Imprison

The candlelight flickered in the darkened room, reflecting a solitary figure.

Percy Spencer stepped in slowly with a steady pace.

His voice, which was cold to the core, pierced through the still air as if it carried a chill.

"What are you doing here? Did I give you permission to come?

What exactly is the meaning of the 'Spencer Family Clan's territory' in your mouth? Remember, this is the territory of Percy Spencer alone, not for you to trample on at will.

Don't try to publicise it outside, you and the Spencer family have long since had nothing to do with each other."

Emily Brown stood in the dark corner.

Her figure trembled slightly, and her eyes blushed lightly.

Fear and uneasiness surfaced in her eyes.

She knew that the young man in front of her was not only the heir of the Spencer family, but also that cold existence that could clean up his house without mercy.

Even as his nominal mother, Emily Brown was unable to suppress the trembling in her heart.

The voice was thin and pleading.

"Percy, how can you speak like that? You are the godson I raised with my own hands, outside of blood, I treat you like my own son. Even if you have a thousand grievances against me in your heart, you can't deny the connection we once had."

And yet.

Percy Spencer's response was cold and piercing.

His steps were firm, and each step seemed to tread on Emily Brown's heartstrings.

Until he stopped in front of her.

Long fingers suddenly stretched out.

Gently clamped her delicate snow-white neck.

The force wasn't enough to choke, but it was enough to feel a suffocating oppression.

"Why are you so frightened? Are you in fear of the shadow of death, or are you worried that I will make a move against you?"

Chapter 6: Wanting Her Life

Feeling her life threatened, Emily Brown instinctively backed away.

Her voice was filled with helplessness and panic, "Don't you ... come any closer, I'm your mother, you can't ..."

The corner of Percy Spencer's mouth hooked into a cold smile.

That laughter echoed in the small space.

It appeared to be particularly harsh.

"Heh, mother? What an ironic title. In my memory, the one who gave birth to me and raised me was not you. You, neither the source of my bloodline, nor have you ever truly nurtured me for a day or a night.

How dare you call yourself 'mother'?

This word, noble and holy, is not to be tarnished by people like you who are clinging to power and wealth? You are nothing but a third party who interferes in other people's families.

Recognise yourself for what you are, and never deserve to be compared to my true mother."

Lisbeth Dawson's feet moved as Percy Spencer moved forward.

Her mind, however, was clearly not on the path beneath her feet.

When her eyes finally focused on his face.

In that instant, it was like time froze and her heart missed a beat-Percy!

This was clearly the Percy she had been haunting for years!

The years didn't seem to have left any traces on his handsome silhouette.

Only those eyes, once gentle as water, were now covered with an elusive chill.

"Percy!"

Almost instinctively, she called out softly.

In her voice, there was excitement and nostalgia.

This call was like travelling through a long tunnel of time, hitting Percy Spencer straight in the heart.

His magnificent body trembled violently.

As if struck by an invisible hammer, a distant yet clear voice echoed in his mind.

In some blood-soaked memory fragment, that fragile yet strong figure lay in his arms, a gentle yet heartbreaking smile on the corner of her mouth, murmuring:

"Percy, don't be sad, even if Gently leaves you, you must live well."

However.

Percy Spencer was, after all, an old fox who had been floating in the world for many years.

The waves of emotions only flickered in his eyes.

In the next second, it was hidden deep in his heart.

He opened his lips coldly, and every word was like a cold winter wind, mercilessly piercing into Lisbeth Dawson's heart:"Do we know each other well?"

These words were like a sharp blade, easily cutting off the hope that had just sprung up in Lisbeth Dawson's heart.

Her eyes couldn't help but redden and her voice trembled as she said, "Percy, Percy, what do you mean by that? We're not ..."

But before she could finish her explanation, she was interrupted by Percy Spencer's raw voice: "We don't know each other well."

Those few words, like a bolt from the blue, split Lisbeth Dawson's heart in two.

How could he, how could he say that?

Did he really forget that they had been the most indispensable existence in each other's world, and had experienced countless days and nights together, and all those beauty and bitterness, had they all gone with the wind?

Just when Lisbeth Dawson was immersed in sorrow and incomprehension, Percy Spencer suddenly changed his mind: "Tonight, accompany me out for a while, I have something to tell you."

This sudden invitation made everything even more confusing.

After saying that, he did not leave Lisbeth Dawson any time to react.

He then pulled up Emily Brown, who was standing at the side with a stunned look on her face, and left in a big stride.

Lisbeth Dawson stood still, her eyes following the fading back, her heart was full of mixed feelings.

His words were like riddles, puzzling.

Could it be that this was just a disguise that he had to make in his present situation?

Was there some unspeakable secret that prevented him from recognising himself?

A hint of joy quietly grew in her heart -

So, he had not really forgotten her.

In this complex whirlwind of emotions, Lisbeth Dawson looked forward to the night.

On the other end of the monitor.

Hannah Jones' angry breaths nearly penetrated the screen, her chest heaving violently with agitation.

She gritted her teeth and her eyes felt like they could spit fire.

Mentally cursing the hateful name-

Lisbeth Dawson.

This woman, how dare she seduce her Hannah Jones' husband.

She had no idea what she was doing.

Shameless to the core!

"Dead bitch, slut, simply shameless!"

She roared in her mind.

Vowing to make Lisbeth Dawson pay dearly for her indiscretion.

...

As the clock struck twelve late at night, Lisbeth Dawson stood in front of her flat door, her thin silhouette elongated and lonely in the faint streetlight.

She had been waiting here since nine o'clock, and the four-hour wait had filled her heart with both anticipation and unease.

The cold wind of late autumn blew relentlessly, she was wearing thin clothes, her body involuntarily trembled, her teeth gently knocked and made a small sound.

But her eyes remained firm, filled with a deep desire for the person who was about to arrive.

At the same time.

Percy Spencer had actually arrived in the neighbourhood by car as early as eight o'clock.

He didn't show up immediately.

He just hid in the shadows and watched.

Whenever he saw Lisbeth Dawson's figure slightly curled up due to the cold, his heart inexplicably tightened.

Her resilience and persistence made his original desire to leave her out in the cold and manipulate her begin to waver.

Those eyes, which should have been cold, flashed with complex emotions under the moonlight.

When the cold wind blew through, ruffling the broken hair on her forehead, Percy Spencer actually felt an unprecedented heartache.

The sensation caught him off guard and he shook his head hastily, trying to dispel the sudden soft emotion.

Then closed his eyes.

Taking deep breaths in the car seat.

Trying to adjust his mind.

Finally, the clock strikes midnight like a trumpet of destiny, prompting him to make a decision.

Percy Spencer opened the car door and stepped out, each step seeming to tread on his conflicted state of mind.

Lisbeth Dawson looked at the familiar figure and a relieved smile spread across her face.

She practically jogged all the way to meet him, full of joy to throw herself into his arms.

However.

When she reached out to embrace him, Percy Spencer subconsciously dodged, and her fingertips were unable to encircle his waist as she had hoped; instead, because of this sudden change in movement, her entire body leaned forward, accidentally bringing Percy Spencer into a slightly awkward embrace along with her own arms.

Percy Spencer's body stiffened violently, as if he had been electrocuted, and he instantly took two steps back, pulling away.

His face was complicated, a flash of displeasure and alarm in his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

In the words, there were a few hints of reproach and dislike.

Subsequently.

He subconsciously slapped the place that had been inadvertently touched by Lisbeth Dawson.

That action was more like repelling some kind of unwillingness to acknowledge the touch.