The disfigured maid left the suite silently, her head bowed as if to melt into the shadows. She avoided eye contact, unwilling to reveal her ruined features. What woman wouldn't cherish her appearance?

Felicia could have made a scar-removal ointment, but the process required rare ingredients and time—luxuries she lacked. Her sole objective was escape from the Glovers' estate. Helping strangers wasn't her priority.

After her meal, Felicia sprawled on her plush bed, her thoughts turning to tomorrow's confrontation. Once she administered the final treatment, Maurice would be free of the toxins, able to walk like any other man.

But she knew Maurice's ingratitude. The moment his legs were healed, he would dispose of her without hesitation, preventing her escape from Ablil. The question was: did she truly want to help this madman stand?

Felicia hugged the blanket, rolling onto her side to find a comfortable position for a nap. Tomorrow's scenarios played in her mind, unbeknownst to her, simmering hatred lurked just outside her suite.

In the corridor, the disfigured maid slowly raised her head, her scarred face contorting in a venomous glare. Her eyes burned with malice.

Days of observation and eavesdropping had allowed Abbie to understand why Felicia had been spared Maurice's cruelty—her medical skills provided leverage. Abbie's lips twisted into a bitter smirk. But it mattered little; she knew Maurice's patterns. Once the treatment was complete, Felicia's fate was sealed. He would never let her live. Abbie would witness it all.

The next day, Felicia prepared for the final acupuncture session in the hot spring. Maurice sat in his wheelchair, his men watching intently. Excitement crackled in the air. This was it. Today, Maurice would walk again, free from his wheelchair forever.

As Felicia began, she asked, "Are you feeling nervous, Mr. Glovers?"

"Not at all," Maurice replied coolly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "If anyone should be nervous, it's you."

The implication hung heavy. Success might bring freedom; failure, the obvious consequences.

Felicia didn't respond, only offering a faint smile as she focused on her task. One by one, silver needles flew from her hands, landing precisely.

Nearby, the white-haired physician, Caesar, watched with rapt attention. Though assigned to monitor her, he couldn't hide his awe at Felicia's seamless, fluid, mesmerizing technique. Even he couldn't fully comprehend her skill.

Soon, Felicia removed the final needle. "It's done," she said calmly.

Maurice gripped his wheelchair's armrests, his knuckles whitening. "So, I can stand and walk?"

"Why don't you give it a try?" Felicia replied, her voice deliberately neutral.

Maurice drew a deep breath and slowly pushed himself up. He stood as he had yesterday, but today, he went further. He tentatively tested his balance before stepping forward. His foot landed firmly.

The treatment was a success. Though his movements were shaky, his legs were functional. With time, he would walk, run, and jump like anyone else. The moment he'd waited years for had arrived.

Maurice's lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile. He turned to Felicia, his eyes gleaming with triumph, fulfillment, and anticipation.

Then, as Felicia had predicted, the smile vanished. And the monster revealed itself.