Chapter 649

Peter’s face loomed closer, his hands tearing at Debra’s blouse. The ripping sound of fabric seemed to thrill him further as he lifted the whip and lashed it down hard on her. Debra screamed in panic. “Help! Somebody, help me!”

Just then, the door burst open. Peter jumped, frantically pulling up his pants. “Damn, who the hell is ruining the fun?” He hadn’t even finished his cursing when he spotted a brooding Drake at the door.

“M–Mr. Lowe,” Peter stammered, collapsing to the floor. Debra let out a shaky breath. Drake had arrived just in time.

“Sir, this is all a misunderstanding,” Peter stammered, pointing at Debra. “It was her. She came onto me.”

At that moment, Debra’s wrist was cuffed to the bedpost, her face streaked with tears. Her clothes were torn apart. She hurriedly covered her chest, purposefully revealing the whip marks on her arm. Peter’s words died in his throat. Given how things looked, no one would believe him. He suddenly realized he’d been set up by Debra.

“Sir, I’ve worked for you for so many years. You gotta believe me. It was her. She…”

Before he could finish, Drake pulled out a gun and, without hesitation, fired at Peter’s leg. The deafening shot echoed in the room, followed by Peter’s scream, filled with agonizing pain.

Drake approached the bed, shot the handcuff that bound Debra, and threw his coat over her shoulders. He then scooped her up effortlessly into his arms. No one outside dared to interfere, and no one came to help Peter.

As Drake carried Debra through the hallway, the maids whispered among themselves. Debra trembled in Drake’s arms, happy about her success. Drake frowned, glancing down at her. “Scared?”

She wasn’t scared, but thrilled. Drake’s arrival meant she had finally earned a place in his mind. A beast like him rarely cared about anyone. At least for now, he would not kill her.

Drake brought her to his bedroom. Unlike Peter’s, Drake’s room was clean and empty. There were no decorations, no TV, no computer, and no books. And it was unnervingly quiet.

Suddenly, Marion’s face flashed in her mind. When she had first visited Marion’s house, it was the same—bare, minimalist, and devoid of warmth.

A maid knocked on the door. “Sir, Ms. Frazier’s clothes are ready.”

“Bring them in,” he said without looking up. The maid entered and placed the clothes on the bed. Drake said, “Change.”