The Miller Residence in Truphis.
The room, shrouded in darkness without the lights on, felt damp and uncomfortable due to its wooden structure, especially in the winter when it was prone to dampness. It was a place so wretched that it could hardly compare to a prison cell. In this freezing season, living in such an environment was undoubtedly a dual torment, both mentally and physically.
Yet, when Gracie arrived, she found the man in the room leisurely sitting on the bed playing the harmonica. The melodious tune accompanied by the northern wind drifted into her ears, evoking thoughts of a cheerful summer campus filled with the sweet scent of love.
As the door opened, a beam of light from outside fell upon the man's face, revealing a countenance so delicate and beautiful that it would put any woman to shame, with an excessively pale complexion that seemed devoid of any color. He was dressed in a thin white robe, with a dark purple stain adorning the left side of his chest, blooming like a faded orchid.
Glancing at him, Gracie leaned against the door frame with her hands crossed over her chest. Her crimson dress swayed elegantly in the chilly wind. The slit in her dress exposed a glimpse of her slender, alluring leg, adorned with twelve-centimeter stiletto heels.
She raised a fair hand to touch her own arm and squinted her eyes, with a touch of crimson at the corner, slightly parted her vermilion lips, and let out a soft chuckle.
"Shane, why doing so? Instead of embracing a promising future, you choose to descend to such a state for a woman."
Moreover, it was for a remarried woman carrying another man's child.
The man standing beside her wore a terrifying mask with a ghastly visage. Upon hearing Gracie's words to Shane, his eyes dimmed, as if something had crossed his mind, and the light in his eyes flickered and disappeared.
The music in the room slowly came to a halt, yet the elegant reverberation of the harmonica lingered in the ears of the two.
Benson didn't even raise his eyes, as if he hadn't noticed the presence of the two, his gaze fixed on the harmonica in his hands.
It was just an ordinary harmonica, but he treated it as if it were a priceless treasure, wiping it with the sleeve of his white robe.
While he remained indifferent, Gracie seemed accustomed to it, continuing to express her views.
"Hey, you. As long as you capture Cheyenne, not only will you become a hero in Gregory's eyes and rise to an executive within the organization, but we can also help you ascend to the position of the head of the Miller family. Is it worth it to give up all this for Charlotte?"
Unfortunately, he had chosen the path of self-destruction by letting Cheyenne go on his own accord and even foolishly using his own blood to save a woman who didn't truly love him.
At the mention of "Cheyenne," Benson, who had been silent and numb, finally showed emotions on his face.
Suddenly, he raised his head, and a hint of murderous intent reflected in his cold, deep-set eyes as he solemnly warned, "I've told you, don't you dare touch her!"
His display of anger only earned a merciless scoff from Gracie, who let out a cold snort and regained her composure.
"You are even unable to protect yourself now. Instead of worrying about Cheyenne, you better think about your own outcome. Your betrayal has angered the organization, and our visit this time is to give you one last chance."
"First…"
Before Gracie could finish her sentence, Benson abruptly interrupted her. He placed the harmonica back into his pocket and firmly responded, "It's not necessary! I won't even choose."
"Is that so?"
The woman furrowed her delicate and charming brows, "Is that so? Then it's not our fault."
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