Helen stood still, shivered as John’s face red like reef beef. She wishes to say something, but John’s words slipped like a heavy load on her thoughts, slaughtering them, lest it flows to her lips. She watched the wounds on her left hand, dyeing the white clothes she wears, with blood. And tears remained in her eyes in silence, but it seemed she can’t hold it anymore. Relinquishing the tears to her cheeks now is unusual. As bold as she was in the presence of notorious criminals, she was as weak as a small child before John, who she thought was her actual father.
John had erased her memories, hypnotized her heart with the help of Melusine. But little did she know that the one she was crying for was the one she should hate. Her tears fell helplessly to her pink lips, as the lilt of John’s voice echoed in her mind, “either you quit the job or leave my house . . . Right now . . . “
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