Chapter 113 You’re Not Stopping Me, Are You?
My mind recoiled from the thoughts that loomed ahead, refusing to go further. At that moment, my voice was
hoarse, choked with a mix of rage and grief.
My eyes were locked on Philip, my entire being consumed by a searing, unrelenting pain that clawed at my
insides.
Then, the sound of footsteps jolted me back to the grim reality.
Instinctively, I looked up. There stood Cyril, holding a gleaming tray of silver needles, their sharp points catching the light, his voice calm but laced with concern as he asked, “Aurora, is this what you need?”
I glanced down. The needles were just the right size–about twenty, enough for every digit of Philip’s
trembling body.
I gave a curt nod, but before I could speak, Philip’s panicked scream tore through the tense silence. “Autora! I’ve told you everything you wanted to know! You can’t do this to me!”
I looked up at him, his eyes wide with terror. A bitter, icy chuckle escaped my lips, devoid of any warmth. “Philip, that’s just wishful thinking on your part. I never made any promises to you.”
His face drained of color, his lips trembling and pale as a corpse. He shook his head frantically, struggling against his restraints, begging, pleading, and even hurling vile, self–deprecating insults in a desperate bid for
mercy.
But I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. My sister had endured so much suffering. How could I not reclaim
even a sliver of the torment she’d endured?
With a chilling, emotionless expression that masked the storm raging inside me, I picked up a silver needle
and took a step toward him.
Cyril’s brow knit together in a subtle frown, and when I caught the look in his eyes, my heart sank a little.
In that moment, I wondered if he saw me as nothing more than a cold, vindictive monster.
But I didn’t give a damn what he thought of me. All that mattered was unleashing the inferno of rage that
scorched my soul.
Even if, by the end of this, Cyril’s feelings for me changed, I wouldn’t let it sway me.
Vengeance had become the very marrow of my existence. I could never let anyone–not even Cyril–stand in the way of my retribution.
I shut my eyes for a heartbeat, fortifying my resolve like tempered steel, and then moved closer to Philip, gripping his restrained hand firmly.
Philip’s piercing scream ripped through the air, raw and guttural with desperation. “Aurora, I admit I was wrong! You can’t do this to me! You’ve already got what you wanted! You can’t-!”
Before he could finish, I plunged the silver needle into the tender space between his fingers, A mere feet deep, and he was already wailing, tears streaming down his face.
I was about to push further when, in a flash, a firm hand closed around my wrist.
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I looked up. It was Cyril, his grip both unyielding and strangely tender.
At that moment, a wave of indescribable bitterness and pain washed over me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips,
and I murmured softly, “Cyril, are you going to stand in my way too?”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “What are you even saying?”
I froze, completely thrown off by his response. But then, his voice dropped to a tender whisper. “Aurora, this is too much for you. You’re too soft–hearted–it’ll haunt you in your dreams.”
Thesitated, my throat tightening as if something sweet yet painful had caught in it, making it hard to breathe. Cyril’s eyes locked onto mine, his voice soft but firm. “Let me take care of it. I’m not scared.”
I laughed, but it came out choked, tears spilling over before I could stop them. “I’m okay. I can handle it,” I heard myself say.
Cyril’s lips curved slightly. “But I am afraid–for you.”
He looked at me with such sincerity. “Aurora, you’re too good for this. I won’t let you dirty your hands. As long as I’m by your side, I’ll handle whatever needs to be done.”
His words cut deep, unraveling something inside me I didn’t want to face. I asked, “After everything I’ve done to Philip, how can you still see me as pure?”
“Absolutely,” he said without missing a beat. “You’re just setting things right. There’s no shame in that.”
I smiled. “Cyril, you’re right. I can’t do this alone.”
The mere idea of touching Philip sent a shiver of disgust down my spine. But now, with Cyril willing to carry out the punishment for me, I felt a strange sense of relief. Watching Philip writhe in pain would take the edge off the rage burning inside me. This was just the first course–a taste of what’s to come. When he was no longer useful, I’d take care of him myself. And when that time came, I wouldn’t let anyone else step in.
Cyril made sure I didn’t miss a thing. His every move was calculated, slow and precise, drawing out the agony to its fullest. Philip was soaked in sweat, his screams of pain morphing into desperate begging. When he saw we weren’t backing down, he unleashed a torrent of curses.
Every word was filth, but Cyril wasn’t one to let that slide.
I watched as he lazily lifted his gaze, the silver needle piercing through Philip’s lips, his tone just as casual. “If you can’t speak properly, then keep your mouth shut.”
Instantly, the room fell silent, except for Philip’s muffled cries of pain.
I felt a surge of deep satisfaction. “That’s enough, Cyril. You can stop now.”
Cyril raised an eyebrow, as if sensing I had more questions for Philip, and calmly removed the needle from his
lips.
For Philip, the past half hour had been a relentless, torturous hell.
Now, hearing me speak, a faint spark of hope appeared in his eyes. His entire body trembled as he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, “Aurora, are you finally going to let me go?”
I let out a hollow chuckle, my expression cold as I took in his pitiful state. “Let you go? Don’t get your hopes up, Philip. I’m not done with you yet.”
I hesitated for a moment before continuing, “If you answer truthfully, ! might let you rest for a day.”
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Chapter 113 You’re Not St
Panic flashed in Philip’s eyes, and he blurted out, his voice trembling, “Ask away!”
I stared him down, my words cold and precise. “Philip, the d**g the Hartmans use to control women–you’re the one behind it, aren’t you?”
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