Titus Zane lay on the bed, hands cushioning his face, unable to fall asleep for a long time, with the cries of his sister Olivia Zane in his ears and the vision of her ceaselessly pounding on her legs...
Just like a carousel lamp, incessantly spinning before his eyes.
Olivia Zane’s accusations were constantly reminding him that he was the root cause of all this, and yet he had taken his sister’s place, albeit against his will.
Footsteps came from the corridor outside the bedroom, the sound of leather shoes striking the marble floor.
Instinctively, Titus Zane abruptly looked towards the direction of the door, his nerves on edge.
With a loud bang, the bedroom door was forcefully pushed open from the outside, hitting the wall and trembling, and just as it was about to bounce back, it was stopped by an outstretched arm.
Nathan Moore stood at the door, dressed in a white shirt and black trousers—a seemingly gentlemanly and proper outfit—but at that moment, he resembled a Rakshasa emerging from hell, emitting a terrifying hostility.
Titus Zane’s colorless lips moved slightly, but before he could make a sound, the Rakshasa standing at the door strode forward, grabbed his shoulders, and hauled him up from the bed.
"Titus Zane!" He uttered the two words through clenched teeth, conveying his hatred.
"Nathan Moore..." Forced to sit up, Titus Zane half-sat on the bed, his messy hair covering half of his face, but unable to obscure the panic in his eyes.
"Titus Zane, you wicked woman!" Nathan raised his vice-like hand, and with a cry of "Ah..." from Titus, he was flung onto the bed.
With a ’thud,’ Titus’s forehead struck the oak headboard—not enough to knock him unconscious, but painful nonetheless.
Titus painfully propped himself up on his arms, gently touching the painful spot on his forehead, feeling a sticky sensation—it was likely bleeding.
Lowering his hand, Titus supported himself on the bed in a somewhat clumsy sprawled position.
The throbbing pain at his forehead made Titus laugh.
His colorless lips curled slightly, a laugh spilling out, yet the cold eyes that did so were brimming with spring water that couldn’t be stopped.
Titus looked up, meeting the sinister gaze of the man standing before the bed, the smile on his lips undiminished.
He said, "Nathan Moore, if tormenting me makes you feel better, then don’t hold back."
Titus lifted his face towards Nathan veiled in hostility, his eyelids closing over his despair.
Before, he was always one for torture, now he’s violent towards her family.
Nathan’s handsome brows furrowed slightly, a trace of indefinable emotion flitting across the depths of his eyes, so quickly even he couldn’t catch it.
Once again, Nathan grabbed Titus’s arm, pulling him in front of him, causing Titus to clumsily fall at the edge of the bed, Nathan’s tall, formidable figure pressing down, his thin lips landing on Titus’s neck, biting down without the slightest pity.
Pain emanated from the neck area, feeling as though the arteries were being severed, Titus bit down on his lip, hands tightly clutching the bedsheet below, making no attempts to struggle.
If at the beginning she was desperately resisting, then after a few times, she gave up.
Because, no matter how much she struggled and fought back with all her might, it only resulted in even more brutal punishments from Nathan Moore.
Actually, when her sister Olivia had been crying downstairs just before, she should have realized that tonight was doomed to be anything but peaceful.
Nathan’s lips and tongue continued their path downwards, biting hard at each spot as if wanting to swallow Titus whole, relentless in not assuaging his hatred.
Titus’s cries never stopped, yet what really made her scream out was the severe blow from Nathan that showed no mercy.