Who Cares About Him When I'm Married to the Richest Man?-Chapter 111: The Smell of Blood

The cold light automatically turned on, and Mason Jacobs walked step by step to the door of a small storage room. Before the door was opened, he heard a man’s hoarse, desperate scream from inside, "Mason Jacobs, just kill me! Stab me and kill me!"

Mason pushed open the door, and the steel door creaked. The sound-activated light in the storage room illuminated in response. The man inside looked more haggard than when Mason had last seen him, skin and bones, emaciated to the extreme. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with a mix of hatred glaring at Mason as if he wanted to drag him straight to hell.

Mason enjoyed seeing him so full of resentment yet helpless. With a smile on his lips, Mason grabbed a whip nearby, crusted with the remnants of flesh and blood from the last beating, highlighted under the light.

The man flinched instinctively at the sight of the whip.

"Killing a person is just a point on the ground, Mason Jacobs, what kind of man are you! If you have the guts, just give me a quick death; all the work I’ve done for you would be worth it!"

Mason shook his head gently, chuckling, "Die? It’s not that easy to die, you know? You’re dreaming. Unfortunately, I’m not that soft-hearted. What I love most is watching you suffer, break down, and despair."

He spoke softly, but there was cold indifference in his eyes. He raised his hand and brought the whip down hard on the man, who let out a wretched scream as his skin tore open.

"Spare me! Mason Jacobs, spare me, I’ll do whatever you want! Please, I beg you!"

The one-meter-eight man, tied pathetically by chains, knelt before Mason Jacobs, all his previous hatred now replaced with abject humility. That whip, with its barbs, inflicted excruciating pain!

He couldn’t take it anymore; every time Mason beat him, someone would come to dress his wounds and apply medicine afterward, leaving him unable even to die if he wanted to!

Mason sneered, a look of madness in his eyes, "Still want to do work for me? Too late! I arranged for you to do just one thing, and you screwed it up like that! Not exterminating the roots brought me so much trouble!"

He lashed out viciously, one whip after another, and at first, the man could scream and beg for mercy, but in the end, there was only endless whimpering and weeping.

Only when Mason was too drained to continue did he throw the bloodstained whip aside, leaned against the wall, and lit a cigarette, gloomily staring at the man lying on the ground as he took a couple of drags, then burst into a cold laugh.

"Look at you, trash in a pit of mud, your wretched life was given by me. You live if I want you to live, you die if I want you to die."

The man on the ground, covered in wounds and bleeding profusely, let out a sound that was somewhere between crying and laughing, hoarsely saying, "Pit of mud...how are you any better than me..."

Mason’s expression suddenly changed, something that could be called madness flashed in his cold eyes, and he stomped furiously on the man’s neck, grinding his head into the dirt.

Then, he squatted down and pressed his cigarette onto the man’s face. The man shivered in pain, but compared to the earlier suffering, this pain was minor, so he didn’t even cry out.

Mason put out the cigarette on the man’s face, then with a sinister look, dragged the man’s collar and lifted him like a ragdoll, slamming him against the wall. The man screamed before he could even struggle, and Mason smashed his head against it again!

Again and again, ferocious, bloody, and brutal.

Only when the man was utterly motionless in his hands did Mason finally stop; his skull had cracked open. Mason disdainfully threw the man to the ground.

"I was going to spare your life, but you were asking for death. Regret it on your way to the underworld."

He slowly wiped his fingers clean with a tissue, his expression sinister as he turned and left the basement.

Back in the car, he methodically called Special Assistant Wood to come and clean up, then drove away aimlessly.

When his car finally stopped, he found himself outside Elara Hale’s new neighborhood.

He learned about this place while investigating the real estate of Zion Fitzwilliam.

The houses in this neighborhood were quite old, not even worth investing in, but they matched someone like an insurance salesman.

However, a woman he once showered with wealth was now living such an ordinary life, which he found hard to believe she was genuinely content with.

Mason took out his phone and called Elara Hale. He had just changed his number. After half a minute, the call was answered, and he heard Elara’s sleepy voice, "Hello, who is it?"

Hearing her voice, Mason couldn’t help but smile. When he used to work late and returned home, Elara would often wake up and make him a midnight snack, keeping him company. Her voice back then was just like this, sweet and innocent, evoking a sense of tenderness.

Mason didn’t know what he was reminiscing about. After a brief moment of lost thought, he spoke, "It’s me, are you asleep?"

As if predicting Elara’s next action, he continued, "I’m calling about Jasmine. Do you have time to meet? I’m downstairs from your place and want to discuss it in person."

In the bedroom, Elara turned on the bedside lamp. Still adjusting to Zion Fitzwilliam’s room, she sat up and asked, "What’s wrong with Jasmine?"

Zion, hearing the commotion, also sat up and looked at her, silently asking, "What’s going on?"

Elara shook her head at him.

Zion didn’t ask further, getting up to pour a glass of warm water and handed it to her.

Elara took it and drank a sip, then heard Mason sigh on the other end, "It’s hard to explain over the phone, come down and meet me. I’m here with sincerity."

Elara initially wanted to refuse, but Mason’s next words were, "This concerns her life or death, Elara, don’t turn a blind eye."

Elara held the phone in silence.

Mason, noticing her hesitation, added, "If you won’t take care of it, at least help me think of something. Jasmine is only ten years old, and I don’t want to watch her die."

It was only here that Elara was taken aback. After a moment of hesitation, she made her decision, "I’ll come down right away."

Mason replied, "Okay, I’ll wait for you at the entrance of the community."

After hanging up, Zion leaned against the doorway and asked her, "An urgent matter so late?"

He had recognized the voice on the other end of the call.

Elara repeated what Mason had just said, pursing her lips, "Regardless of whether what he says is true or false, I have to go down and take a look. Otherwise, I won’t be at peace."

It’s a life, after all, not something else.

However, she didn’t expect Zion Fitzwilliam to simply say, "I’ll go down with you."

Then he grabbed a coat and draped it over her, "It’s cold, and the temperature drops at night. Wear a coat; it’ll keep you warmer."

Since it was his bedroom, he grabbed his own coat, a black trench coat, and as soon as it covered her, Elara felt warmth all around, the cool, faint scent of him lingering, quite pleasant. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

There was an indescribable feeling rising from the bottom of her heart.

She looked up, wanting to thank him; unexpectedly, Zion Fitzwilliam was also looking at her. He was very close, his chiseled features right in front of her, handsome and spirited. At that moment, as their eyes met, Elara Hale’s heart suddenly raced as if something wild and clamorous was flowing through her veins, leaving her a bit flustered.

Fortunately, Zion quickly withdrew his hand and, with a nonchalant smile, said, "Let’s go."

Elara followed him out in a daze, and not until they reached the elevator did she realize he was actually holding her hand.

She felt a bit unaccustomed to it. Although she rationally knew Zion was gay and that they were all good friends, even with Zara Dalton she had never held hands like this. Zara’s explanation was: only women enjoy holding hands; men, even if they are gay, wouldn’t do such clingy things.

And yet, here was Zion holding her hand.

They’d had physical contact before, Zion had even held her before, but it was always by the wrist, adhering to a friendly distance. But holding hands...

If the other were a woman, Elara wouldn’t be conflicted. If the other were a straight man, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second to shake him off.

But precisely because the other was gay. She feared being too blunt would hurt his self-esteem, so she swallowed her words, her mind swirling with thoughts yet allowing Zion to hold her hand, even after entering the elevator.

Outside the residential area, Mason Jacobs watched a pair walk side by side under the streetlight, his expression unreadable. Not until Elara and Zion stood before him did he coldly move his gaze away from their clasped hands.

He looked at Elara, speaking unceremoniously, "I called for you, why did you bring someone else?"

As if he didn’t regard Zion as a person at all.

Before Elara could respond, Zion replied calmly, "My wife ran out in the middle of the night; who knows if there are bad people or those with ill intentions outside. Of course I wasn’t comfortable, so I accompanied her."

Mason glared at him with disgust; that insurance salesman certainly had the gift of gab, always rendering him speechless.

Moreover, Zion’s previous warning still lingered in his mind, though he felt it was mostly bluff, it strangely added a bit of wariness in his heart.

He deliberately ignored Zion and addressed Elara, "Elara, today Jasmine was beaten by my mother, beaten severely. The doctor said if we were any later, she wouldn’t have made it. These things happen once, they’ll happen again. You know my mother’s temper. If Jasmine stays with the Jacobs family, she’ll have a hard time, so I wanted to discuss with you if you could take care of Jasmine?"

He came here without a plan, but while waiting for Elara, he realized that neither he nor Cecilia were suitable to adopt Jasmine. Elara was the most suitable, and by entrusting Jasmine to Elara, he thought it might also ease their relationship.

Elara flat out refused, "You took Jasmine’s custody from me, not leaving me any chance, and now you want me to take care of her? Do I owe her? Or do I owe the Jacobs family?"

Mason frowned, a bit displeased, "It’s for the child, how can you talk about owing? You’ve been working hard on adopting Jasmine and have deep feelings for her. When she’s in difficulty, what’s wrong with helping her out?"

"Helping her out, like you helped Cecilia once, inadvertently taken to bed?" Elara’s eyes curved slightly, yet there was coldness in them. She thought Mason called her down for something significant, but it turned out to be just this.

Jasmine wasn’t doing well in the Jacobs family, and she certainly wouldn’t kick her while she’s down, but she’s no saint and can’t return kindness for grievances.

Elara glanced at Mason and added, "And have you got her agreement for me to take care of her? That child has ambition; honestly, I can’t handle it."

Finishing her sentence, she pulled Zion over, ready to leave.

Mason hurriedly called out to her, "Wait."

Elara turned back, "Anything else?"

Mason nodded, "Something else."

He wasn’t really here for Jasmine; she was just a last-minute excuse.

He actually had no specific reason, even he didn’t know why he came here.

But seeing her in the middle of the night, his body instinctively refused to accept her leaving.

"What else?" Elara asked.

Mason thought about it and said, "I haven’t finished talking about Jasmine. If you’re willing to care for her, I can arrange a luxury villa for you, provide a car and servants, you just have to take care of her meals."

After saying so, he gave Zion a glance, seemingly afraid he would object, and added, "You could bring a family member along if you want to bring him; that’s okay."

Elara smiled slightly, "Mr. Jacobs, why don’t you understand? I won’t take care of Jasmine. Our ties are already over, and there’s no need for you to ask me. Cecilia is the one who adopted her; it’s only right that she takes responsibility."

Mason said with difficulty, "Cecilia is pregnant, it’s inconvenient for her."

Elara nodded, "I see; well, I’m busy with work, it’s inconvenient for me too."

"What are you busy with? How much can you earn with that ridiculous job of yours? Forget it," Mason’s tone was undisguisedly contemptuous, "Working tirelessly for a month doesn’t even compare to what I used to give you as pocket change. You might as well take this job; I can give you an extra hundred thousand a month."

Elara curled her lips; her only virtue was a spirit that refused to bow to poverty or be swayed by power.

"Even if you gave me a million, I wouldn’t take care of her. I have my own life, people I want to care for. You should leave."

Elara didn’t linger any longer, walking back to the community with Zion.

After walking a bit, Zion remarked, "You’re not worried about Jasmine? What he said seemed quite alarming."

Elara curled her lips, "It’s not for me to worry about."

The previous sadness had passed, and she now objectively viewed the matter. Objectively enough to know that once she agreed, she would become a thorn in the side of both Kylie and Cecilia. She wasn’t interested in stirring up that kind of trouble again.

Zion casually said, "Mason seems to be appearing in front of us more frequently recently; I wonder what he’s up to. Be careful not to be deceived by him."

Seeing Elara nod, he discreetly breathed a sigh of relief.

As they walked, Elara hesitated and asked, "When I was talking to Mason earlier, did you smell... anything?"

Zion asked in confusion, "What smell?"

He was standing far away and hadn’t caught any scent.

Elara shook her head, "I’m not sure, seemed like a smell of blood, I must have been mistaken."

The smell of blood?

Zion’s expression suddenly changed slightly.