Try Begging Novel - Chapter 100

Click. The lock disengaged, and the door opened. It was quite late today.

“Hello.”

Always the same, tiresome greeting.

“Daisy.”

But today, the name that followed was different.

‘Daisy?’

Normally, she was the mischievous bitch, Bella. When he pinned her down, Sally. When he treated her as an enemy, Riddle. That was his rule.

But Daisy had never been part of that rule until now.

The man approached her immediately as she looked at him with bewildered eyes.

‘He’s drunk.’

His posture was as perfectly aligned as usual, but the closer he got, the stronger the whiskey smell became. As he came right up to the bed, she could clearly see the loose focus in his eyes.

‘Why is the man who usually gets drunk here already drunk today?’

The moment she tilted her head, the man gently curved the corners of his lips. A perfectly symmetrical mouth, and gentle eyes. It was a rare, genuine smile.

The man extended his hand to the stunned Grace.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“We promised to play in my room.”

“When did I ever make such a promise, oh!”

When she didn’t take his hand, Winston lifted her, blanket and all. He didn’t carry her over his shoulder like when he took her to the bathroom; instead, he carried her in his arms like a princess, and even unlocked her shackles before walking out of the torture chamber.

Grace clutched the blanket, nervously glancing around. Fortunately, no one saw her bizarre appearance, naked except for the blanket, stockings, and a dog collar.

Perhaps because it was late, or because he had temporarily dismissed the soldiers as he did during her office “walks,” there was no one in the sparsely lit hallway and stairs.

After passing the second floor, where his office was, and continuing to climb the stairs, Grace asked, “Where are we going?”

“I told you, we’re going to my room.”

The man, who replied as if she were annoyingly asking something he had already said, began to walk down the third-floor hallway.

At this hour, and going to his bedroom, not even his office.

“My bed is too good for you.”

As if his words from the day she was arrested were sincere, he had never taken her to his bedroom before.

‘My god, how drunk is he?’

Even then, she buried her nose in his neatly tied tie and sniffed. His laughing breath brushed her cheek, then his lips, warmer than usual, touched her forehead.

Grace, who had no intention of engaging in ticklish displays of affection, immediately lifted her head. The man set her down only in front of his bedroom, then opened the door. He grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled her towards the bed.

“Why here? Your bed is too…”

Just as she was about to scoff, too good for me, Grace’s eyes wavered.

“I have something I want to give you.”

At the end of her gaze, leaning in an empty teacup on the bedside table, was a bright red candy apple.

“Tomorrow, want to play at my villa?”

Only then did Grace realize he was referring to a faded, almost tattered promise from over a decade ago.

“But if the adults find out, it’ll be trouble, so let’s hide and play in my room.”

“Okay.”

The broken promise was, in fact, a prophecy showing a decade later. Just as he had said, this man had secretly hidden Grace in his room and made her his plaything.

‘What’s that for?’

Grace’s expression was far from that of someone looking at a sweet dessert. Now, what he brought as a “gift” no longer seemed pure.

Cherry candy, and…

“As a reward for buying you ice cream, you have to play with me today. Don’t you? That’s our promise.”

A popsicle was also just a tool for his vulgar games.

It was not long after she was arrested, when he was in the midst of his torture frenzy. One day, he came during interrogation with a bright red strawberry-flavored ice cream in his hand. It was exactly like the one he had bought her that summer.

Thus, the memory of her first love was further defiled.

“It’s melting.”

The cold sensation was still vivid. Grace shivered, turning pale, just as she had then.

What was the candy apple for? She was too scared to ask.

Winston sat the blankly standing Grace on the edge of the bed, then sat at her feet. His black tie was roughly untied and tossed onto the wing chair opposite. He also untied and kicked off his military boots, then flopped down in the middle of the bed.

“Damn it…”

As a rough curse escaped him in a low voice, Grace turned her head behind her. He had been fine climbing the stairs, but was the alcohol suddenly hitting him now? The tip of the man’s thick finger missed the pin across his shirt collar.

Just as Grace would pout when things didn’t go well and she felt awkward, the man slightly stuck out his lower lip, looking dispirited.

“Daisy, undo it.”

Undo it. This, too, was a phrase she was tired of hearing.

Grace looked down at the man, who was far from the heinous Camden vampire in both action and speech, with exasperated eyes, and asked, “What if I stab you to death with that pin?”

The man’s eyes instantly darkened. Perhaps due to the alcohol, he couldn’t hide his melancholic feelings, and he looked at her with eyes that revealed everything, then faintly twisted one corner of his mouth.

“A son who follows his father. A daughter who follows her mother. Something like that, I suppose.”

“…”

The thought that his listlessly twisted smile resembled resignation was not a misconception. Grace watched him for a moment, then reached for his neck.

‘Why is he like this today?’

It wasn’t just Leon Winston who was out of character today.

As she pulled out the pin, placed it on the bedside table, and unbuttoned his shirt, Grace interrogated herself. What are you doing? To miss an opportunity to kill this man by speaking of it herself, and then to act like a wife tending to her drunk husband.

“Wear it.”

The man took off his shirt and offered it, but Grace grimaced and avoided it.

“It smells of alcohol. And the cigar smell is terrible.”

“You’re spoiled. You should be grateful I don’t smell of other women’s perfume like other men.”

As he said, the shirt had no scent of a woman.

“Please, would you?”

“Why would I, with my first love at home? I’m a more old-fashioned man than I look.”

Not only Daisy, but now he was even mentioning “first love” himself. He must have chugged all the whiskey in some cabaret.

“Ah, you don’t like it because it doesn’t smell like me?”

That couldn’t be the reason. Grace furrowed her brows deeply. He crumpled the shirt and tossed it carelessly into a corner of the bedroom, then half-rose.

“Come here, Daisy.”

The man picked up the candy apple and opened his arms. What was he going to do? He finally pulled the resisting Grace down to lie beside him, then did something unexpected.

“Eat.”

Just eat it?

The object she had been sure he would use for some messy and cruel game, he simply put into Grace’s mouth. Then, lying side by side, propped on his elbow, he watched her nervously bite into the apple.

“Is it tasty?”

The man asked, tucking Grace’s hair behind her ear. When she nodded, feeling bewildered, a tender smile spread across his face. He seemed like a drunk man who had impulsively bought a trivial gift for his lover and was now pleased with himself.

“Why did you buy this?”

“It made me think of you.”

“Am I supposed to take that as a chilling remark?”

“Whatever makes your heart pound is right.”

He chuckled and bent his head. Crunch. The sugar coating shattered between his teeth with a pleasant sound.

Their eyes met over the apple, which felt small compared to her body now, unlike when she was a child. At that moment, all movement stopped. The mixed breaths in the silence grew increasingly hot and precarious.

Whoosh.

Without warning, the man snatched the apple from her hand and threw it across the room. He immediately grabbed the back of Grace’s head. Their lips collided roughly.

Their two lips, covered in sugar syrup, stuck together. The sound of flesh meeting and parting became even more explicit. How could a kiss sound so sticky? Grace’s ear tips grew hot.

‘Get a grip.’

She struggled to calm her pounding heart, clinging to her reason.

If you don’t want to miss the chance to kill him, don’t miss the chance to escape.

Maintaining eye contact with Winston, stealing his kisses, she thought of the door behind her. Surely, he had only closed it when they entered, not locked it with a key. He hadn’t brought handcuffs or shackles either. The soldiers were probably gone from the annex or sleeping in a room on the first floor. And she could always climb the wall again.

Grace gently closed her eyes and tilted her head. His thick tongue pushed through her slightly parted lips.

‘This time, it’s pretty certain.’

He was a man so drunk he had crumpled the clothes he usually folded neatly and couldn’t even pull out a pin. He would probably be exhausted and pass out after just one round. Grace resolved to escape during that time.