Riventhal, the uniquely thed Verdant Bar, although not in the best location, has a steady stream of custors, most of whom are regulars.
Instead of loud music, a few classic old songs play on a loop, lingering in the ear.
With the warm yellow lighting, it gives off an illusion reminiscent of old Shanghai.
The proprietress Grace White is in her fifties but boasts a face looking only thirty-five or thirty-six; she dresses fashionably, her face covered in heavy makeup.
Backed by Lydia Ingram’s support and the bar’s revenue, she’s living quite comfortably, with a constant crowd of n trying to chat her up.
Whenever she has free ti, she stays in the bar, enjoying the feeling of being surrounded.
After sending off a group of n, a man wearing a baseball cap walks in, hands in pockets, surveying the surroundings as he moves.
Grace White instantly recognizes that it’s his first visit here; it’s not just that his face is unfamiliar but his deanor gives it away.
She couldn’t help but be more cautious, casting him a few more glances.
The man notices her and approaches.
He sits at the bar, casually placing his phone on the table, and asks, "Do you have cocktails?"
"Yes." The woman replies with a smile, "Are you here for the drink, sir?"
The man’s lips curl slightly in a sinister way, "No, also for the beauty." He watches her intently as she mixes the drink.
This face is exactly the sa as the one in the photo.
Taking the cocktail from her, the man notices her right little finger is missing.
Then he surveys the surroundings and complints, "The style of your bar is nice, peaceful in the midst of chaos, I quite like it."
Grace White smiles but does not reply, not bothered to engage further.
"Are you the proprietress?" He actually knows but intentionally asks to get her to speak more.
Grace White remains cautious, "Does it matter if I am or not? You are sitting across from , drinking the cocktail I’ve made for you."
The man chuckled, "Yes, that’s enough." He said no more, nor asked further.
He finished his drink, paid, and left.
This left Grace White feeling inexplicably uneasy, sothing seed off.
Soon, in the R-Alan Group’s deputy general office, Monica Usher sat in her chair, receiving a call.
The person on the other end inford her—
"President Usher, she indeed doesn’t have a right little finger, I’ve sent you the recording on WeChat, see if she’s who you’re looking for."
Monica Usher quickly hangs up, eyes filled with terror, no right little finger! Also nad Grace White!! What kind of coincidence is this?
She quickly opens WeChat, only to feel a buzzing in her ears.
Soon, a voice impossible to forget transmitted over—
"Are you here for the drink, sir?"
"Does it matter if I am or not? You are sitting across from , drinking the cocktail I’ve made for you."
Just a few short sentences made Monica shiver in fear!
It’s her!
It’s her!!
Clutching the phone tightly, her throat tightened, Monica’s thoughts inadvertently drifted back to that deep night—
Grace White brought ho two n, negotiating the price in front of her, and then those n lunged at the young Monica.
"No! Please let go of ! Don’t—"
"Mom! Mom, save ! Please! Don’t do this! I’ll go out to work and earn you money! Don’t do this..."
"Let go... let go... ah!!"
In that utter despair, the young Monica Usher was once again completely violated.
Until both n were exhausted, satisfied, and moved away from her, she still saw her mother sitting at the desk counting money... saw her mother’s greedy smile.
Despite the pain in her body, Monica Usher stood up and walked step by step toward her mother, originally intending to question why she did this.
But the little Monica suddenly realized, questioning was useless.
She accidentally saw a fruit knife in the corner, hatred enveloped her, she picked up the knife and struck downward!
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