CHAPTER 764: GIRL IN THE WARDROBE!

10th of January.

The grand villa sat in silence, except for the main hall where only two figures stay.

Sophia sat neatly, legs crossed, her hands folded one over the other like the refined woman she was trained to be. Her posture was perfect, but her eyes carried a muted heaviness.

Across from her, sprawled over a velvet couch, was Anran, hysterically switching channels with the remote, crunching loudly on potato chips.

Sophia exhaled, a faint, bitter smile tugging her lips. "It’s been three days..."

"Hmmm... munch... munch..." Anran nodded, not looking away from the flickering television. Her mouth was full, crumbs scattering on her lap. "She doesn’t scream for help anymore. Good for her."

"..."

Sophia’s lips pressed thin. She couldn’t tell if Anran was deliberately the topic... or if she was dead serious.

Because the truth was darker.

Even Sophia had expected it to end. That Wang Xiao would tire, or coax, or break his sister down with one final act. But instead, he hadn’t stopped.

For three nights and days, he had raped her. Again and again. Ordering her to kneel, to obey, to debase herself further. Testing her defiance with impossible commands: call their mother, call the media, jump off the balcony.

And every time, Jiarong fought. Every time, she cursed, screamed, crawled back.

She wasn’t done with her fight.

But Sophia’s eyes lowered, her hands tightening in her lap.

Three days like this... should have taught Wang Jiarong better.

Taught her when to surrender.

"Bring me my phone..."

Back inside the gloomy room, Wang Xiao lounged under the white blanket, voice casual.

Wang Jiarong rose slowly. Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she picked up the device and handed it over. She looked different now, dark hair loose, skin pale, her beauty sharpened by sorrow. Her swollen eyes still betrayed nights of crying, but her lips were red, her neck marked in purple bruises.

He smirked. "Oh? Finally started listening?"

She slid back into bed, eyes fixed on the vast ceiling. Her voice was flat, lifeless.

"Isn’t that what you wanted...?"

"Not entirely."

In a sudden movement he yanked her toward him, lips crashing onto her chest.

"Ah!" she gasped as his teeth clamped around her nipple, biting down. His tongue lashed over the swollen bud, sucking greedily.

"Stop! Don’t bite so hard!" she whimpered, hands trembling.

"Quiet," he growled against her skin, his voice muffled as he sucked harder. Saliva ran down her breast, sticky trails against her pale skin.

Her back arched involuntarily."Y-you’re leaving marks again... my tits!"

"Your tits are mine to mark," he cut her off. He pinched her other nipple sharply between his fingers, twisting until she cried out. "Say it."

Her lips trembled, shame burning in her throat, "...They’re yours..."

"What is?" He pulled back just enough to stare into her teary eyes.

"M-my tits..." she stammered, cheeks burning, "...they’re yours."

"Good girl." His hand slid lower, palming her thighs through the thin blanket. His fingers pressed hard, rubbing against the dampness already seeping through. "And this?"

Her eyes trembled, thighs squeezing shut instinctively, "D-Don’t... not there...It’s swollen... painful..."

He pried her legs apart easily, fingers rubbing her pussy harder. "Answer me."

Her tears spilled fresh as her body betrayed her, wetness spreading under his touch.

"...My pussy..." she whispered brokenly. "...It’s yours too."

"Mm." His cock stirred under the blanket, pressing against her thigh. "Now you’re learning."

"..."

Her eyes trembled. Learning? Was that what he called this?

He wouldn’t even let her sleep without having his cock stuffed inside her, buried deep until she passed out in exhaustion. Every morning, before she could even open her eyes properly, he’d force her to clean him with her mouth. Then the day would begin again, hours of him using her, bending her, spreading her open until night fell.

She hadn’t eaten properly in days. Her stomach twisted, her head spun, but all of that was drowned under the endless ache between her thighs.

She wrapped herself in the blanket, hiding the sheer number of bruises and bite-marks covering her skin.

"Mother is asking for you to come back," Wang Xiao said suddenly, voice casual as if nothing was wrong. "I told her you’d return with me."

Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "You... you told her that?"

He nodded.

Her lips parted. The words slipped out, trembling, almost hopeful.

"When... when are we going back?"

She wanted it so badly. To go back, to see familiar walls, to throw herself into someone’s arms, anyone, and cry until she broke.

"Twelve," he said simply. "Two days from now. Get dressed. I’ll take you outside today."

Her breath caught. "Outside...?"

She stared at him, disbelief clouding her eyes. Was he serious? After everything, after forcing her to call the media, call their mother, threaten to throw her from the balcony, was he actually going to let her outside?

Her mind spun. If it’s outside... it’s not the same. I could run. I could scream. Someone would help. I wouldn’t be trapped.

She searched his face for a flicker of fear. Anything. A twitch, a hesitation.

But there was nothing. His gaze was steady... Not a trace of worry.

Her stomach turned cold. He couldn’t be that foolish. Which meant... she was walking straight into something worse.

Few hours later...

"Hmm... you want to wear that?"

Evening light poured through the villa as Wang Jiarong stepped out. A deep brown satin gown clung to her, simple yet elegant. Straps crossed her back, her dark hair styled half-up, half-down, reaching in soft waves to her waist. She looked flawless, if not for the faint redness still staining her eyes.

He studied her, expression satisfied, the sadder the woman, the better she dresses.

She shifted under his gaze. "...Should I change then?"

On a normal day she would’ve scoffed, rolled her eyes. Now, after days of being broken down, her voice came careful, almost hesitant.

"Leave it," he said with a shrug, turning toward the door.

But she didn’t follow.

He stopped. "What now?"

Her hands clenched at the smooth fabric of her dress. She glanced behind her, uneasy. "...I-I found... someone. In the wardrobe."

His brow twitched. "What?"

The way she looked at him then, hesitant, almost afraid, but with a flicker of hate underneath, made his eyes narrow.

And then, from behind her skirts, a small figure peeked out. A girl, no taller than Wang Jiarong’s waist. Wide, innocent eyes blinked up, framed by soft pink hair falling in tender waves. A simple white dress, bare feet on the cold floor. She looked fragile, pure.

Wang Jiarong’s gritted her teeth. Her throat closed, the bitter words forming but dying before they could leave her lips. Don’t tell me... is this what he hides...? A child?

She swallowed hard, voice trembling, not daring to speak her full thought.

"...Who... who is she?"

Wang Xiao’s face darkened as if he’d read her mind. "Eirene," he said flatly, gaze shifting past Wang Jiarong. "Come out. Stop hiding."

The little girl stepped forward slowly, bare feet padding against the floor. Her hands were clasped nervously in front of her, her head lowered. When her big eyes peeked up, her cheeks flushed pink, then dropped back down shyly.

Wang Jiarong’s chest tightened. God... don’t tell me he’s...

Wang Xiao caught the silent accusation in her stare. His lips curved faintly, and he decided to twist the knife.

He bent and lifted Eirene easily by the waist. She gave a tiny squeak of surprise, her fingers curling tight into his clothes. He kissed her cheek gently.

Her lashes fluttered, and after a second she leaned up timidly, pressing a small kiss to his jaw.