She tried to keep calm, but Theodore Zane was a shadow buried deep in her heart. "Let go. What do you want?"
The man curled his lips into a sinister smile. A cut on his temple revealed his identity—it was the clown from the amusement park that day.
"Heh. What do I want? You know what I like best, don't you?"
His revoltingly greasy voice slithered right into Cecilia Ye's ear, and she caught a glimpse of his dark, calloused hand.
Wary of attracting attention if he tarried, Theodore Zane grabbed Cecilia Ye and with a rough shove tossed her into a small van.
Her head slammed hard against the car seat, and Cecilia Ye couldn't hold back her tears.
Theodore Zane seized a fistful of her hair, yanked out a length of cord, and tied her wrists tight.
His triangular, venomous eyes stared her down, tongue licking his lips like a viper eying prey.
Once he had her bound, he slid back into the driver’s seat.
Blood trickled down from her battered forehead, mixing with her tears as they fell on her pale face.
Cecilia Ye dared not make a sound—she knew from experience that crying out only invited harsher beatings.
Her head throbbed where it was split open; stabbing pain pulsed there.
The van was filthy, stinking with a pungent odor. Yellowed, black stains mottled the seats, making her want to retch.
Cecilia Ye slumped on the floor, staring at the driver’s seat—the profile was both familiar and strange.
"Where... where are you taking me? Let me go, please. I can get Fu Zhiyé to give you a lot of money."
"Cecilia Ye, after all these years, you're still an idiot. You think I want money?"
Ignoring her after that, Theodore Zane started the car in good spirits.
The rough rope dug into her wrists, making her whole body tremble. With tear-blurred eyes, Cecilia Ye turned to look out the window.
The car sped farther and farther into unknown territory—she didn’t recognize any of it.
She recalled Fu Zhiyé once saying Theodore Zane was sent to prison. She had no idea why he was out now, or what he wanted to do to her. Thinking of what he'd done before, pure terror surged.
When would Fu Zhiyé notice she was missing? Would he come for her?
Panic swept over her. What should she do?
Right—her phone.
Because she'd been carrying her paint box, Cecilia Ye hadn’t taken her purse that day; her phone was stuffed into her pants pocket.
With her hands tied behind her, it was agonizing to reach it—she couldn’t text or send messages.
All she could do was muster all her strength and jab at the call button.
The first number that popped up was Fu Zhiyé’s.
Fu Zhiyé, I’m begging you, please pick up, please save me.
She collapsed to the floor, ear pressed to the phone.
The dial tone buzzed mechanically, her tears pattering onto the screen.
Finally, the call connected.
Fu Zhiyé’s voice came through.
"What is it?"
Cecilia Ye’s tears flowed even harder; she feared Theodore Zane would hear her.
Her muffled sobs carried through the phone.
Fu Zhiyé frowned; his face turned grave.
"Cecilia Ye, what’s wrong?"
She wanted so badly to say, Fu Zhiyé, come save me. Fu Zhiyé, take me home.
On the other end, she could hear what sounded like a doctor’s voice, then Vivian Belle’s.
"A’Ye, I’m in so much pain. Can you hold me?"
Fu Zhiyé lifted his leg to follow after her, but didn’t hang up; something was off with Cecilia Ye.
In the rearview mirror, Theodore Zane caught the faint glow in the back seat.
With a curse he stomped the brakes, the van screeching to a halt.
"Shit!" he spat, stomping out and heading for the rear.
Cecilia Ye had no time to think—she screamed into her phone, "Zhiyé, save me! Save me, I’m so scared!"
The van door was yanked open; greasy hands clamped over her mouth.
Cecilia Ye thrashed desperately, tears streaming down.
She didn’t know if Fu Zhiyé had heard her—didn’t know if he would really come.
Her husband was with another woman. All she could do was silently pray he’d save her.
The moment Theodore Zane snatched her phone away, Cecilia Ye heard Vivian Belle’s soft voice calling Fu Zhiyé not to go.
Then the call was violently cut off, Theodore Zane smashing the phone onto the street and stomping it twice just for good measure.
He turned and slapped Cecilia Ye hard across the face.
She was thrown aside and finally lost consciousness.
*
Fu Zhiyé listened to the dead line.
A chill swept over him—someone had taken Cecilia Ye.
Who would dare lay a hand on the Fu family’s people?
He tried to leave the hospital room, but a hand clamped onto his wrist.
Blood stained her fingertips; Vivian Belle shook her head desperately. "A’Ye, don’t go, don’t leave me!"
She sobbed. The doctor busied himself with preparations, but was at a loss seeing the scene.
He tried to reason: "Miss Bai, your wound needs stitches. Try not to move—you're bleeding heavily."
Fu Zhiyé paused, torn. His mind was full of Cecilia Ye, yet he couldn't budge seeing the blood on his wrist.
"I’ll have someone handle it. I’ll be back soon."
Vivian Belle whimpered, "Okay. You have to come back; if not, just let me bleed out, don’t worry about me."
With a deep breath, Fu Zhiyé stepped out.
He called Henry Hart, who picked up immediately.
"Listen, someone has taken Cecilia. Find out who, find out where, and bring her back immediately."
Henry Hart was stunned, but quietly agreed.
"Report to me the moment you find anything."
He doubted anyone would truly challenge the Fu family; maybe Cecilia Ye had just run into a drunk or some petty thug. She'd be fine. Or so he tried to console himself.
Turning, Fu Zhiyé reentered the hospital room.
Seeing him back, Vivian Belle finally allowed the doctor to treat her wound.
Her face contorted in pain, and she reached out to Fu Zhiyé.
*
The van finally stopped outside a grimy warehouse.
Theodore Zane got out, slapped Cecilia Ye’s face a couple times, and seeing her still unresponsive, untied her wrists and hauled her inside.
The warehouse door screeched open.
It was the old freezer at his family’s former slaughterhouse—abandoned for years.
He’d spent six years in prison; by the time he got out, his father had already been dead for three years.
Good riddance, he thought bitterly. The old man had done nothing but beat and curse him alive.
Theodore Zane walked to the wall, unlatched the freezer’s heavy door.
No windows—pitch black inside, the air thick and rank.
It used to be packed with frozen pork, but now only the stench of decay remained where meat remnants and pig’s blood had once been cooled. Without refrigeration, it festered into a nauseating stench.
But Theodore Zane seemed immune. He dumped Cecilia Ye at the door and went out, locking her in.
Fine. He’d eat first—then come back and deal with her.
The thought of beating her to a pulp put him in an excellent mood.
Cecilia Ye woke to total darkness, suffocating.
At least her hands were free now, though her wrists ached terribly.
The reek was overwhelming. Holding her chest, she retched dryly.
Where was she? What did Theodore Zane want with her?
Pain pounded at her forehead, cheeks ablaze.
Her trembling hand reached up—her cheeks were swollen high.
"Help, please, is anyone there? Anyone?"
Her kittenish voice echoed through the empty freezer.
No reply—only the faint sound of her own call.
Cecilia Ye hugged herself, shaking uncontrollably.
Fu Zhiyé, please—please come save me.
The darkness wove round her like an inescapable net, tightening and stealing her breath.