From Lily Bennett’s perspective, she could only see his rough movements and the creaking, swaying chair.

After finishing all this, he turned around and walked toward her.

Lily Bennett’s mind was a bit muddled. What was he doing? Was he avenging her, or just taking the opportunity to vent his pent-up urge to kill?

The footsteps stopped.

Eric Carter stood in front of her, seemingly examining her swollen, purplish palm.

He was clearly not very old, frighteningly thin, yet his frame was tall and broad, completely blocking out the light from outside the tent.

The sound of breathing started above her.

Heavy, muffled, echoing inside the white mask.

There was always this kind of breathing in horror movies—slow and powerful, symbolizing the beast within the killer, the death knell gradually closing in on the victim.

But he didn’t intend to kill her; he even wanted to protect her.

Why?

Lily Bennett listened to his breathing, not daring to move, her whole body stiff as a statue from head to toe.

His gaze was even more tangible than his breath, slowly moving over her palm like a precise ruler, measuring the length of the wound, assessing its depth.

Time ticked by, second after second.

Lily Bennett’s heart pounded wildly, her whole body tingling under his stare.

After dozens of seconds, he seemed to finish his assessment, turned around, and grabbed Nanny by the collar, dragging both her and the chair to the bedside.

Lily Bennett couldn’t see the details, only imagine based on the sounds and smells—breathing, footsteps, the rustle of fabric, muffled pleas, and the increasingly strong stench of sweat and urine.

Suddenly, there was a bang, and the thick smell of blood spread through the air.

Lily Bennett jumped in fright, unable to keep up the act any longer, opened her eyes, and sat up.

What she saw was even more terrifying than she had imagined.

Eric Carter stood in front of her, his back to her, pinning Nanny down like livestock in a slaughterhouse, stabbing a dagger mercilessly into her palm.

When he saw her wake up, he turned to look at her. Behind the white mask, his eyes still held a trace of chilling hostility.

Nanny, on the other hand, looked at her like a savior, desperately shaking the chair for help.

For a moment, the only sound in the tent was the creaking of the chair joints.

At the same time, Eric Carter pulled out the dagger, flicked the blood off it indifferently, and seemed ready to leave.

For some reason, he was certain she would save Nanny, rather than thank him for his “an eye for an eye” act.

…Lily Bennett really didn’t want to thank him.

This wasn’t a reasonable act of revenge.

It might have felt good today, but what about tomorrow?

Who would clean up the mess?

He had stabbed such a big bloody hole in Nanny’s hand; tomorrow she’d have to cover it up with a hundred lies.

Yet she had to admit, his actions gave her a strange, burning sense of security.

It was something she hadn’t felt since coming to this world.

Ever since she arrived here, she’d been anxious and uneasy, always forcing herself to stay calm, to suppress emotions she shouldn’t have—fear, tension, anger.

Even when whipped with a cane, her first reaction was to stay calm and not fight back. No one would help her. She was alone in this world, couldn’t let anger cloud her mind, had to stay clear-headed at all times.

But that didn’t mean she hadn’t felt angry or wanted revenge at the time.

True, Eric Carter’s act of revenge was highly inappropriate and had caused her a lot of trouble.

But today, she had suppressed too many emotions; there was no need to keep suppressing them.

Tomorrow’s problems could wait until tomorrow.

With that thought, Lily Bennett ignored Nanny’s pleading expression, lifted the blanket, looked up at Eric Carter, and said sincerely:

“…I’m tired. Can you stay and sleep with me for a while?”

Chapter 7

Lily Bennett’s expression was very serious, not joking at all.

She really was tired and wanted to sleep with Eric Carter for a while, and deal with the big trouble of Nanny after she woke up.

Of course, by “sleep,” she meant just sleeping, nothing else.

She had no thoughts about Eric Carter—even though she knew that in the nineteenth century, people didn’t live long, and men of his age could already marry and have children with their parents as witnesses, in her eyes, he was still just a high school boy.

If he were in the modern world, he’d probably be in his first or second year of high school—he was so smart, maybe he’d even skipped grades and gone to college.

Thinking this way, her fear suddenly faded quite a bit.

But Eric Carter thought she was mocking him.

Before she even finished speaking, he had already stabbed his dagger into the pillow beside her, staring down at her coldly.

He had been mocked like this too many times and hated such “jokes.”

Inside the white mask, his breathing suddenly grew heavier.

Lily Bennett could almost imagine the angry, burning breath swelling and pooling inside the mask, finally condensing into droplets that slowly dripped down.

She swallowed, her throat tightening a little. On the surface she looked calm, but in reality, she was almost losing control of her bladder like Nanny.

If they got to know each other better in the future and could communicate normally, she would definitely make him break the habit of waving that dagger around.

“…You misunderstood me,” she said with difficulty. “I really do hope you’ll stay and sleep with me for a while.”

The air seemed to freeze.

Eric Carter stared at her coldly.