Chapter 700: The House, the Snow, and the Madness

Cold wind swept in through the open car door. Wyatt frowned, then finally shut it.

A moment later, he climbed in from the other side, not looking at Yunice. “Sure, the Saunders mess is over. But don’t forget – Oscar and Paul still need dealing with. So maybe don’t burn the bridge just yet.”

Yunice turned her gaze from his scowling profile to the snowflakes outside. “I want to go to the Saunders estate.”

Wyatt said nothing more, just started the engine and drove.

The Saunders family estate had been sold under Yunice’s pressure – Owen had no choice. But the buyer had been someone arranged by Yunice herself. Over time, the ownership passed through several hands before landing right back with her.

She was now the rightful and legal owner of the Saunders estate. The property no longer belonged to her father’s inheritance. No one else had a claim.

If Lily wanted to contest anything, all she could fight for was the money from the sale. But Yunice was no longer someone Lily could manipulate.

The car pulled up to the gate. Before Yunice could reach for the handle, the door opened on its own.

Wyatt stood outside, holding a black umbrella over her.

She didn’t need to lift a finger.

Wrapped in her shawl, Yunice looked up at the estate.

The house bore the marks of time and neglect. Moss clung to the walls, and age had left the façade mottled. Owen had clearly stopped caring for it long ago.

But Yunice had already hired a renovation team to restore it exactly as it had been when she was a child. By spring, when the garden bloomed again, everything would be just like it was before.

Snow drifted down under the dark night sky.

“This is the last snow of the year,” she murmured.

“Three days till Lunar New Year,” Wyatt replied. “Carl called a few days ago. Wants us at his place for the holiday.”

Carl often said the Crawford family was Yunice’s true home.

Wyatt didn’t have much family of his own either. Naturally, their New Year’s Eve dinner would be at the Crawfords’ – full of warmth and noise.

That sounded good.

Yunice turned slightly – only for Wyatt to suddenly pull her into a protective embrace.

She froze, following his tense line of sight.

It was Elsie.

She’d escaped from the psychiatric hospital again.

She’d just made it back to the Saunders estate and spotted Yunice. She had tried to hurl a stone at her, but Wyatt had stepped in and ruined the aim.

Now she stood just five meters away, barefoot in the snow, her swollen feet red and frostbitten. A tear in her clothes revealed the grotesquely distended, purple-veined belly beneath.

Her hair was a tangled mess. Her face grimy and feral. She looked like a ghost.

Through the curtain of hair, her hateful eyes locked onto Yunice.

Yunice glanced her up and down with a sneer. “Oh. It’s you. What are you doing at my house?”

She barely finished before Elsie erupted. “Your house?! This is MY house! You’d better get out of MY house right now!”

Yunice chuckled lightly. “I bought it. It’s legally mine now! The psychiatric hospital is your real home. Looks like you wandered off.”

Elsie’s eyes bulged with rage. Her face twisted. “I grew up here! This has always been my home! My bedroom’s upstairs, second floor! There’s a jewelry case in there – Owen made it for me himself! You think someone like you deserves a house like this, you crazy bitch?!”

“Say whatever you want,” Yunice replied calmly. “But you’d better not take another step. I’ve hired full-time security to guard this place. Step onto my land without permission, and they’ll tase you.”

She glanced once more at Elsie’s frostbitten feet, then turned back to the car. “It’s too cold to waste time talking to you.”

Wyatt folded the umbrella and gave Elsie one last look.

She clearly wasn’t ready to leave. She inched closer to the gate, inch by inch, testing the line.

But the Saunders estate guards were already on alert.

As soon as they saw her, they advanced – batons crackling with purple arcs of electricity.

Elsie shrieked and backed away, clutching her belly in fear.

But the snow was slick. She lost her footing and landed hard on her rear.

The guards loomed over her, raising their stun batons and shouting threats. Elsie screamed, crawling backward through the snow.

Wyatt, standing by the car, let go of the door handle and lit a cigarette. Then he waved over the nearest bodyguard.

“Sir…” the guard approached.

“Tell the psych ward to keep a better grip on her,” Wyatt said coldly. “Don’t let her die, but don’t let her be comfortable either. And let the director know – if she escapes again, he won’t be getting out either.”

The bodyguard understood immediately. He gave a silent nod, then strode forward, clamped a hand over Elsie’s mouth, and dragged her away without a word.

The community hospital where she’d been staying had terrible conditions. No doctors. No real staff.

No one would remove the bloated water sac from her belly.

She’d rot slowly, quietly, alone.