“Hiss... You really don’t hold back, do you?”

Melford winced as he examined his bruised and swollen face in the mirror. He cast a pitiful glance at Chelsea, his tone laced with grievance.

Chelsea, however, felt no guilt whatsoever. If anything, she thought she had gone too easy on him.

“You brought this on yourself. Who else can you blame?”

She was more concerned about the near-damage to the priceless artwork on the wall. Those paintings were worth far more than Melford’s life.

Melford had known he wouldn’t get much sympathy from Chelsea, but he hadn’t expected that he, Mr. Yeardeh, would have zero charm in her eyes. Not even...