Chapter 3 [2]

Although the room in Beatrice's house wasn't large, at least it wasn't as horrifying as this. The lighting wasn't worse than the first room Beatrice visited. She glanced several times towards the door that was left open. If possible, she would remember in her heart to make that room disappear from her life, no matter how.

The room where she first experienced excessive fear and increasing pain that made her shiver. However, she didn't want to complain about the pain. If anyone heard her crying, she would lose. She wouldn't let that happen.

Her memories were dragged back to a few hours before she was here. When she had just returned from activities on campus. Even though she was happily chatting with her two friends, it felt like she had no burdens. But Beatrice knew, despite the smile on her face, that the burden wasn't easily lifted.

Especially the financial problem.

She was only the only child of a middle-aged man who was rough; he had a gambling addiction, got drunk, and only came home to ask for money from Beatrice before leaving just like that. Beatrice was never asked how she was doing, whether she had eaten or not, or where she got the money she was often asked for.

Beatrice had never been asked by the person she should call 'Father'.

Beatrice's daily routine involved helping her neighbor sell coffee at a coffee shop. In the evenings, she worked at a fast-food restaurant washing dishes. That's where she earned money to support herself. Although she often had to endure hunger and suppress many desires like girls her age, she was fortunate that her university, which recognized her outstanding academic performance despite coming from an underprivileged background, granted her a full scholarship until she graduated.

She wouldn't waste this opportunity, would she?

Unfortunately, Beatrice's dream of becoming a graduate was abruptly halted when four people entered her rented house. They ransacked it ruthlessly, searching for valuable items that Beatrice doubted could be found there. What could be in the three-room house filled with old furniture and belongings?

"What do you guys actually want?" Beatrice asked fearlessly. This wasn't the first or second time that the four of them had come to her house. They had come before, banging on her door in the middle of the night without any shame, demanding repayment of debts. Supposedly, her father had borrowed money for gambling. Beatrice felt that their visit this time was no different.

"Your damn father, Pretty Girl!" one of them said with a wicked grin. He stopped rummaging through the once-neat wardrobe. Beatrice had told him to stop, but it was useless. The four of them had absolutely no shame.

Wretched thugs! Beatrice cursed in her heart.

Hearing the nickname Pretty Girl, Beatrice felt like vomiting. She rolled her eyes with anger. She wasn't intimidated when the person who had spoken earlier stood in front of her. Her eyes continued to stare intently at the well-built man with a tattoo on his right arm.

"He owes a lot of money and hasn't paid up," he said, still with a wicked grin. "We're waiting to see if your father has the guts to come here or not."

Beatrice scoffed sarcastically. "You can wait until you rot. He's never coming back."

The four individuals glanced at each other, then burst into laughter that was so absurd and mocking. One of them even clapped as if what Beatrice had said was a hilarious joke.

The girl didn't care. She chose to step aside, freeing herself from these stubborn thugs. Before she could even reach the worn-out doorknob of her rented house, three people stood in front of her, including...

"Beatrice," a familiar man called softly.

Her father.

His face was bruised everywhere, his lips were torn, his temples had deep wounds that were oozing dried blood. Not to mention his disheveled clothes, stained with dirt on his chest, and torn in several places.

Did Beatrice feel sorry for him?

Not at all. In Beatrice's eyes, her father had long been dead. Just like her mother's death from illness ten years ago. In her eyes, Wayne, her father's name, was nothing more than a parasite that had often troubled her life.

"Beatrice, please help me, dear."

Beatrice moved away as her father suddenly approached to embrace her after being released by the two individuals earlier. One of them had been eyeing Beatrice with great interest since the beginning. It was as if Beatrice was a delicious meal ready to be devoured whenever desired. But Beatrice didn't care about him either.

She only returned to grab her bag from one corner of the room. She chose to leave because she knew that her father's debts were always dealt with by that tattooed dragon thug. She wouldn't want to get involved. Was Beatrice a money vault, after all?

"Where are you going, dear?" Wayne asked, surprised, as his daughter, his only hope of escaping from these thugs, stepped away. "Are you going to abandon your father? Is that it?"

"Deal with your own problems," Beatrice said softly. Her steps didn't falter at all. It wasn't the first or second time her father had behaved like this. How long would Beatrice be used as a crutch? If it were just once and her father truly found redemption, did things right, and didn't cause trouble, Beatrice might not hesitate to offer resistance.

But her father?

Goodness! Even if she were beaten in front of him, Beatrice might already be numb.

"Move aside," Beatrice said. Her steps paused as a strong hand blocked her path. When the long-haired girl turned around, their eyes met in the air. Even though it was only for a split second, Beatrice knew that the gaze didn't tolerate any contradiction. It exuded an overwhelming aura of intimidation. He seemed to be the leader of the thugs; Samuel.

"You can't leave," he said softly but it sent a chilling atmosphere all around. Beatrice herself no longer dared to meet his gaze for too long because she felt as if her throat were being choked, even though no hand was near her. "Listen to your father's words."

"It doesn't matter. Your business is not my concern," Beatrice retorted.

The man, Sam, burst into laughter. It was quite noisy. But no one else joined in the laughter; instead, they bowed their heads. Was this a sign of danger? But why?