A name spoken in such a hazy state of consciousness spoke volumes about its bearer’s significance in his heart.

Rhea had pieced together Marcus’ intentions the moment he gravitated towards the elevator.

His room here was no secret to her; she had visited it in the past.

She arrived at the other end of the corridor via a separate elevator, counting her lucky stars.

Fate smiled upon her again as she encountered a cleaning lady nearby. Recognizing her as Marcus’ friend, the cleaning lady, unsuspecting of Rhea’s intentions, permitted her entry to retrieve some files for Marcus before proceeding with her own chores.

“Why have you fallen silent?”

like a refreshing oasis in the scorching desert of his

clinging to the last vestiges of rationality. He was aware that

hold of him; his hand was moving of its own accord, seeking out

but a creeping sense of discrepancy began to nag at him. Millie’s nose was more pronounced, and her chin was less pointed

pierced his heart, prompting him to gather his wits and bellow, “Who

taken aback but bit her tongue, choosing

identity and shatter her

some semblance of reason? Shouldn’t he have succumbed to his urges

in a vice-like grip as Marcus thundered,

the excruciating pain, unable to fathom how Marcus, under the influence of the drug, possessed such remarkable strength. Her chin throbbed relentlessly, as

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