Chapter 727 Why Am I Still Alive?

She was worried and scared, her small hands clutching the bed sheet, quickly bunching it into folds. His slender fingers would slip into her hand, intertwining with hers. In the end, despite her half-hearted resistance, he enjoyed himself. When she finally fell asleep, Elvis sometimes cried; he would then stand, hug the little boy, and awkwardly lull him to sleep.

That period was the happiest of his life. The girl he loved became his wife and the mother of his son. Their awkward courtship was a distant memory. Her love for him seemed as turbulent and intense as his for her. He believed that would be his life.

But who knew she was pretending? She contacted Marcus again. Alpha had never revisited that memory in all these years, never wanting to. The day she brought Marcus to the Red Velvet Room ruined them both.

He had been away at work. Missing her and their child, he returned a day early, intending to surprise her. He reached the Red Velvet Room, approached the bedroom, and reached for the door, only to freeze.

A voice, an unsettling voice, came from within. It was Anabelle's soft, breathy voice: “Marcus, be gentler. I can’t stand it…”

He froze, his pupils constricting. He recognized her voice; countless nights, infatuated, he’d heard it, a plea for him to stop. But now, it was subtler, more seductive.

Stunned, he raised his leg and kicked the door open. The sight that met his eyes remains seared into his memory: Anabelle atop Marcus, their clothes in disarray, their skin touching. Marcus saw him first, shielding Anabelle with his clothing; then she turned.

She smiled. He imagined his face must have been horrifying—bright red eyes staring—but she showed no fear, slowly getting out of bed. Almost naked, save for a two-piece dress, her small snow-white feet touched the soft woolen carpet, each step radiating seductive allure. Anabelle, once cold and elegant, had been lavished with his passionate affection in the Red Velvet Room.

She smiled, her beautiful almond eyes meeting his. “Alpha, why are you back? Didn’t you say tomorrow? I’m sorry you saw this. Surprised?”

“Marcus and I were childhood sweethearts. You forced me to marry you, to stay. The truth is, I’ve never forgotten Marcus for a day! I always wanted to escape you!”

“But you’re Alpha Augustine. No matter where I run, you find me. I can’t beat you. But that’s fine. I’ve carefully planned a gift for you!”

“Alpha, do you think I’m abnormal after having a baby? Don’t be so naive as to think I love you. Don't be so infatuated. I’ve never loved you. Every moment with you is disgusting. I lied, let you down your guard, gave you illusions, then pushed you from heaven to hell. It must be hard to hear, Alpha!”

“Alpha, I hate you. I really hate you. You ruined my life, so I’m getting revenge!”

Her words filled his ears. He glared, fists clenched, his reason consumed by fury. He strode forward, seizing her wrist, pulling her away. She resisted.

He turned, a cold smile playing on his lips. “I was wrong. Letting Marcus live these past two years was my biggest mistake. He should have died long ago, shouldn’t he?”

Startled by the threat, Anabelle followed. He took her to a small wooden house, threw her into the bathroom, and coldly commanded, “Take off your clothes. Wash your dirty body!”

He closed the door, leaving her to shower. He stood on the balcony, smoking three cigarettes in rapid succession. The third butt extinguished in the ashtray. He turned, his red phoenix eyes fixed on the bathroom door. An eternity seemed to pass; she hadn’t emerged.

He approached, hand on the doorknob, but it was locked. A cold dread gripped him. He kicked the door open. Water covered the floor; the tub had overflowed, and beneath the water lay a graceful figure.

Her beautiful black hair fanned out, her white bodice rippled, giving her a cold, ethereal look. Her eyes were closed, her bright red lips curled in a charming, gentle, peaceful smile.

She had committed suicide, drowning herself. His pupils constricted violently. He didn’t know how he moved, how he pulled her from the water, but he did, laying her on the bed, performing CPR repeatedly.

Her small face was pale, lifeless. Dead? His face was impassive; his large hands lay on her breasts, pressing down. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he would press until she woke.

Much later, when numbness threatened, she coughed up water and regained consciousness. Her almond eyes slowly opened, staring blankly at the chandelier, before muttering, “Alive… Why am I still alive?”

She asked why she was still alive. He panted, soaked, sweat streaming down his handsome cheeks. He looked down at her, wishing he could strangle her. He didn’t know how she’d attempted suicide.