Chapter 6

Andrew sauntered inside and said unhurriedly, "No cleaners dare set foot here. Ms. Lynn, can you tidy this place up?"

Andrew kept his distance from the phone, with sunglasses and a mask covering most of his face. Viewers watching the livestream could barely pick out his voice or recognize who he was.

Snippets of the conversation drifted into the phone, and the audience simply took him for a potential buyer looking at the property.

Andrew picked a clean spot on the sofa, sat down, and watched me with an expectant look. "Go ahead."

Probably no one on earth knew my likes and dislikes as well as he did.

Naturally, no one understood better how to push me to the brink of pain.

For example, Andrew knew I hated spilled water on the floor and was terrified of bloodstains.

It was because my younger brother burned my arm with boiling water when we were kids.

That scalding water had mixed with blood and run across the ground, leaving me haunted to this day.

Likewise, Andrew knew I panicked in tight, closed spaces and feared dark, enclosed rooms.

When I was eight, I was taking a bath, and my little brother bolted the door from the outside before flipping off the power switch.

Then he slipped a snake in through the gap under the door.

I caught a blurry glimpse of it in the dimness and heard its faint, creepy rustling sounds.

Every little noise gnawed at my frayed nerves, slow and agonizing.

That nightmare tormented me the entire night. I wondered how long it would take to get over the trauma from childhood.

Later, with Andrew by my side, I went through countless therapists. Then I gradually realized that some inner hurts could never be fixed, no matter how many years passed.

I cleaned up the mess scattered across the living room, washed out the mop, and removed the blood and water stains from both the living room and dining area.

My hands were shaking violently, but Emily's words echoed in my mind. 'Mom, I'm waiting for you to come back.'

That line, repeating endlessly, kept those dark memories from pushing their way into my head.

I set the fallen chairs upright, wiped down the dining table, and opened the windows to air out the bloody smell.

Andrew watched me, his expectant smile gradually twisted into impatience and disgust.

He didn't get to see the panic and fear he wanted from me, or the pleading and apologies he was hoping for.

His plan had fallen flat, and it soured his mood.

The living room was finally spotless. Even the insults in the livestream chat were losing steam, like everyone was getting bored.

Andrew fixed me with a cold, intense stare. After a long pause, he said slowly, "How about we try something else?"

I set aside the rag and sat down on the sofa. Then I looked at Andrew, my voice calm. "What?"

Andrew pulled out a document and set it down on the coffee table in front of him.

He said unhurriedly, "Do you know where the person who was killed back then died in this house?"

I stared at him, waiting quietly for him to go on.

Andrew was right there within reach. After five years apart, he felt familiar yet strange to me.

I suddenly wondered how far he was willing to go against me.

We'd shared years together, bound by genuine affection, but all of it tangled up with the bitter hatred he carried from our breakup.

There was a long silence.

Finally, Andrew added, "That bathroom."

I followed his gaze, glancing over my shoulder at the place a few steps away.

The bathroom door was closed, and the lights were off.

I couldn't see a thing inside, but I could picture the pitch-black space within, heavy with stifling stillness.

In that instant, I suddenly got what Andrew was trying to pull.

That boy of eleven had once pulled me out of my nightmare.

For over a decade, Andrew had been by my side through doctor's visits and counseling, yet those efforts never managed to free me from that darkness of my childhood.

No one else knew better what scared me the most.

He slid the papers casually toward me and said, "Spend ten minutes inside, and I'll buy this place.

"According to the contract you signed with Ethan, you'll get a five percent commission. That's about 300 thousand dollars, right?"

The document had everything he mentioned written out. At the bottom was the signature I knew so well: [Andrew Lane].