Amelia Shaw was jolted awake by the thunderous crash of Charlie River kicking open her door.
She scrambled to sit up, clutching the silk quilt to her chest. "Who is it?"
Charlie River flipped on the light. His face was an icy mask as he strode over, wordlessly yanking her by the arm and dragging her from the bed.
Amelia Shaw cried out, "Charlie River, what are you doing? Let go of me! Ah!"
Ignoring the woman’s wails, Charlie River coldly and ruthlessly dragged her downstairs.
The luxurious main hall was ablaze with light.
Servants, maids, and bodyguards stood in neat, respectful lines.
The neckline of Amelia Shaw’s sleep gown gaped open, revealing a large expanse of skin and the faint outline of her braless chest.
"Young Master, Miss Shaw has been brought," a bodyguard reported.
Charlie River shoved Amelia Shaw forward. Unsteady on her feet, she stumbled and fell into Thomas Shannon’s arms.
"Thomas..." Amelia Shaw began softly, but before she could steady herself, Thomas Shannon had already yanked her from his arms and thrown her aside.
She lost her balance and crumpled to the ground.
Amelia Shaw’s mind went blank; she couldn’t comprehend what was happening.
She collapsed onto the carpet, propping herself up with her hands, and stared dazedly at the man’s dark expression. "Thomas... what happened?"
"You know perfectly well what happened," Thomas Shannon retorted, his voice cold.
"I... I don’t know." Amelia Shaw turned, her gaze sweeping over the assembled staff. "What on earth happened? Can anyone tell me?"
Suddenly, her chin was seized. Thomas Shannon’s grip was so strong it felt as if he meant to crush the bones.
Pain shot through her, and Amelia Shaw winced, her teeth chattering. "Thomas, you’re hurting me..."
The maniac was drugged, nearly assaulted, and this woman actually had the gall to sleep soundly? Utterly despicable!
"And you can still sleep?" Thomas Shannon spat, his eyes blazing.
Tears welled and streamed down her face. Amelia Shaw sobbed softly, "Thomas, even if I’m to die, at least let me die knowing why. I don’t know anything. What do you want me to say?"
"Minimus Hart, you tell her!" Thomas Shannon commanded.
Thomas Shannon snatched his hand back as if she were contaminated, then took out a handkerchief and meticulously wiped the fingers that had touched her.
Minimus Hart, whose chest still throbbed from an earlier kick, knelt on the ground, her head bowed respectfully. Her voice was meek. "Yes, Young Master."
She turned slightly towards Amelia Shaw. "Maniac drank the coffee in the bedroom and was given an aphrodisiac. If the Young Master hadn’t returned in time, Maniac would have already... been with the bodyguard." Her voice dropped, then continued, "The coffee in the Young Master’s bedroom—you brewed it yourself. And you were the one who personally brought it to his room."
"Heh... Heh heh." Amelia Shaw shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her. "So you’re saying I drugged the maniac? Nonsense!"
Her tear-filled eyes fixed on Thomas Shannon. "Thomas, you have to believe me! I wouldn’t be so foolish as to drug the maniac so openly. Someone must be framing me!"
"You wouldn’t do it blatantly?" Thomas Shannon sneered. "But how many things have you done in secret?"
The thought of how the maniac had nearly drowned further fueled Thomas Shannon’s rage. Amelia Shaw opened her mouth to explain, but an ashtray came flying at her.
Amelia Shaw didn’t dodge. The ashtray struck her forehead. Her vision swam, and blood began to flow.
It trickled over her brow, down her eyelid, leaving a crimson trail across her face.
"Thomas... It really wasn’t me," she pleaded, blood blurring her vision. "Why would I drug the maniac?"