Time is very peculiar; it can make a woman more attractive to men. Perhaps Charlotte Miller is that kind of woman. She fears that if more time passes, Atlas Hallow will truly never return to her side.
She used to think that crying, making a fuss, and threatening to harm oneself were lowly tactics. But now, it seems that remaining quiet and attempting to influence Atlas Hallow did not work at all.
Now, despite her maintaining a good appearance, Atlas Hallow doesn’t like her. What about two years later, when she continues to age?
She walked into the bathroom and saw the razor he had used.
Atlas Hallow didn’t like using electric razors. Every time she stood at the door watching him slowly shave with the razor, her heart would stir, wishing she could rush to embrace him, to kiss his lips. But the distant aura he exuded always kept her from getting close.
She can’t be like this anymore. Hailey, you need to be braver...
She picked up the razor, opened it, and inside was a small blade, flashing with a sharp, cold light.
Hailey’s fingers pinched the thin blade and slowly cut it across her slender wrist.
She cut very slowly, very slowly, feeling the pain as the blade sliced through her skin. She wanted to feel the pain clearly.
The flesh split open, and it seemed she heard the sound of blood beginning to flow, quickly staining her whole wrist red. She was still very conscious when she heard the driver’s knocking at the door.
With a cold smile on her lips, she had arranged for the driver to pick her up early yesterday, as she had planned to go to the temple to offer incense first thing in the morning.
The knocking became more urgent, and her head began to feel dizzy.
This time, Hailey truly gambled, betting that she could survive, because the cut was very deep.
Atlas Hallow is such a clever person; if it were fake, he wouldn’t be fooled, and he would only hate her more.
So, she decided to be straightforward. If she truly died from this deep cut, she would be freed. If she didn’t die, it meant even the heavens were on her side.
So let it begin. She would reclaim everything piece by piece, unwilling to endure this loneliness any longer.
The driver, standing outside the door, grew anxious. Miss Hill was extremely punctual; he had been driving her for years, and she had never been late. He waited downstairs for five minutes without seeing her, and now there was no response to the knocking or the phone calls. Could something have happened?
Feeling a chill run through his body, he quickly took out the spare key and opened the door.
Since Miss Hill lived alone, the young master was always concerned about potential accidents, so he entrusted the driver with a spare key, which unexpectedly came in handy today.
Opening the room door, the living room was empty, and the bedroom door was tightly closed. The air faintly carried a very peculiar smell.
He took a deep breath; the room often smelled of aromatherapy, which masked much of the scent, but it seemed to be the smell of blood.
Indeed, the smell of blood grew stronger...
As someone who had worked with the Hallow Family and seen significant incidents, the driver quickly rushed to the bedroom, pushed open the bathroom door, and entered.
"Miss Hill, Miss Hill..."
Just before consciousness slipped away, Hailey’s lips curved into a twisted and distorted smile; she got what she wanted—someone saved her before she died.
Since she did not die, it was someone else’s turn.
Her body’s warmth slowly faded away, dark red blood pooled on the bathroom floor, and the driver, fearful of wasting time, picked up Hailey and rushed out.
The car ran several red lights en route to the nearest hospital.
The gap between the two apartment buildings was not large, yet they belonged to different complexes. Atlas Hallow, in another complex, did not expect Hailey to have slit her wrists on such a morning.
Before the bathroom mirror, she carefully applied the bottles and jars that Ethan Baird had sent her to her face.
"I thought you didn’t need those things," Atlas Hallow said, embracing her from behind as he inhaled deeply at her neck. The fragrance didn’t just float on her skin; it seemed to seep from her bloodstream—a light, enchanting rose scent.
"It tickles..." The skin on her neck seemed to itch and sting slightly as if pricked by something. Charlotte Miller giggled, thinking about struggling but then giving up.