Maurice let out a cold, humorless laugh, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Caesar stood frozen, speechless, fearing to provoke Maurice's escalating rage. If Maurice had never known the joy of walking again, this might not sting so deeply. But to experience that fleeting freedom, only to have it snatched away—that was cruelty surpassing death. Especially for a man like Maurice, whose obsession with healing his legs had consumed him for years. Now, all hope was gone. His fury blazed.

"Felicia!" he spat, the name venomous. Murderous intent hung heavy in the air. "Do you think you can make a fool of me? You're courting death!"

At his command, men lunged toward Felicia. Before they could touch her, she moved with blinding speed, executing a flawless over-the-shoulder throw, sending them sprawling. Painful groans filled the air as they scrambled up, their pride and bodies bruised. Felicia stood tall, dusting her hands nonchalantly. She smirked. "Mr. Glovers, you played me first. Shall we discuss fairness? I'm merely returning the favor."

For a moment, Maurice was stunned. He'd seen Felicia as a cocky young woman with medical skills—a useful pawn. Now, he realized he'd underestimated her; she wasn't as innocent as she appeared. Still, it mattered little. Trapped in his den, surrounded by his men, she was at his mercy.

Maurice sneered. "Take her down!"

The men hesitated briefly before moving in. Felicia fought valiantly, but outnumbered, she was eventually pinned.

Maurice wheeled closer, his expression a chilling blend of fury and satisfaction. Grabbing her chin roughly, he forced her to look up. "You've got one last chance," he hissed. "Fix my legs, or I'll make you regret ever being born."

Felicia didn't flinch, meeting his gaze with a defiant smile. "You know," she said lightly, "if you'd asked nicely, I might have let this slide. But I don't take kindly to threats."

Maurice's patience snapped. "So, you choose the hard way," he said, his voice deadly calm, his eyes betraying his murderous intent. He snapped his fingers. "Throw her into the crocodile pool. Let's see if a little 'swim' changes her attitude."

The men, though momentarily stiffening at the mention of the crocodile pool, obeyed. They grabbed Felicia and began dragging her toward the exit.

From nearby, Kelsey, who had been observing silently, spoke. "Be careful with her hands," she said calmly. "We still need them intact."

The men nodded, understanding the unspoken implication. Felicia's suffering was secondary; her hands must be preserved.

In the background, Abbie, her scarred face hidden by her hair, watched with a twisted smile. She had waited for Felicia's downfall. Thrown into a crocodile pool? Even if Felicia survived, her beauty and pride would be stripped away. The poetic justice thrilled her.

As Felicia was dragged towards her doom, a small struggle earned her a sharp slap across the face. "Behave yourself!" The resounding slap, leaving a red mark on her cheek, seemed to echo in Maurice's ears as if it had landed on him.