Sehir was somewhat surprised and glanced back at Isri: "Not black tea today?"
“Young Master didn’t get enough rest yesterday.” Isri spoke softly, and one could easily be misled if one wasn’t paying attention.
Following Isri's words, Sehir drank several mouthfuls of milk, but barely ate any of the pasta on his plate.
“I’m going to the cellar, you don’t need to come with me.” Cecil straightened his collar, his deep blue eyes unfathomable, completely lacking the playfulness of a young master.
Isri's expression faltered slightly, but he didn't stop him after all, and his face still held its usual smile: "I understand, young master."
Chapter Eight
As Isri was putting the shawl back on Sehir, he suddenly remembered something and handed Sehir a thick blanket.
“Young master, don’t give him your shawl, or I’ll be in a lot of trouble.” Isri suddenly bent down and whispered in Cesil’s ear.
This caused Sesil to shudder slightly. He quickly took a few steps forward, turned back to glare at Isri, and said in a tone like a child throwing a tantrum, "I know!"
In a few quick steps, Sehir ran out of Isri's sight.
Immediately, the smile on Isri's face vanished, and the moonlight shone on his amber-gold eyes, radiating a dangerous aura from within.
After a long pause, Isri opened his lips slightly and said in a low voice, "Young Master, please don't let me smell any other scent on you."
Sehir felt a chill run down his spine and shivered as he stood at the cellar entrance. He turned to look at the tightly closed door in the distance, as if an eye was watching him intently.
After a few seconds, Cecil opened the cellar door and went inside. Philip was already asleep.
Looking at the blanket in his hand, realizing that holding it wasn't a solution, Cecil stuffed it into the gap in the cage.
This action startled Philip, who was still sleeping. Philip sat up abruptly, his pupils contracting sharply.
One eye had two black pupils, while the other was pitch black, unfathomably dark, like a black hole. Inevitably, Cecil frowned as he sat down on the stool.
"Why are you here?" Philip asked, glancing around Cecil with his eyes.
“He’s not here, don’t bother looking.” Cecil’s words brought Philip back to reality.
Instantly, Philip seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, leaning weakly against the cage with his back to Cecil: "Your dog is terrible, aren't you going to control it?"
Dog? Sehir suddenly looked puzzled, but then a slight smile appeared on his lips. He hadn't really thought of using the word "dog" to refer to Isri.
“Control? He’s quite obedient.” Cecil leaned back in his chair with interest, the water in his eyes flickering in the candlelight, looking pitiful, amused, and even provocative.
Philip turned around abruptly and looked at Cecil, trying to discern any change in Cecil's expression, but to no avail.
“Didn’t you say you were going to let me go?” Philip gripped the cage and looked at Cecil.
“I said I would let you go, but I didn’t say I would let you go.” Cecil’s voice remained calm and even.
Philip had barely attended school, so it took him a lot of effort to understand Cecil's words. After thinking for a long time, he still looked at Cecil with a puzzled expression.
Seeing that Philip couldn't understand the explanation, Cecil gave a straightforward and blunt response: "I'm pampered and can't do this kind of rough work."
Philip understood now. In other words, he could only wait for the butler to untie him; the young master would never do it himself!
In the dim light, Philip's eyes flashed with disdain, but it vanished in an instant, while in his heart he cursed Cecil.
After a pause, Cecil raised an eyebrow slightly, and a faint voice echoed from the empty cellar: "You want to kill your father?"
The voice was clear and loud, yet tinged with a sense of coldness. Instantly, Philip broke out in a cold sweat, his throat tightened, and he couldn't speak. His eyes glanced at Cecil in a half-hearted manner.
"Did I hit the nail on the head?"
Philip swallowed hard, his eyes instantly filled with fear—not fear of Cecil, but a fear that emanated from within, as if he were afraid of someone ten miles away.
Sehir caught this: "I can help you."
"I don't believe it!" Philip blurted out, a hint of disdain in his eyes.
Cecil's tone remained unchanged, even more calm: "If you're afraid, why help him?"
Philip, like a trapped beast, half-heartedly echoed Cecil, "If I don't help him, he'll kill me."
Cecil looked at Philip, rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his eyes were filled with pity and sympathy.
He squatted down next to Philip.
“Don’t be afraid, I’m here. Tell me what happened, and I can save you.” Cecil’s voice was soft and gentle, and Philip finally stopped trembling.
Philip looked up at Cecil, then suddenly grabbed Cecil's shawl and draped it over his own arms a few times.
For a moment, Cecil stared intently at the shawl that had been snatched away, a nameless fear rising within him, but it was quickly suppressed.
“Speak, I’m listening,” Sehir said again.
Philip leaned against the railing, his young, sharp voice sounding like it was being polished on glass, making Cecil's ears ache.
“My dad used to be very good to my mom, but everything changed after I was born.”
As he spoke, Philip lowered his head.
"When I was born, it was raining heavily outside, and the clouds in the sky were terribly low. My mother told me this. The hospital staff didn't want to deliver the baby at that time, so in the end, my mother gave birth to me all by herself."
“My dad was actually very excited, but when I opened my eyes and saw myself, everything changed. I was a monster, a monster with two pupils. In an instant, the rumor spread to the neighbors.”
"I'm a monster. From that day on, my father never came back. It was just me and my mothers, relying on each other for survival."
“Until a few months ago, my father came back. I thought he had finally accepted me. But that very night, he killed my mother.”
As he spoke, Philip suddenly became agitated and tugged harder at Cecil's shawl. Cecil was pulled so hard that he could hardly breathe. He loosened the strap around his neck and continued listening to Philip.
“I was watching from the side. He tied me up. I watched my mother being killed by him. He chopped off her head. He went crazy. He told me that he wanted a beautiful girl and that if I couldn’t bring her back, he would kill me.”
Philip's voice became even sharper: "He said I can't escape, and if I dare to run away, he can definitely catch me and bring me back. I'm scared."
Cecil, still enduring the harsh voice, struggled to turn his head and look at Philip, his lips twitching slightly: "My experience is similar to yours; my family members were also killed."
Upon hearing Cecil's words, Philip was completely stunned, unable to utter a sound of crying for a long time: "How could this be?"
"Don't believe me? Then you should remember the Cretis family, the family that was once famous throughout the entire West Asian continent."
"That's you?" Philip was even more incredulous.
"Yes," Cecil replied calmly, then paused before returning to the previous topic: "Trying to escape?"
"Yes!" Philip exclaimed abruptly! He stood up excitedly and bumped his head directly into the iron cage above him.
“Then tomorrow I will have…” Seychelles paused, a handsome smile curving his lips, “I will take my butler with me when I go out with you.”
"Where are you going?" Philip asked.
“Of course, we should arrest the criminals and bring them to justice.” When Cecil saw Philip release his grip, he quickly got up from the ground and straightened his shawl.
"Great!" Philip's eyes gleamed with excitement.
As Cecil left the cellar, a strange smile appeared on Phil's face in the dark cage that shimmered with yellow light.
Chapter Nine
When Cecil emerged from the cellar, the cold air outside made it hard for him to breathe. The pine forest in front of him rustled in the wind, like a symphony in concert.
He had only taken a few steps when Sehir stood at the doorway, the cold wind blowing straight down his neck as if trying to blow something away. Sehir stood there for several minutes before going inside.
Hearing the door open, Isri stopped cleaning, walked over to Ceshir, and untied the tie at his collar.
"Young master, your shawl is wet. Be careful not to catch a cold."
Islam draped the shawl he had taken off over his arm, speaking softly.
As Sehir saw Isri get a little closer, he subconsciously took a few steps back, his eyes slightly unfocused: "Remember to cooperate with me tomorrow."
Isri noticed Ceshir's movement, his brow twitched slightly, he took a step forward, stood in front of Ceshir, and bowed as if to pay his respects, his voice remaining calm.
"I understand, young master."
Sehilton paused, his throat tightened, and he prepared to leave, but the next second, he was grabbed by Isrith.
“Isri! What are you doing!” Sehir blurted out.
He felt a little scared. He had been standing outside for so long and shouldn't have noticed. Sesil was hypnotizing himself.
But the next second, Isri's words plunged Cesil into hell.
Isri's nose brushed lightly against Cesil's collar, his voice low and terrifying, as if he were in a freezer: "Young Master, I smell something bad on you."
Sehir shuddered, his pupils widening as he turned to look at Isri: "What are you talking about! I don't know!"
Although he had grown accustomed to Isri's gaze, Cecil's voice still trembled slightly when he turned back to meet those amber eyes.
Isri pulled Sehir into a tight embrace, his voice devoid of any emotion: "Young Master should know better than I what I'm saying."
Sehir was clinging to Isri's arms, and because he was afraid of falling, he had to hold onto Isri's arm.
"Isri, stop! I didn't touch him!" Ceshir panicked, a hint of fear in his eyes.
Isri stopped, turned Cesil around and lifted her up to face him, his voice eerie: "I told you, don't let me smell anything else on the young master."
When he met Isri's gaze again, the fear in Cesil's eyes deepened, and his body trembled even more noticeably.
"Isri, let me go!" Sehir tried to push Isri away.
His fear of Isri was a physiological reaction; he couldn't muster any strength and could only let Isri carry him to the room.
Cecil's throat was terribly constricted, and his jewel-like eyes were soon replaced by tears, making him look even more pitiful under the light.
Isri's so-called punishment was simple: a few slaps to his lower back. It wouldn't have been a big deal, but for Sehir, who had been pampered and spoiled, this was the greatest punishment he could receive.
Unable to break free from Isri, Sehir buried his head in Isri's neck, the soft, delicate strands of hair constantly rubbing against it, causing a burning sensation in Isri's lower abdomen.
"Young master, don't fawn over me." Isri's voice was seductive as he slapped Cesil on the lower back.
The person on top of him shuddered, causing Isri's nose to brush against his collar again, and the nauseating smell rushed in without mercy.
Isri's eyes turned cold, and he increased the pressure on his hand. Suddenly, Cesil cried out in pain as his lower back burned intensely.
Saisil gripped Isri's clothes on his shoulder, clenching them into a ball. The fine sweat on his forehead was already slightly damp from his hair, but Isri showed no sign of stopping.
One pain after another, with only short breaks in between, before Sesil could catch his breath, the next wave of pain struck.
In the end, it was Cecil who couldn't take it anymore. Her voice trembled, her eyes were red from crying, and she tried her best to lift her head.
“Isri, I was wrong.”
Isri paused slightly, a playful look in his eyes, and his heart softened a little at the sight of such an obedient young master.