Remarriage Failed Again Today-Chapter 169: Annabelle Linton, You’re Dead

’Could it be? Is she really not afraid to die?’

"Bring me a knife!" He refused to believe it.

A sharp cleaver was placed steadily into Leona Grant’s hand.

The cleaver reflected the moonlight, its dazzling glint carrying an icy chill.

Leona Grant suddenly raised the cleaver and brought it down with vicious force.

In an instant, a table was split in two.

Of course, he hadn’t chopped Annabelle Linton’s hands, but a different table instead.

A smirk touched Leona Grant’s lips. He glanced disdainfully at the bisected table, then fixed his cold gaze on Annabelle Linton. "See that? It would be easy for this cleaver to take both of your hands. I’m giving you one last chance. Tell me, do you admit you were wrong?"

The smile on Annabelle Linton’s lips widened bit by bit, the indifference in her eyes becoming crystal clear. "Forget slapping you twice. If you’d given me a knife, I would’ve stabbed you with it. And then I’d stab you again."

Her words struck Leona Grant’s heart like a dagger.

Annabelle Linton looked at him and let out a soft, light, yet sarcastic laugh. "Chopping off my hands? What’s that compared to the humiliation and pain you’ve put me through in the past?

So, Young Master Grant, I’m brave enough to stab you. Don’t tell me you aren’t even brave enough to chop off my hands."

Even at a moment like this, Annabelle Linton still dared to provoke him.

The bodyguards present were all stunned. ’Young Madam... you’re one tough woman!’

To Leona Grant, Annabelle Linton’s fearlessness was a direct challenge to his authority!

"Fine, Annabelle Linton! Open your eyes and watch closely as you lose both of your hands!"

"Hah."

Leona Grant’s aura instantly turned sinister. He aimed the cleaver at Annabelle Linton’s arm and raised it high—

The room fell silent. Everyone stared, tense and agitated, unable to bear the sight of the cleaver that was about to fall.

Annabelle Linton’s eyes remained perfectly calm. She watched the cleaver with serene detachment, as if it were an interesting spectacle that had nothing to do with her.

As Leona Grant held the cleaver aloft, scene after scene from the past flashed through his mind.

The way Annabelle Linton looked when she cooked, when she wrote, when she ate and drank, when she covered her mouth to cry... the way she looked doing everything...

In every memory, he saw her slender, fair hands.

’They say the pain from your fingers goes straight to your heart. A person could pass out from the pain of losing just one. If Annabelle Linton lost both of her hands... would she die?’

’If she died...’

No!

A wave of sheer panic washed over Leona Grant. At that moment, only one thought consumed him: ’Annabelle Linton can’t die!’

’Damn it, this woman has insulted me and challenged my authority again and again. How can I just let her off the hook?!’

’How can I let her die so easily?’

’Wouldn’t that be letting her off way too easy?!’

"CLANG—"

Leona Grant threw the cleaver to the ground, his lips curving into a handsome smile. "I’ve suddenly decided that this punishment is too simple for you. I’ve thought of a better way, one I guarantee will make you feel pain."

Annabelle Linton’s gaze sharpened. In her eyes, which had remained emotionless even when her life was on the line, there was now a flicker of change.

It was, however, a cold one.

Leona Grant loosened his tie and slowly, menacingly, approached Annabelle Linton. He shot a cold glance at the bodyguards. "All of you, out!"

The bodyguards vanished in a second.

Leona Grant leaned in, drawing closer and closer to Annabelle Linton until his warm breath fanned wantonly across her face, charging the air with a seductive tension. "Annabelle Linton, you are so dead."

Annabelle Linton’s pupils contracted. The next second, she was swept into Leona Grant’s arms—