Edmund stood atop the wall, silent and solemn, no one knowing what thoughts consumed his mind.
He didn't know what he was hoping for anymore. If Arabella came, it would mean her death, and his heart was filled with unease. If she didn't come, it would signify the failure of this grand, high-stakes operation.
Whether he wanted to see Arabella or not, he didn't even know himself.
Turning his gaze toward the headquarters, where Arabella's room used to be, now occupied by Nicholas, as if he had every right to it. The room and its owner seemed to belong to him now, as if he had claimed them all.
A treacherous, scheming man.
He spat in contempt internally, though he was also puzzled by the man's true identity.
It was clear that he was neither a police officer nor a soldier, nor anyone sent by any country.
Yet the commander of the joint operation group was extremely polite to him, taking his orders, moving troops as directed. Edmund couldn't help but wonder who, exactly, this man was.
But no matter the origin, they were always on the opposing side of Arabella.
Arabella—the thought of her made his heart feel heavy with an inexplicable melancholy. Edmund circled down the wall and arrived at the room at the end of the corridor.
Inside, everything was calm today. Merrick had not lost his mind.
Edmund opened the door. Merrick was sitting quietly by the window, sketching something—unfocused and random, just scribbling.
"Merrick, you look in good spirits today."
It was rare for Merrick to be so calm, and Edmund, in his moment of carelessness, forgot the trigger that would send him into a fit.
As expected, upon hearing his name wrong, Merrick snapped. He threw his drawings and paint supplies, and colorful splashes filled the air as he screamed, "I'm Cyrus! Cyrus, do you hear me?!"
"Alright, it was my mistake," Edmund quickly apologized, trying to calm Merrick. He repeatedly called out "Cyrus" until the man finally settled down again.
Merrick returned to the window, his expression dull as he gazed outside, murmuring repeatedly, "I'm waiting for Arabella. We promised we'd leave tonight. Why hasn't she come yet?"
Edmund had never heard of any connection between Arabella and Cyrus, but he instinctively sensed that there was some deeply entangled past between them.
But why would Merrick, of all people, suddenly lose his sanity and believe himself to be Cyrus?
He had been undercover in the underworld for years and had seen people who were hallucinating from drug use. He had noticed something in Merrick's behavior when he had accidentally helped him earlier.
At the time, he didn't know Merrick's true identity and thought he was just someone sent by AE. Drug use didn't seem out of place.
But while drugs can cause people to get high, become overly excited, and experience hallucinations, leading to addiction that's hard to break free from,
But someone like Merrick, who had completely lost his sanity, generating memories of unfamiliar people and slipping into a twisted, frenzied state—such a transformation could not be brought about by drugs alone.
Someone was trying to use Merrick to go after Arabella!
But why? Why Merrick? Why were they so certain that Arabella would care for him?
Would a woman like Arabella care?
*
In Arabella's room, the sound of heavy, labored breathing filled the air.
Nicholas was dragging the sheets, his hips propped up and his penis erect, proud and stiff, hot and hard, filling the entire room with a sensual aroma.
He had given everything to the devil.
That woman, shameless and unfathomable.
He longed to rip her heart out.
Like a game of hunting, he wanted to control her, to hold her in the palm of his hand. Why couldn't she be his plaything?
He was willing to destroy everything.
He thought back to that time with Arabella in bed, the tightness, the heat, and the vitality.
The memory lingered in his mind, and whenever he looked at Arabella with longing eyes, he wished she would glance back at him.
But she never saw him as a man. Again and again, with so many worthless people around her, like weeds that couldn't be uprooted.
He had no choice but to change his strategy, once again adopting the approach he despised in Cyrus—being meticulous, attentive, and excessively considerate.
Arabella truly was tricked.
How laughable it was, that a dead man, or even just his substitute, could easily earn Arabella's trust.
The deeper that cursed trust was, the more he hated it.
Arabella couldn't have weaknesses. She had to be strong, perfect, and always number one.
Desire continued to surge, he kept pounding relentlessly, greedily inhaling Arabella's lingering scent on the bed, clutching the panties she had left behind. He could feel the scorching heat swelling inside him.
The moment he heard a faint sound outside, his grip tightened, and hot, boiling release poured out.
As he climaxed, he licked his lips, his seductive eyes flashing with dangerous intent.
Arabella! His Arabella was finally here!
A slight noise from his subordinates in the distance caused Arabella to stop immediately.
Raven, following her closely, immediately sensed the subtle movement from the subordinates.
But the movement was so faint that most people wouldn't notice. They couldn't understand why Arabella suddenly stopped.
Arabella made a gesture, signaling Raven that they had been exposed.
Raven froze, not expecting such a skilled person to be hiding here.
Since they had been exposed, Arabella quickly raised her submachine gun and unleashed a thunderous spray of bullets at her original room.
After the burst of gunfire, Arabella seized the moment amidst the chaotic footsteps, analyzing the sound of the shots to pinpoint the still, unmoving corner.
"I'll head to the room at the end of the hallway. Nicholas, you can take him, kill him!"
Arabella's command was resolute, and she leaped forward, heading toward the distant hallway.
Raven knew his skills were exceptional. Few people in the world could defeat him.
Arabella said Nicholas couldn't beat him, and Raven didn't think much of it. Obviously, an average person wouldn't stand a chance.
Arabella was incredibly fast. She climbed the roof and jumped high, reaching the end of the corridor.
As she got close, she saw Edmund come out of the room.
"Arabella!" he exclaimed in surprise, quickly covering his mouth and scanning the area cautiously. He then hurriedly warned, "Why did you come back?"
Arabella smiled softly and retorted, "What's so strange about me returning to my own base?"
Before Edmund could respond, Merrick, who had been listening from inside the room, rushed out with a smile on his face, greeting Arabella with a bright grin. "Arabella, you're finally here. Let's leave quickly."
Arabella rarely stopped smiling. She furrowed her brow slightly as she looked at the man before her, who appeared almost liked that young man in her memory, and a cold glint flashed in her eyes.
As soon as Edmund saw Merrick rush out, he inwardly cursed, realizing something was wrong.
Although he couldn't be sure who was trying to use Merrick against Arabella, he was certain the intention was malicious.
"You—where do you plan to take me?" Arabella raised an eyebrow, her expression suddenly turning rare and cold, as if covered in frost.
"Let's go, leave this place, somewhere no one knows us. What do you think?" Memory and reality blurred together as the young man extended his hand, his voice filled with deep sincerity, "Arabella, let's leave everything behind and go."
For a moment, Arabella seemed to return to a time long ago. She was once again the wild, untamable Arabella, her eyes fierce with strong aggression.
She was the fierce beast that only Cyrus could tame, the Arabella who once stopped because of the young man.
"Alright. You lead the way," Arabella nodded, extending her hand to clasp Merrick's. In an instant, the distance between them closed, as though they were embracing.
Edmund's eyelids twitched, instinctively sensing something was wrong. "Arabella—don't!"
Before he could finish his sentence, Merrick suddenly drew a sharp knife and lunged at Arabella with great force.
His movement was as fast as lightning, far quicker than any of his previous actions. The knife struck without hesitation.
"Arabella!"
