“You said I get three shots,” Charlotte said, rubbing her wrist with a raised eyebrow. Her voice was calm and cool. “That was one. Two left.”
The man’s face darkened. He clenched his fists, warily sizing her up. She hadn’t even really tried yet. She hadn’t used her knife at all. If she had, his throat might already be gone. How could she be this strong?
A bell chimed, and Charlotte moved again.
The man dodged just in time. Charlotte narrowed her eyes. Already scared on the second move? Some survivor he was.
His eyes turned cold as he gripped his knife, charging at Charlotte with dangerous intent.
Charlotte stepped back twice, then bent her waist in a smooth arc. As he lunged, she caught him with both hands, hooking his neck perfectly. The man’s face changed in an instant. He didn’t even have time to react before she flipped him and slammed him onto the ground.
The impact echoed through the whole hall.
The crowd broke out in gasps and shouts, everyone’s faces a mix of shock and fear. The guys who had been eyeing her earlier were suddenly clutching their chests in relief.
She was insane. Thank god they hadn’t tried anything with her. Otherwise, they’d be the ones on the floor right now.
Upstairs, Aloys watched it all with a slow, meaningful smile. “Send her up,” he said quietly.
His assistant nodded right away, his eyes glued to Charlotte with open admiration. Besides those so-called survivors, he hadn’t seen anyone this impressive in years. She hadn’t even needed her knife.
Down on the floor, the man was sprawled out, feeling like his bones were shattered. The pain was intense, but he couldn’t let it show. No way he’d admit to losing to a girl.
Just then, Jackson walked over and whispered something to Charlotte.
She just flexed her wrist and glanced down at the man, a crooked smile on her lips. “One more move left. Wait right there.”
What?
The man just stared as Charlotte walked away, not even sparing him a second look. Was she even taking him seriously?
…
On the second floor, in the lounge, the door opened.
Charlotte spotted the middle-aged man on the sofa right away. He was sitting with his legs crossed, a cigar between his fingers. They were half-siblings, and he looked so much like her father, but the vibe was completely different. Aloys always had this sly smile, dark eyes, and a way of moving that made you want to keep your guard up. He looked like trouble.
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