The video had been edited and stored on a USB drive, delivered by the staff from that night’s work.
Finn took the USB drive and plugged it into the computer to check. The quality of the footage was exceptional, capturing every expression of Aoife with crystal clarity.
It was evident that a lot of time had been spent on the editing, and it was done by a female staff member, as requested by Finn.
That night, he had acted recklessly, exposing Aoife’s body to so many people, both men and women. At that time, he hadn’t thought much about it, but now, the idea of men seeing Aoife’s body made him feel uncomfortable.
“Mr. Snearl, do you need any changes?” asked the staff member.
“It’s fine. You can go,” Finn replied, his gaze indifferent as he glanced at them.
In that moment, the female staff member felt a chill run down her spine under Finn’s cold gaze, quickly nodding and leaving.
Just a single look from Finn made people feel choked. If he stared at someone continuously, it could suffocate them.
These people feared Finn. Despite his outward appearance of a gentle smile, a closer look revealed that his smile never reached his eyes, always cold regardless of how cheerful it seemed.
Furthermore, a few of them had witnessed Finn’s unilateral brutality that night, heard the women in the video crying out, capturing every frame of the scene. Everyone present that night felt a shiver down their spine.
Upon hearing that they could leave, they hurried out of North Bankshire. It was only after they left that the female staff members began to relax.
“It was terrifying. I will never take on such a job again.”
“Who would want to? Dealing with these wealthy people, the farther you can stay away, the better.”
“From now on, I won’t even think about marrying a rich person. Who knows what peculiar preferences they might have…”
After watching the video several times, Finn finally removed the USB drive and tossed it into a drawer.
Opening the door, he stood in the hallway on the second floor, overlooking below, but he didn’t see Aoife’s shadow.
If Aoife wasn’t on the ground floor, she would be in the bedroom. Sure enough, upon entering the room, he found Aoife curled up on the bed.
Aoife’s temperament had become increasingly solitary, locking herself in her room whenever someone visited, avoiding interactions with others.
It was better this way.
Even if he got married and had children in the future, he wouldn’t dare let Aoife leave with her current temperament.
Upon seeing him enter, Aoife asked dryly, “Have they left?”
“Yes, they have.”
With those words, Aoife fell silent again. She avoided those people from earlier, primarily because she recognized one of them participating in the filming that night and witnessed her humiliation.
Although she constantly reminded herself that the past was over, that it wasn’t her fault, she still couldn’t face it.
Her meekness was innate, and her timidity was ingrained in her bones. Whenever something happened, she wanted to escape.
Sensing Finn’s strange mood, Aoife wouldn’t ask him directly. Instead, she stared at him with a puzzled look.
That was how she was-despite being mistreated and injured, she unconsciously showed concern.
Finn said, “I want dumplings tonight.”
“I’ll prepare them,” Aoife replied, getting up to make the dough.
When Finn mentioned dumplings, he meant boiled dumplings with a broth made from bone broth-a seemingly simple dish with a complicated and time-consuming broth-making process.
Aoife had only made dumplings for Finn twice, the last time being last year around the same time.
Having cooked for Finn for over a year, she already knew his preferences. Once the dumplings were ready, she called him to eat.
Finn stared at the dumplings on the table, seemingly remembering something, his gaze filled with melancholy.
“They taste better hot.”
Passing Finn a sanitized spoon, he first drank some soup, then ate a dumpling, savoring the flavors.
After quietly finishing a bowl of dumplings and drinking all the soup, Finn finally spoke, “Today is my mother’s memorial day.”
Aoife was surprised. It was the first time Finn had mentioned his family to her.
“My mother didn’t cook much. The only thing she could cook decently was frozen dumplings.”
“I am a bastard. I never had a father, and my mother died by suicide. I have no relatives.”
Neither Old Burns nor Hamish counted as his relatives. To him, his mother was his only true family member, but she passed away too soon. Whenever he tried to recall his mother’s face, all he could remember was the bathtub full of blood and the deep wounds down to the bone.
Aoife was a suitable confidant. She would listen quietly, like a wooden doll, as Finn recounted his past.
Aoife genuinely thought that Finn was also pitiful.
Being a bastard wasn’t his choice. He was not at fault. Growing up without a father, witnessing his mother’s death, and never experiencing paternal love, his grandfather never genuinely cared about him. He even experienced abuse from nannies when he was young, going hungry and scavenging for discarded food, which ultimately led to stomach problems.
Despite his current material wealth, he lacked anyone who truly loved him.
Aoife used to love him, but after experiencing the pain he caused her, she was now too afraid to love again.
The worry in her eyes was simply due to her strong empathy.
Feeling sorry for herself, she would feel compassion for others. Walking down the street and seeing beggars, despite being warned that they were scammers, she would still willingly give them the remaining bus fare she had.
That was just how she was-overflowing with compassion. She wasn’t extremely hateful towards anyone. If pushed to the edge, she would retreat and isolate herself from society.
After being hurt by Finn, she was more disgusted with herself, wallowing in self-pity.
Having lived this long, Aoife had never truly hated anyone. “Hate” was an extreme emotion. Once someone harbored hatred, they wouldn’t spare anyone, including themselves, and living with such hatred was too exhausting for her.
Aoife’s wishes were modest-to live her life quietly and simply.
As Aoife washed the dishes, Finn hugged her gently, not as aggressively as usual. His arms lightly circled her waist, burying his face in her neck, resembling an injured beast.
Aoife had grown accustomed to his actions. With her hands still in the soapy water, she finished washing and rinsing the dishes. Afterward, she hugged him back. She wasn’t good at comforting people with words, so she could only use her hands to gently stroke his head.
It was the first time in many days that Aoife responded to him.
Finn carried her to the sofa in the living room, kissing her gently, progressing to deeper intimacy.
That night seemed endless. For Aoife, going to bed was excruciating. Despite feeling so much pain in her heart, her body uncontrollably surrendered, as if drowning in deep water and scorching flames. Under these two extreme stimuli, it almost drove her crazy.
Finn always liked to bring up various questions and press Aoife during such “encounters.”
“Aoife, would you leave me?”
Aoife shook her head, unable to speak, her eyes teary and lowered, unable to meet Finn’s gaze.
Not fully satisfied with her response, Finn pressed on, wanting to coax words out of her clenched mouth.
In a bid to please him, Aoife clasped his neck, begging him to be gentle and spare her.
But the more she pleaded, the more determined Finn became, wanting to make her feel pain, to make her cry.
“Aoife,” Finn called out her name, his dark pupils becoming even deeper, his seductive tone filled with temptation. “Say you will never leave me.”
Forced to the brink, Aoife broke into tears, her eyes overflowing with tears, her throat hoarse, chest heavy, and burping from the retention of her sobs.
Finally, after numerous “pressures” from Finn, she cried out, “I won’t leave you. I will never leave you.”
Satisfied with her answer, Finn finally let her go.
Her body still marked with scars, Aoife was pale and delicate, the purplish bruises standing out prominently, fierce and grim.
Yet, this time, there were no injuries on her neck.
Exhausted from crying, Aoife fell asleep. Finn carefully held her close, looking at her swollen eyes. He leaned in to kiss her, then gently cradled her in his arms.
Still marked with scars, Aoife was pale and delicate, the purplish bruises standing out prominently, fierce and grim. But this time, there were no injuries on her neck.
As she cried herself to sleep that night, Finn carefully held her in his arms, kissing her gently, his grip gentle yet possessive.
He wouldn’t let Aoife leave him. In his heart, he couldn’t allow it. If Aoife ever left… he didn’t even know what he would do.