The Heiress’s Return: From Zen to Zenith

Chapter 863: 424 Abyss_3 Chapter 863: 424 Abyss_3 –
The man pushed open the door to the private room, furrowing his brow instinctively.

The overpowering smell of alcohol, combined with the blaring music, assaulted the senses, making the eardrums throb painfully.

“You’re late, punish yourself with three drinks.”
Fair, slender hands held a rugged beer bottle, filling three large glasses and pushing them across the table.

The woman lying on the sofa was in a low-cut red dress, her voluptuous figure on full display.

Her curly hair, wild like seaweed, framed a stunning, petite face.

The woman’s seductive eyes were veiled yet revealing, a sight to make hearts race.

The man strode in and picked up a glass, chugging down the beer as his Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably.

The woman’s refined eyebrows twitched slightly as she clapped lightly: “You’re still as captivating as ever.

You never fail to win hearts.”
Despite smiling, her eyes held not an ounce of mirth.

Her breathtaking face was as cold as steel.

With a “thud”, the man returned the glass to the table, the sound promptly drowned out by the deafening music.

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The man looked at the woman sprawled on the sofa, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why aren’t you acting anymore?”
The woman flicked her long hair, sighing deeply, “No matter how much this monkey tries, she can’t escape the palm of your Buddha’s hand.

Why bother pretending?”
She made a grand gesture with her hand, “Tonight, drinks are on me.

Have at it.”
The man walked to the control panel and turned off the music.

The room was instantly silent.

Refreshingly quiet.

The woman picked up a drink, swirling it gently in her hand.

The lights were refracting beautifully in the amber liquid, mystifying her gaze.

“Callista, are you well in heaven?

Pay me a visit in my dreams, tell me who your killer is so I can avenge you.”
The man’s silhouette stiffened.

“As Callista’s former master, don’t you want to avenge her?” There was a coldness in the woman’s eyes.

The man remained silent.

The woman scoffed, “A few days ago, I met a woman who looks strikingly similar to Callista.

It even seemed like she had surgery to resemble Callista.

Isn’t it strange?”
Night Hawk slowly turned around, “What are you getting at?”
“I kept investigating and found out something amusing.

This woman, who looks like Callista, is the mistress of the Arias from Lostswa.

To make things even more uncanny, Ms.

Aria went missing at the age of four and wasn’t found until thirteen years later, coinciding with the time of Callista’s mishap.

Their ages match too.

With so many coincidences, do you think they’re still coincidences?”
Finishing her speech, she hurled the glass at the man, “Night Hawk, you not only caused Callista’s death but also had someone replace her background.

Are you even human?

How could you justify your actions to Callista?”
She had long since become suspicious of Vanessa Aria’s identity; there were simply too many loose ends that resulted from further investigation.

The other party thought that nobody on Earth had seen Callista’s real face so none could expose them.

The glass shattered at the man’s feet, splashing the man’s pant leg.

The man calmly turned around, his eyes dark as an abyss, deep and mysterious, emanating an icy chill.

Kelly Martinez flinched involuntarily, a natural physiological reaction.

By the time she realized her response, her face had turned cold, and she quickly tilted her chin up to camouflage her feelings.

“You fooled her, killed her, and took away the family that she held dearest to her.

You always knew that Callista dreamed of finding her blood relatives.

How could you hurt her so much when you were the one who brought her up?”
As Kelly Martinez spoke, tears welled in her eyes, “My poor Callista…

you died without ever knowing that you weren’t an orphan.

You had parents, a brother…

you could have been so happy.”
Although you were a dignified princess, you fell from grace and died a death unbefitting your stature, only leaving behind a nameless obituary.

You were gentle and beautiful, graceful and talented, yet the world remained oblivious, and all you left were slanders and scorn.

All this injustice was triggered by the man standing in front of you.

The very man you revered and adored.

He was the one who pushed you into the abyss of no return.

The man’s lips moved slightly; his raspy voice sounded like he was forcing it out of his chest.

His dark, rugged pain permeated every syllable.

He said, “It’s my debt to her.”
“You owe her so much that you won’t able to repay it in your lifetime.”
The wind brushed past the curtain, the chill piercing to the bone.

The wind tossed the pages in front of him, turning over a page, like ripping open a blood-soaked wound from the past.

A young girl looked out the window at the winter sun, a strangely unaffected expression on her face, as if she were listening to an inconsequential piece of history from an old friend.

The mobile phone on the side was silently set on a call screen, the seconds slipping away silently.