Amid the music, a figure appeared before me:
"Miss Ouyang, may I have this dance?"
My thoughts were pulled back to the present. My eyes refocused, and I saw that it was Claude extending his hand to me.
I glanced at his fingers—long and clean—then pursed my lips and shook my head, though my smile didn't fade.
He deliberately put on a look of disappointment and sat down beside me:
"Are you sure? Maybe I'd be like my brainless sister, willing to spend five million silver dollars on a single dance."
I couldn't help but laugh even harder. I looked at him—what kind of brother would joke about his own sister like that?
I shook my head. "You wouldn't."
He and I looked in the same direction. "Miss Ouyang, why did you choose the Young General?"
I didn't know either. I looked at him and asked in return, "Why did Mr. Chase come here to help?"
He smiled and glanced at me, answering with mock seriousness: "I'm merely here to contribute to a charitable cause—and incidentally, to see just how many heads and arms the person my sister gnashes her teeth over actually possesses."
At this, I nearly died laughing.
But my laughter made me turn my head, and I caught sight of several military vehicles parked at the street corner...
The all-too-familiar figure was leaning against the car, his forearm resting on the window. His posture seemed casual, but his gaze was fixed directly on us.
I had no idea how long he'd been there...
Even across the street, I could feel his displeasure and the oppressive aura radiating from him.
A surge of panic rose in me unbidden. I instinctively stood up, wanting to walk over to him.
But he acted as though he hadn't seen me. He made a gesture, and three cars began heading toward the house where the music was playing.
The cars drove unhurriedly into the courtyard of that house.
Before long, the warm music stopped, replaced by a rain of gunfire—dense and relentless.
Claude, from the moment I stood, had followed my gaze and spotted Victor's convoy. He asked in confusion, "Why is the Young General here?"
Shortly after he spoke, the gunfire erupted.
There was no need to guess the purpose of the Young General's visit. He had come for lives.
And the gunfire was too close, too sudden. The children woke in alarm, rushing from their bedrooms, each one nervously clutching at my and Claude's clothes for some thread of safety.
I kept reassuring them, "Don't be afraid. It's the Young General fighting bad people."
The gunfire lasted only briefly—one side overwhelmingly crushed the other.
That house, which had been playing music just moments ago, was transformed into a lifeless tomb under such heavy fire.
Then came a long silence.
The sky darkened gradually. The cars drove out of the courtyard.
Only the one carrying Victor pulled to a stop.
He stepped out, striding over with wide steps, his expression even darker in the fading light:
"I heard Mr. Claude has been pouring his heart into building the Benevolence Institute these past days."
He gave Claude a cool glance. The latter nodded in greeting:
"It's the least we can do. The young General protects Sungate's peace—we are merely doing our small part."
Claude was courteous and formal.
Not a single word about the five minutes of gunfire just now.
Victor walked up to me. The children immediately crowded behind me—even though I had told them many stories of the Young General Victor's bravery and justice, whenever he appeared with a dark face, they were still terrified of him.
He didn't seem to care how others saw him. He simply took my hand, his palm pressing firmly. "It's late. Let's go home."
I was practically dragged into the car.
I looked back. Claude was surrounded by uneasy children, but he maintained his smile, giving me a look that said, "I'm here at the Institute. Don't worry."
So I put my heart at ease and went home with Victor.
Oliver's operation had reached its conclusion.
Back home, I learned that Grace was pregnant. Though the pregnancy was still unstable, the most dangerous period had passed.
Oliver's joy went without saying. The General's Estate had a rare moment of relaxed happiness.
Victor had brought me home with a heavy atmosphere about him. Everyone still didn't know what had set the young master off this time.
It wasn't until Grace asked about the Institute: "Rose, I haven't had a chance to ask—did the charity launch go smoothly today?"
I smiled and answered, "It went well. We received plenty of winter clothes and books for all age groups. From now on, students from Mingde School will come on weekends as volunteers. We even got two more children today—Mrs. Garrett's servant found them under a bridge. I think more will come, and we really should take Claude's advice about setting up a foundation..."
Victor cut me off. "Going forward, someone else will handle the Institute's affairs."
"Why?" Grace and I asked almost in unison.
"I think Mr. Chase is well-suited for this. That pretty boy can't carry a gun or stand the sight of blood—might as well let him do some logistics in the rear, crunch numbers, bring in some sponsorship."
He leaned back in his chair, seemingly casual, but I heard the underlying meaning behind his mild tone.
Grace didn't catch it. She said, "We can't just dump everything we started on someone else."
"Then find someone else. In any case, Rose is not allowed to go out anymore."
He raised his eyes, scanning everyone, then finally landed his gaze on me.
Grace and Oliver exchanged a look, starting to read between the lines.
The phrase "not allowed to go out anymore" instantly drained all my patience. I said, "I'm full," set down my chopsticks, and got up to go back to my room.
Victor tried to grab me, but Grace held him back. She was worried we'd start fighting, and pulled on him, telling him to talk nicely.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I went to my room and packed a simple bag.
He wasn't going to restrict my freedom again. Now I had somewhere else to go—the Institute.
If I kept humoring and pleasing him, he'd stop treating me like an independent person.
Now he could casually restrict my movements, and if this continued, I would truly become a plant—rooted in place, without freedom of thought, a mindless thing.
It wasn't long before Victor came to my door. I had already locked it.
"Open up."
His voice was low and rough, with little patience left.
He knocked three more times without saying another word, then simply forced the lock open with his hand.
The door flew open with a bang. The brass doorhandle hung pitifully askew on the redwood door.
His cold eyes found me, standing there startled with my bag in hand. "Where are you going?"
I had meant to tell him, but his violent entry frightened me. I froze, then belatedly realized how terrible his attitude was.
So I didn't answer. I walked straight past him toward the door, but he grabbed my wrist.
"Where are you going?"
He ground out the question through clenched teeth.
"To the Institute. I'm going to live there from now on."
"Why?"
"That's my home now. Young General, don't stop someone from going home."
I tried to shake my wrist free, but he only gripped tighter, his temples visibly pulsing with rage.
"Do you know what you're saying? Don't you remember what you said before!"
I had said I wanted to spend my life with him.
But the lifetime I wanted wasn't to become a decorative plant at the General's Estate.
"Yes, I said I want to spend my life with you. In this life, you have your great matters to attend to, and I have my own small things to do. A lifetime is long—must I stay home when you're not around? I'm a person, not a thing. How can you just order me to stay inside?"
Why could he decide whether I went out or not?
And I was expected to obey unconditionally.
He seemed not to have considered this perspective either.
As though by taking over everything in my life, my freedom was implicitly included.
The pressure of his palm loosened a little, and his voice softened. "Rose, I'm not trying to restrict you. I just wanted..."
His throat tightened. He realized there wasn't much room to explain, because his approach truly had been tyrannical. His fire dimmed, and he pulled me into his arms, murmuring—wounded, terrifying—words:
"When I saw you smile at him, I just wanted to shoot him dead."
He made no attempt to hide his darkness.
Because I smiled at Claude, he had wanted to shoot him.
It was just a passing thought, but he had just wiped out a room full of people. If he had come out and shot Claude on the spot, then framed it as an accomplice or a stray bullet—troublesome, perhaps, but certainly not impossible for someone like Victor.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine.
I had once asked Victor what a real battlefield was like.
He told me it was nothing like the grandeur I imagined—there were plenty of inglorious deaths from stray bullets or friendly fire.
Human life was no longer something precious in his eyes.
And now, he already knew that his supposed fate was to be blown up and killed in battle within two years.
His extreme darkness and cruelty were understandable.
My hands trembled as I held him back. "So you don't want to kill him anymore, right?"