Chapter 2: He picked her out

Hardly had his voice faded away, Heloise's hand was grabbed, and the electronic lock ring on her slender wrist was revealed.

Inside the electronic lock, there was the identity information of all so-called psychotic people when they were sent to this slum.

In order to be accepted by the slum, the Brook’s had Heloise’s identity forged as a mentally ill and homeless individual without the ability to take care of themselves.

Someone scanned with his cellular phone and reported, “Mr. Wordsworth, it's a psychotic definitely.”

“Any detail?”

“She was sent over here three years ago, 21 years old now, without specific identification information. She should be a homeless woman diagnosed with schizophrenia.”

“21 years old.”

The man repeated the number with a gloomy and contemptuous tone, “This woman who should have been in the slum since birth was not discovered and sent over till the age of 18?”

“……”

What does it mean to be in the slum from birth? What nonsense is it!

Heloise lowered her head and continued to pretend that she was a person with mental diseases.

The leather shoes walked step by step in front of her, and the straight lines of the pants began to bend and deform. The man squatted down before her, and the corner of the dark coat swept the yellow leaves on the ground.

In the next second, her chin was tightly pinched and lifted.

Heloise's pain was so intense that she had to lift her eyes and bumped them into a pair of gloomy and cold eyes, causing her breathing to stagnate.

The man before her eyes looked just 27 or 28 years old, with a handsome appearance that would scourge the nation and people, below his sharp and short hair. His skin was charming, and his outline was as sharp and deep as carving. Under his raised eyebrows, he had a pair of narrow and long eyes, with a single eyelid at the eye socket, an upturned tail, and a deep groove that was extremely pretty and coquettish.

He compressed the lips, which gave off a hint of coldness just by looking at them.

He stared at her with a scrutinizing gaze and looked down upon her with pride.

Heloise saw her expressionless self in his eyes. Staying in the mountain for too long had already turned her into a facial paralysis, with all her emotions roaring in the body and never appearing on the face.

The gaze at each other lasted for two minutes.

Quite good! People in the entire PHOENIXFELL Country hardly dare to stare at him for so long without a fear.

The girl had an extremely pure face, with injuries, probably scraped by the branches or something. The deep wounds added some innocent and bloodthirsty beauty to her, which made him feel heartbroken.

Being pinched by him like this, she didn't make any noise or get sick, then a hint of interest flashed across the dark eyes of Reginald.

Interesting！

The guards with guns beside him stood quietly by, and those psychotics who occasionally rushed up were all dealt with, with a single shot, without mercy.

Suddenly, Reginald patted her in the face and stood up, “She is the one!”

He who stood by and respectfully handed over a clean towel to Reginald, "Mr. Wordsworth, there's no longer need to choose? There are so many mental patients here in the slum.”

“Unnecessary.”

Reginald answered, taking the towel and slowly wiped the pair of slender hands, elegantly as if wiping an artistic work.

Then, he casually threw the towel onto the ground and turned to leave.

Everyone followed at once.

Heloise was also pulled up from the ground and walked forward, one left and one right seizing her on both sides by the arms.

She kept quiet, awared that any struggle would be futile under so many guns.

She heard the person on the right curiously asked, “Ben, why does Mr. Wordsworth have to come here to the slum to pick a psychotic back home?”

The young man, known as Ben, walked ahead and smiled at him, saying, “How dare you inquire anything about Mr. Wordsworth? You’re gonna die.”

Ben’s words seemed an understatement.

The questioner immediately silenced and dared not say any word more, as if the words “Mr. Wordsworth” were a deadly curse.

Mr. Wordsworth?

What kind of big shot is this?

Pick her back home?

So, in another word, instead of killing her, can she leave this mountain alive?

Everyone moved quietly forward, and no one noticed the twinkle of rebirth in the eyes of the girl who was taken away.