PC. Hotel.
A hundred-story five-star hotel located in the heart of Ael city, a landmark dominating its surroundings, towering into the clouds like a giant pillar; it's said that a night's stay here costs ten thousand, not something your average wealthy official can afford.
This PC. Hotel is a part of the Anderson Clan's empire, a symbol of extravagance that demonstrates the financial prowess of the Anderson Clan. Adam Anderson is its founder; after joining the Anderson Clan, Mr. Anderson entrusted him with many businesses, and it was during those years that he began building PC.
He personally said: PC. Hotel is merely one of the many residences of the family, built not for making money initially.
The people in Ael practically shiver in awe, wondering how wealthy one must be to build a hotel as their home?
PC. Hotel's Top Floor.
The man was dressed in a dark red silk shirt, his trousers pressed meticulously, and his monocular gaze exuded arrogance, with wispy clouds passing by the windows as people scurried below like ants.
He immensely enjoyed such a high status, something he had liked since childhood.
"Mr. Anderson, the matter is taken care of."
"Eric Jamison, what did I ask you to do?" Adam Anderson twisted his neck, turning around with a wicked smile as if deliberately playing dumb, "I merely asked you to visit my disabled brother who cannot take care of himself—what did you do?"
Eric Jamison's head dropped momentarily stiff, his pupils trembled, his neck taut, cold sweat seeping down his back, unable to keep his composure: "Mr. Anderson, clearly it was you who asked me to..."
"Get him! Eric Jamison has embezzled public funds; have the lawyer draft the indictment and submit it to the court for trial immediately." A mocking laugh shined in the man's eyes, and he kicked him in the chest: "What's this look? Are you dissatisfied!"
Eric Jamison felt a stuffy blockage in his heart, flipped onto the ground by a kick, lips pale, eyes bloodshot. He never imagined it would end like this; being in the company of a sovereign was like being in the company of a tiger; aware of this truth, he had always been cautious, earning Adam Anderson's appreciation.
All along, obeying every command, he ended up being a scapegoat.
The security guards rushed in from outside, pressing him to the ground. Eric Jamison's eyes widened, a metallic taste in his mouth; he gritted his teeth: "Adam Anderson, mark my words, everything you have will leave you one day."
"Watching? What do you want to see?" Adam Anderson placed his foot on his face.
He never liked hearing such rebellious talk, not even a little. The man, full of violent intent, moved closer to Eric Jamison, his arrogant eyes flashing viciousness: "Since you're so ungrateful, I don't mind giving you a helping hand."
"Gouge his eyes out."
Screams echoed from the top floor of PC. Hotel, sounds of bloodcurdling agony that seemed to shiver the surrounding air for a long time, finally dispersing into the clouds.
Eric Jamison knelt trembling on the ground; at the moment he lost his sight, he saw a half-open window, with fleeting clouds and a gentle light outside.
Afterward, his eyes were empty, blood soaking his clothing, coldness engulfing him as if he had fallen into a dark, icy void, his fingers braced against the ground, still shaking with coldness.
The sun's warmth penetrated the thin clouds, shining through; when his sight was taken, his other senses became infinitely magnified. Eric Jamison felt the warmth rising from his fingertips.
He slowly stood up, staggering like a drunken man; those around him refused to approach, fearful of being tainted by the dirty blood; Adam Anderson laughed lightly: "Oh Eric, why do you bother to resist?"
"Hmph." Eric Jamison bore a chilling face and laughed lowly for a long time, his eyes continuously bleeding: "Adam Anderson, you won't die a good death."
At that, not waiting for Adam Anderson or the others in the room to react, Eric Jamison staggered toward the half-open window.
A person plummeted from three hundred meters high, their body smashed into mush, blood splattering three feet high. PC. Hotel instantly became a place of superficial beauty and hidden menace in the eyes of Ael's citizens.
Adam Anderson was stunned, never expecting that fool would dare to stab him with his own life, he wished he could grind him into dust.
Hospital.
The night was as dark as ink, the moonlight deep and mysterious, shadows of the evergreen trees cast upon the white walls.
Rosie had visited the hospital twice in half a month, quite unfortunate; at this moment, her various wounds had been tended to, and upon waking, her mind gradually cleared.
The girl stared at the ceiling for a while before suddenly sitting up straight.
"Oh no, my script."
The nurse pushing the medicine cart came in, smiling as she saw the girl sitting up: "You're awake, just in time for medicine; take the anti-inflammatory first, okay?"
"I don't need medicine, I'm not dying, I need to get to the car accident site once." Rosie didn't bother with shoes, directly going out barefoot, the nurse hurriedly stopped her: "I haven't had a chance to tell you, the car exploded, whatever you were looking for might be in pieces by now."
"What?" The girl lost her balance, collapsing to the ground, her lips parting faintly: "Explosion."
Rosie's eyes rolled back, and she fainted.
"Miss Scott! Miss Scott!"
The moon rose to the sky outside the window, leaves rustling with sound.
When Rosie was conscious again, it was already late at night, her mind still foggy, faintly hearing someone speaking nearby; the girl opened her eyes slightly, seeing two people next to her bed: a man in a wheelchair and a stern, thick-browed man.
"Is this frail little girl the one who saved you?" The older man's voice was steady and solemn, notably unpleasant to hear.
"Yes."
Charles Anderson's head was wrapped in white bandages, his face colorless and dull. Even after several years without seeing his father, he didn't show the slightest joy at the reunion.
Perhaps had it not been for his car accident, his fame-chasing father wouldn't have lowered himself to visit him.
Once Charles had been a source of pride in his father's eyes, now a source of disdain.
Ryan Anderson's heart brimmed with resentment, with countless people gossiping: "What a shame that Charles, such a brilliant child, now has to live in a wheelchair."
He cared about his reputation, living to such an age, unwilling to hear any idle talk, especially about this youngest son.
But ever since sending Charles to Anderson Castle, Ryan Anderson regretted it, for after all, he was his son, how could he not want or think of him?
"Charles, I see you are surrounded by incapable people, unfit to care for you; why not move back to live here?"
Charles Anderson's dark eyes showed no emotion, only staring quietly at the girl on the bed who was about to awaken, watching her little head pop out from under the thin quilt, then secretly shrinking back.
"If you're awake, get up and take your medicine." The man's voice was gentle, betraying no emotion.
Rosie wasn't foolish; she knew Charles Anderson was deft at brushing people off, likely not truly concerned about her, merely deflecting for the overbearing older man.
"Charles, do you willingly live with some stray cats and dogs? Willing to fall into the abyss, willing to—"
Stray cats and dogs? Rosie pondered, was he referring to her?
How could one endure that?
"Ahhhhhhh!" A shrill, angry roar.
Charles sighed softly, Ryan Anderson's eyes widened even further, looking at the suddenly shouting girl.
"It's all your fault! My script was blown away in the car explosion; you must be clapping with joy!" Rosie sat up, her feet kicking the air furiously, like a little madwoman, biting whoever she caught: "And you! Who are you? I'm not weak, you're the stray cat and dog!"