied to the torture chamber.”

“Yes, it seems so.”

“I’ve thought of it since she was a maid, but she is a really needlessly diligent woman.”

Campbell was silent, not knowing how to react.

“By the way, the leadership is pretty stupid. If they put it on the mattress or something, they won’t know what the chances are she’ll get it on time.”

However, in the end, it wasn’t a very wrong strategy, as they used up the stock in one month and had to order more.

“Bastards, they only gave me the hint that the woman knows some pretty important information… Information that would put the leadership in danger if revealed.”

No rebel had ever been sent an order compelled to commit suicide in this way. Those who have been caught so far have been small fish, or even if a big game was caught on rare occasions, like a fanatic, they keep their mouths shut until the end.

Yet the leadership, who had a strong faith in their comrades, wanted to get rid of only that woman. It meant that they had a reason to turn against the woman, who was a fanatical follower more than anyone else.

…Could it have something to do with the reason why both of her parents died, and her brother turned away from the rebels?

‘But, she says she hasn’t changed her mind yet.’

What should he do to make her turn against the rebels?

As long as the woman was in her hands, he thought it would work out. Nonetheless, humans were greedy animals. He, too, was a helpless human being.

Should I let her meet Jonathan Riddle Jr. and find out why?

If so, he might end up splitting the belly of a goose that might one day lay golden eggs. She may run away, not knowing that she is being watched, or she may become wary of her surroundings and refuse to contact her old comrades…

Deciding to use it as a last resort, Leon turned his attention to the letter from Little Jimmy that was in the poison box.

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