Chapter 171: Options

"You don't need to use the pistol for that," Andrew reproaches her.

He passes the cup to a servant and grabs her gun hand with his, holding her tightly enough that she can't aim the gun at herself. Though the wound is superficial, the pain is severe, and he doesn't want her to suffer. Avery wants to push his hands away—the feel of his skin on hers makes her want to scream—but she knows he has the upper hand. With a single word, he could order his servant to spill the bloody water and ruin her test.

"If you want to know my blood type, why not just ask me?" Andrew asks, "Actually, I know why—you don't trust me."

Andrew sighs, sadly. His finger is still dripping blood, and the cobblestone below him is stained red.

"Mr. Clifford, I have the needle," a servant shouts, running over to Andrew.

"Can I help you?" Andrew asks Avery.

Avery glances at him but doesn't answer. With a swift motion, she stabs the needle into the index finger on her left hand. Andrew looks on, his forehead creased with worry. He doesn't like seeing her mistreat herself.

She takes the cup from the servant and tries her best to squeeze a few drops of blood out of the small hole. Slowly a few drops of her blood fall into the water. She swirls the cup, and the blood seems to blend perfectly.

"Do you believe me now?" Andrew asks.

With his right hand, he takes a cotton ball from the servant and tenderly dabs Avery's finger. Avery scowls and swirls the cup again, but the water stays the same shade of red.

"So Andrew and Charles have the same blood type, but that doesn't prove anything," Avery thinks, "It just means that Andrew could have Charles' heart in his body, not that he definitely does. No matter what, I refuse to believe that Charles is dead."

The servant tries to take the cup away to wash it out, but Andrew stops him. Andrew grabs the cup and raises it to his lips. The metallic smell of blood makes him want to vomit, but he fights the impulse. Instead, he tilts the cup and chugs the bloody water. Though he expects it to taste salty, it's surprisingly sweet. It feels warm as it slides down his throat.

"You're disgusting and crazy," Avery says.

He seems to be enjoying a drink in a way that makes her feel angry and anxious.

"I need to focus," she reminds herself, "Andrew is just trying to distract me from escaping. Finding a way out needs to be my priority."

She looks at her surroundings, but it's impossible to tell where anything is in a fog.

"Not that it would make much of a difference," she thinks bitterly, "I was blindfolded when they brought me here, so I have no idea which road to take."

"If I'm crazy, you should be careful," Andrew warns.

He slowly licks his lips and the women on the balcony moan. Their reaction makes him smirk, and he raises his chin provocatively at Avery. He looks at her as if he wants to eat her whole.

"You should be careful," he warns again, "Sometimes I lose control, and I don't care about your identity."

"I never thought that the famous Mr. Clifford would enjoy secondhand women," Avery says sarcastically.

"You'd be surprised," Andrew says, "I prefer women with a little more experience. Virgins get old after a while."

Avery grit her teeth but refuses to respond to his comments.

"So you've done your little blood test," Andrew says proudly, "But my blood is precious, and you can't take it without paying. I'll give you two options for the payment."

"My blood is equally valuable, and you can't drink it without paying," Avery retorts, "I have two choices for you."

Andrew smiles at her haughtiness.

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"She really is something special," he thinks.

"Do you want to know your options first?" he asks aloud.

"No, you should know yours first," Avery answers.

"Oh? Shall I?" Andrew says, fighting the urge to smile, "Okay, you can tell me first."

Despite the strangeness of the situation, Andrew feels as if his entire body is glowing. There truly is something about her that intrigues him.

"The first choice: let me go," Avery announces.

Andrew merely raises his eyebrows and nods—he was expecting her to ask for her freedom.

"The second choice: kill me," Avery says fearlessly.

"Do you think I won't kill you?" Andrew asks.

"You won't," Avery smiles tightly, "It wasn't easy for you to bring me here. You wouldn't go to all that trouble just to kill me."

Andrew laughs and nods.

"Okay, let her go," he tells the guards.

Avery stares at him in stunned silence. She expected him to object, but his instant agreement makes her nervous. Before she can think about what it means, a bodyguard has seized her by the arm. An Aston Martin appears, and someone opens the door from within. When Avery looks back, she can't see Andrew or the house anymore—the fog has swallowed them both.

The car drives cautiously toward the forest. Its bright headlights cut through the thick fog and reveal a pale road. It would be easy for the car to take a wrong turn and get into a deadly wreck. After a short while, the car stops.

"Miss Peters, we're here," a guard announces.

"How is that possible?" Avery asks, "It took us over two hours to arrive at the house, and we've only been driving for ten minutes."

"Please get out now," the bodyguard says, opening the door for her.

Avery looks at the man in confusion. She can tell he means business, and she obeys. As soon as she gets out of the car, the door closes behind her, and the locks click into place. The driver whips the car around, and it races away into the night.

"Hey! Come back here!" Avery screams, "Give me my luggage. My phone and all my documents are inside my luggage."

There's no one around to hear her scream. The car has already vanished into the fog. She looks around in horror. It's cold and damp, and she's wearing nothing but a thin knit blouse. She wraps her arms around herself and tries to think calmly. She looks above and sees the moon. On all sides, she's surrounded by trees and damp bushes.

Suddenly, the branches above her head tremble, and a monkey leaps to another tree. She jumps in fear, and the thorns on a bush catch on her skirt. She gently pulls on the fabric, but it rips.

"Why did Andrew leave me in this place?" she wonders, "I should have known he'd try to trick me. He promised to let me go, and he technically did as he said. He must have known I'd never get out of this forest without help. But what's the point? Leaving me here is basically the same thing as killing me. He must have someone watching nearby to track my every move."

Andrew sits in his study in the dark and crosses his legs. A large screen shows a video of a woman running through the forest. Her wide, fearful eyes reflect the moonlight. Looking at her face fills Andrew with uncontrollable joy.

He knows she can't escape, and it's only a matter of time before she realizes the same thing. Without a map, she'll never be able to avoid the treacherous terrain surrounding the house. Soon, she'll realize that she can never escape from him. 

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