hapter 214 The Fallen Photographs
Only three photographs had slipped to the floor.
Each picture showed the same man.
In two, he wore a crisp military uniform; in the third, he was stripped to the waist, muscles taut as he pushed through a workout.
Marley narrowed her eyes, focusing on the jagged scar carved across his shoulder.
Why does that scar look so familiar? Where have I seen it before?
Quinn drove Julius straight to the hospital.
After the doctor injected a sedative, Julius finally settled down.
The moment Fabian learned his boss had been admitted, he ignored his own injuries and hurried over.
Quinn said, “Fabian, what are you doing here?” When assassins had targeted Julius earlier, Fabian had been caught in the crossfire, so he was supposed to be resting.
“I’m fine,” Fabian answered anxiously, “but why was Mr. Whitethorn rushed to the hospital so suddenly?”
“A perfume scent sent him spiraling,” Quinn explained, “The doctor sedated him; once he wakes, he should be all right.”
“Perfume?” Fabian blanched. “You mean that perfume?”
Quinn asked, “The one his mother wore before she died?”
Fabian stared at her. “You know about that?”
Quinn relayed everything she had forced out of Marley.
Fabian’s expression turned grim. “I can’t believe Marley dared set Mr. Whitethorn up. Only a handful of people know that fragrance unhinges him–and the formula was destroyed when the Whitethorns bought the company.”
“Then please look into how Marley got her hands on it,” Quinn said.
“Of course,” Fabian agreed.
Quinn glanced at Julius lying on the bed. “Whenever he sniffed that perfume before, did he try to kill whoever was nearby?”
Fabian blinked, then shook his head. “No. After his mother died, whenever he caught that scent, he became terrified–he’d clutch the nearest person and sometimes hurt himself, but that was when he was still a kid.”
Quinn frowned; that was completely different from what she had seen today.
Has his reaction changed simply because he’s grown older? Or is something else at work?
From Fabian, she learned that three years after his mother’s death, Julius had caught the scent by chance
and lost control.
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At first, they thought it a coincidence, but every subsequent encounter with the fragrance ended the same
way.
A psychologist diagnosed trauma, yet half a year of therapy yielded no progress.
Eventually, the Whitethorns bought the perfume company and destroyed the formula.
Yet, Marley somehow possessed a bottle.
Quinn now guessed why Marley had sprayed it.
Marley herself probably never imagined that instead of clinging to her, Julius would wrap his hands. around her throat.
Night fell. Julius had been sleeping more than six hours on the sedative; the doctor said he might wake in another two or three hours. Quinn checked the time.
Just as she decided to wash up, Julius moaned from the bed, “Don’t… don’t leave me… please… don’t leave me…”
Quinn froze mid–step and looked back at him.
His
eyes remained closed, yet his brows knotted and his head tossed as though he were trapped in a nightmare.
Quinn approached the bedside and noticed a sheen of sweat on his face.
She reached to wipe his forehead, but the moment her hand hovered above him, his eyes flew on her with startling clarity.
Quinn gasped, and his fingers clamped around her wrist.
The room tilted; in an instant, he had flipped her onto the bed beneath him.
Knees braced on either side of her hips, he pinned both her wrists to the mattress.
open, fixing
Quinn started to push him away, then realized his gaze, though aimed at her, had no focus, and his breathing was ragged.
Even the fingers locked around her wrists were trembling.
It felt as though he were gripped by some nameless terror.
What is he so afraid of?
“Don’t leave me… it’s so dark, I’m… scared. Blood… so much blood…”
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