CHAPTER 861: CHAPTER 860

Everyone made way as Martha strode up to Rosemary with deliberate ease.

She was no longer the former servant in the Collins family’s uniform, but rather sported a sleek short haircut, wearing leather jackets and pants, giving off a bit of a bossy assassin vibe.

A chilly smile played across Martha’s lips as she towered over Rosemary, her gaze laced with malice.

"Surprised, are you?"

In Rosemary’s memory, Martha was the epitome of loyalty, a servant who would cry out in pain from a mere stumble, or weep profusely, begging for forgiveness for any minor transgression.

But the woman before her bore an enormous contrast to the old servant etched in her recollection.

Horace, clueless about this enigmatic older woman’s identity, could only sense an underlying vendetta between her and Rosemary.

"So, are all these your guys?" Rosemary rose to her feet, a nonchalant smirk curving her lips, seemingly unfazed by the looming threat, and asked casually, "Who are you working for?"

"Do you think you’re entitled to that information? All you need to know is that now you’re in my clutches,and I’ll make you beg for mercy and crave death!" Martha’s laughter echoed like a specter from hell,chilling to the bone in the dead of night.

Around them, more than twenty cars formed a tight circle, completely trapping Rosemary and Horace within.

Martha has over a hundred henchmen, all armed and aimed at them. Any slight move from them and they’d be riddled with bullets in an instant.

Horace felt the tension rising within him, his eyes instinctively searching for Rosemary. He was about to measure the situation and follow her in a desperate breakout when he saw her casually raise both hands in a gesture of surrender.

Horace’s eyes widened in shock. Was this something his boss would do?

Back in the infamous triangular zone, amidst perilous chaos, Rosemary had fought tooth and nail,refusing to surrender, ultimately carving a bloody path to safety.

Yet now, without a single shot fired, she was throwing in the towel.

Had he been mistaken?

The night was shattered by Martha’s shrill laughter as Rosemary raised her hands in surrender.

"Rosemary, Rosemary, who would’ve thought you’d end up like this. Well, at least you’ve got some sense,"

Martha said, clearly delighted by Rosemary’s capitulation, her laughter betraying her elation. "No matter

how swift you are, can you outrun a bullet? You’re Dr. Bell, with a knack for detecting any drug."

Pacing before Rosemary, Martha continued, "But alas, your skills made you quite the catch."

"So you resorted to underhanded tactics, didn’t you? Nora suddenly having a ’heart attack’ while flying me to Dawnstar, the mysterious figure at the mountaintop restaurant, the billboard that nearly crushed me, the slander against Ar-Bl-Clear Group’s skincare line, the lip-syncing scandal. Did you orchestrate

all that?"

"Sharp as ever," said Martha, her gaze tinged with pity and faux sympathy. "Too bad, you’ll be dying by my hand soon. Hand over everything you’ve got—phones, weapons, the works. Otherwise, if my

people find anything during their search, you’ll be skinned alive."

Her laughter was both sinister and sly.

Rosemary tossed her phone and a folding pocket knife onto the ground.

Seeing Rosemary comply, Horace decided to empty his pockets as well, throwing everything, including his watch, at Martha’s feet.

Martha signaled to her subordinates with a glance, and promptly a man and a woman stepped forward to frisk them.

After a while, they returned, having found nothing.

"Martha, I found nothing."

"Same here," came the echo.

With a curt nod, Martha signaled them to tie up Rosemary and Horace.

They were in an unfinished high-rise, a skeleton of a building that rose nineteen stories into the sky.

Without any windows, the chill outside swept in, bringing with it the snowflakes that danced on the merciless wind.

Horace couldn’t help but sneeze.

He and Rosemary were hauled up to the eighteenth floor, each bound to a cold, unyielding chair. Horace squirmed, trying to find some semblance of comfort, but was promptly rewarded with a gun barrel

pressed against his temple.

"Don’t move," a female killer hissed with icy precision.

"Not even a twitch?" Horace quipped, his eyes widening as the gun dug deeper, coercing a resigned nod from him. Fine, fine, he’d stay put. What was the big deal anyway?

Despite being tied up, Rosemary exuded an aura of authority, as if she were the queen on a chessboard, moving pieces at her will.

Martha stood at the edge of the 18th floor, holding Rosemary’s phone. On the phone’s screensaver was a photo of Rosemary and Romeo’s silhouettes, a photo that Romeo had sweet-talked Rosemary into using.

At that moment, Martha, whether out of anger for Serena or a desire to prevent Rosemary from communicating, suddenly changed her expression and fiercely threw the phone off the building.

"Hey, that’s my boss’s phone." Horace heard the crash, imagining the device in pieces. Was this woman nuts? Why smash it when confiscating it would’ve sufficed? That phone was actually developed by Rosemary and had a lot of features, along with several confidential items inside.

The killer pressed the gun harder against Horace’s head as if to silence him without words.

Martha turned to see Rosemary, once unattainably proud, and her loyal henchman Horace, now pathetically tied to chairs. Behind them stood hundreds of her guys. The two were completely at her

mercy.

The thought brought a vicious laugh to her lips. She had waited so long for this day.

She thought about the six months of humiliation under Rosemary’s thumb, the way her darling daughter Serena had been tormented by this wretch.

Today, she would have her revenge.

Her eyes, gleaming with malice, bore into Rosemary as she stepped closer.

Horace couldn’t fathom why this old bat kept breaking into these fits of laughter. Was she touched in the head?

Martha grabbed Rosemary’s bun, spitting venomously, "With all your identities, your success out there,why come back for the Collins family heiress title? You could have lived well enough. but no, you chose to come back for your doom!"

"Don’t you touch my boss! Come at me if you dare!" Horace bellowed. "You think you’re worthy of touching her hair?"

Martha turned to Horace with a mocking smile. "Oh, look at the loyal little pup. You, my dear, have quite a knack for winning hearts. In the Collins household, you swayed all the servants loyal to Serena.

Impressive. Someone gag him."

Muffled protests came from Horace, even with his mouth gagged, he struggled fiercely, itching to take a swing at the old hag.

Damn it, they could do whatever they wanted to him, but laying a finger on his boss? That was a line no one was allowed to cross.