Moon-Cursed Princess by Mark Twain 3
Chapter 3
I opened my mouth and spat a mouthful of blood toward the sound of the voice.
“What’s the point of living like this? If you’ve got guts, just kill me!”
Completely enraged, the kidnapper lost all reason. He stabbed me twice. Blood gushed out instantly.
It seemed fate had a cruel mercy. The blade had pierced a major artery of mine.
Finally, I was “free”.
A hostage who couldn’t bring a ransom was just trash. So, I was tossed aside like a rag, my body growing colder.
I knew it. I was finally about to give Bryant what he wanted—I was going to die.
But if Bryant found out I died, would he be overjoyed? After all, this was what he wished for day and night.
Would he feel even a twinge of pain? A shred of regret? Probably not.
But… It didn’t matter anymore.
I closed my eyes in despair. I didn’t know how long it had passed.
Unbelievably, I opened my eyes again.
Now, I was sitting upright at the dining table, exactly where I’d left it.
0.00%
10.17
I lifted my hand-soft, slender, nails perfectly manicured and glossy.
I was confused. Was all that just now merely a bad nap?
But the pain felt so real, the hatred so intense.
I tried to push myself up to stand, but my hands passed right through the tabletop.
At this time, Bryant returned from outside, bringing a chill with him.
He acted as if I weren’t there, sitting directly across from my empty seat. He frowned slightly at the full table, clearly annoyed.
“Why isn’t this cleaned up? Leaving it out for the New Year?” he snapped.
“Earlier this evening, Mrs. Whitney prepared the meal, hoping to wait for you…” Seeing Bryant’s dark expression, the housekeeper swallowed the rest of her sentence.
“Wait for what? For me to come back? I’m here now, and where is she? Playing this kidnapping game to threaten me. She thinks it’s fun?”
I knew Bryant. This was the sign before his temper truly exploded.
Not wanting to make things hard for the housekeeper, I reached to clear the dishes in front of me. But my hand passed right through the plates.
What was going on?
I hurried over to the housekeeper, wanting to stop her, but my grasp met only air.
22.70%
1017
I couldn’t help but twist my lips into a mocking smile.
So… I’m dead.
I really died in that kidnapping “game” he mentioned.
“I… I’ll go look for Mrs. Whitney right away…”
The housekeeper didn’t know I was dead. She searched the villa from top to bottom, front to back. But she found nothing.
She returned to the living room, facing Bryant, her legs trembling badly.
“M-Mrs. Whitney isn’t home. I don’t know where she went. She sent all of us away this evening. She… She said she wanted some quiet…”
Hearing this, Bryant lazily lifted his eyes. “Since when does she call the shots in this house?
“Or, do none of you want your jobs anymore?”
The housekeeper bowed her head, not daring to make another sound.
I watched him with deep sorrow. When did things between us come to this? We weren’t always like this…
I met Bryant in my final year of university. He was leaning pale against a roadside tree, struggling to breathe.
He grabbed the hem of my pants as I rushed to class. “Help.”
I was a medical student, so I recognized his asthma attack immediately.
Saving lives was our duty. Without hesitation, I helped him and took him back to my place.
Back then, I lived with an old lady, Suzan Morrison. To make ends meet while studying, I rented a tiny place near campus.
During the days Bryant stayed, I could tell his family was well-off.
He couldn’t cook at all, didn’t even know what color eggs were used to make fried eggs.
Later, Suzan passed away. With tears in my eyes, I told Bryant, “I don’t have a home anymore.”
But he took my hand and said, “Marjorie, wherever I am, that’s your home.”
And now, after my death, he said, “Since when does she call the shots in this house?”
Bryant asked the housekeeper with a frown, “When does she usually come back?”
The housekeeper kept her head down, timid. “Mrs. Whitney never stays out all night.”
Bryant scoffed, saying, “Tell her to stop acting. No matter what game she’s playing, I will divorce her.”
With that, he stood up and slammed the door on his way out.
Joseph King is an editor and storyteller who ensures every chapter is clear, polished, and engaging for readers.
Join Our WhatsApp Channel For Fast Update Or More Novels: 
Join Our WhatsApp Channel For Fast Update Or More Novels: