Cold man

The night was low, and the satin-like colour of the night quietly covered the earth.

No lights were lit inside the house.

The only shimmering light barely sketched out the outline of the surroundings.

It created a treacherous atmosphere.

In such a dark space, a young girl of about eighteen or nineteen years of age was quietly lying on the cold ground.

Her eyes, which were tightly blinded by a black silk cloth, restricted her vision.

At the same time, it also bound all her hopes and freedom.

Her hands and feet were firmly bound by sturdy ropes, and the touch of those ropes strangling into her skin was like an unforgiving reality that pressed tightly on her mind.

She clenched her lower lip, a sign of stubbornness and helplessness.

Tears slid silently across her cheeks, mixing with the dust on the ground and leaving a transparent trail.

Her face was clear.

Even in such a predicament, it exuded an extraordinary aura.

This young girl, was none other than the jewel of the Dawson family - Lisbeth Dawson.

Only 19 years old, in the flower season, is also a student in the university campus.

Now, the Dawson family suffered a sudden change.

The splendour of the family is no more.

She herself has fallen into the hands of the unknown.

Imprisoned in this lightless hut.

Just then, from far away, a series of sounds rang out on the ground - the solid and powerful tapping of men's leather shoes and stiletto heels.

They echoed in the empty space.

Each step was like stepping on a human heart.

Suddenly.

With a heavy "bang", the door slammed open with a violent impact.

The old hinges were overloaded and made an ear-splitting "squeak" sound.

Immediately after.

A magnetic and deep male voice rang out.

The voice was like a cello's murmur, pleasing to the ear, making the listener unconsciously intoxicated.

However.

Underneath this charming tone, there was a coldness and disdain.

It made it impossible to ignore the malice and threat behind it.

"Heh, you, the Dawson family's golden girl, also have today's field! Shouldn't you be the one to repay the debt your father owes?"

There was mockery in these words, and it seemed as if some cruel bargain were being offered.

For Lisbeth Dawson.

At the moment, she was just a young girl who had never been in the world before.

Never before had she experienced such a thrilling moment.

In absolute darkness, with the fear of the unknown, all her attention was focused on the panic within.

All sounds, smells and even temperatures of the outside world seemed to be cut off.

Her tears, welling up in her eyes.

In her voice, there was a hint of trembling, and she asked with a slight sobbing tone:

"You, what exactly are you guys? I, I really don't know you guys ... Why, why did you bring me to this cold and strange place? My father, how is he? Is he also threatened?"

Her words were filled with worry and fear for her family.

"Heh, a mere you, are you worthy of asking about our identities?"

That man's voice, low and cold.

Like a midnight ghost.

Echoing in the empty room.

Making people shiver.

"You only need to be clear about one thing, we are your nightmare, every second here will be the longest torment in your life. Hell on earth, it's just the beginning for you, huh, enjoy everything I've carefully laid out for you, don't let my painstaking efforts go to waste."

The clear and cold voice was like the passage of a cold wind.

Lisbeth Dawson only felt a chill run up her spine.

She couldn't help but shake her body.

With both hands, she unconsciously hugged herself tightly and curled up into a ball in shock.

The helplessness in her eyes was like a small grass ravaged by a storm.

Fragile and desperate.

As the man slowly turned to leave, his pair of shiny black leather shoes struck the ground, emitting a "pop-pop-pop" sound, the rhythm is clear but gradually away.

Each sound was a step on Lisbeth Dawson's heart.

Until the voice became muffled and eventually faded completely at the end of the corridor ...

Right in the middle of a dead silence.

Another woman's voice, coldly sounded.

It was a voice that was sweet to the extreme, but concealed a poisonous sting.

It was as if the world's most vicious curse was made up in the most delicate doll's voice.

"Oh, Lisbeth Dawson, it's ironic to see you in this state now.

Didn't you ask for all this?

Who made you come from a family like that?

Hmph, if it wasn't for your parents' greed for power and willingness to sacrifice you in exchange for my fate, I'm afraid I'd be the one bound here at this moment.

But don't forget, I, however, am an existence that has saved Percy's life.

Hahaha, Lisbeth Dawson, I really can't wait to see what kind of miserable sight you'll become when all the glitz and glamour is stripped from you ..."

Between the words.

That woman's laughter was as clear as a bell.

Yet it sent chills all over the body.

This voice belonged to Hannah Dawson, or should I say, the current Hannah Jones-

Ever since they switched identities, the name has been like an invisible shackle.

The name has been an invisible shackle ever since their identities were swapped, binding them to each other's destinies.

Jones, the word, was Lisbeth Dawson's first mark on her life.

Her real name was Lisbeth Jones.

Between the words, a harsh, powerful wind had lashed out.

A palm wearing long fingernails, like a sharp blade, slapped relentlessly against her delicate and tender cheek.

Five long, thin, hard nails cruelly carved mottled blood marks on her smooth, porcelain-like skin.

Tiny beads of blood slowly seeped out along those wounds.

It was like morning dew sliding down on the white petals of a flower, but it looked exceptionally hideous.

At that moment.

On her face, the outline of a bright red finger was clearly branded.

As if it was a blooming red plum on the snow, it was shocking to the eyes.

Lisbeth Dawson had lived in a world of luxury since she was a child, and even though her parents' love was as thin as a cicada's wing, she had never been treated so roughly.

Indifference and neglect followed her.

But, at least retained the surface of decency.

Now this slap.

Undoubtedly is the complete trampling of her dignity.

Despite the damage to her face and the pain, Lisbeth Dawson's beauty showed a strange fragile beauty at this moment.

It was as if the sky was clearing up after a rain, adding a touch of chastity to her appearance.

This transformation, instead of gaining sympathy, on the contrary, it is more enraged Hannah Jones.

Only to see, she violently grabbed Lisbeth Dawson that smooth as a waterfall of long hair, ruthlessly dragged her to the cold hard wall.

Once, twice, three times ...

Each impact was accompanied by a dull sound.

Until wisps of blood oozed from Lisbeth Dawson's forehead, Hannah Jones withdrew her hand.

With her anger, she stomped her foot heavily and turned away.

Leaving Lisbeth Dawson's limp figure behind.