Chapter 4: Accidents
1252 Words
Moriaty — a name Freya chose for herself in her childhood, inspired by a character from a novel she adored. Later, to conceal her true identity, she adopts Moriaty as her code name, a moniker known by the few in this world who are aware of its association with Freya.
Should anyone be willing to pay a hefty sum to find Moriaty, there could be but one reason behind it. It seems Freya must make time to visit Dr. White, to inquire how this old acquaintance could have possibly betrayed her. Or perhaps Dr. White has encountered a challenging case that requires her expertise? He could have simply reached out to her grandmother, who maintains contact with her.
At this thought, Freya instinctively raised her right hand and gazed at it in silence. Her fingers, slender and strong, were once a source of pride as a top surgeon, deftly weaving hope into lives on the operating table. However, a cruel accident struck like a heartless bolt of lightning, shattering her precision, and that was the very reason she failed to save her beloved grandfather.
She recalls a stormy night four years ago when her grandfather suffered a sudden heart attack, his condition critical. Dr. White was the nominal lead surgeon for that operation, but all eyes in the operating room were on Freya. As she donned her scrubs and gloves, preparing to race against death, her hand betrayed her. The once steady right hand began to tremble uncontrollably; every incision, every stitch was no longer the precision she knew so well.
The operating room lights were cold and harsh, and her heart sank into the abyss of despair. Despite her colleagues' best efforts to take over, they could not wrest her grandfather's life from the grip of death. At that moment, Freya's entire world seemed to collapse; her pride, her beliefs, her dreams for the future—all were reduced to nothingness in an instant.
Since then, Freya has never set foot in an operating room again, and the name Moriaty has vanished with her. She locked her heart away, burying her talents and dreams along with it. She began to evade everything that once made her proud, avoiding memories that would remind her of her grandfather.
Under the hallucinatory lights of the private room, her right hand appeared eerily pale, with the blue veins faintly visible beneath the skin, like a tranquil map of life. She gently rotated her wrist, attempting to clench her palm, then slowly relaxed it. Each tremor served as a reminder of her bygone glory, of a past she could never return to.
"Freya, let bygones be bygones, don't dwell on the unpleasantness, it's not your fault," Rachel said, sensing Freya's thoughts and gently patting her back.
Freya withdrew her hand and looked through a massive pane of glass towards the dance floor below. Overlooking the dance floor, the multicolored lights pulsed with the strong rhythm of the music, slicing the shadows of the crowd into fantastical fragments. Men and women swayed freely in the crowded space, their sweat and smiles intermingling, exuding the vitality of life.
"I'd like to go down for a while, Rachel," Freya said.
"Of course, as long as you don't mind the noise," Rachel replied, handing Freya a specially mixed cocktail.
"Perhaps noise is exactly what I need right now. Let me go down and let loose."
Rachel naturally wouldn't object; her purpose in bringing Freya here today was to let her cut loose. Of course, with Rachel's abilities, she could ensure Freya's safety.
But accidents happen, and Freya, with her striking looks and fiery attire, was immediately targeted once she entered the dance floor.
Under the slight intoxication of alcohol, Freya unleashed the freedom she hadn't shown for years. Her dance steps were slightly unsteady but carried a carefree abandon.
Her body swayed to the rhythm of the music, as if playing an impromptu game with the beat. Her arms danced through the air, her fingertips seemingly touching invisible notes, her hair flying with the movement of her body.
Her smile was radiant and uncontrollable, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of alcohol, her eyes shimmering with excitement. The surrounding crowd seemed to be drawn to her unbridled charm, unconsciously making room for her.
She didn't worry about the gazes of others, didn't care whether her steps were standard; she was immersed in her own rhythm, enjoying this moment of indulgence.
Under the flickering lights, each of her turns radiated a wild beauty, her figure particularly eye-catching on the dance floor.
She might not have known she was becoming the center of attention.
Beau, by the glass window of the VIP room upstairs, kept an eye on the dance floor. Zoe, the club's manager, who was always aware of what was happening, and the men in the dance floor who had drunk a lot and were constantly on the prowl.
A drunken man, with blurred vision and unsteady steps, swayed his body, trying to imitate her movements, but he looked clumsy and ridiculous. An unnatural smile hung on his face, and his eyes flickered with malicious intent. He slowly approached her, trying to encroach on her space, and she sensed his presence, instinctively wanting to avoid him.
The man reached out his hand, trying to grab Freya's waist, but she quickly dodged, frowning, clearly displeased.
The man didn't give up; instead, he became even bolder. He leaned close to her ear and shouted, "Hey, baby, you dance well. How about dancing with me?"
His words were laced with alcohol, making them nauseating.
Freya turned her head and coldly replied, "Please stay away from me. I don't want to dance with you." Her voice was filled with obvious disgust.
But the man seemed not to understand or deliberately ignored it. He continued to pester: "Come on, don't be like that. It's fun to dance together. Don't be shy." He reached out again, this time placing his hand on Freya's buttocks.
Freya forcefully shook off the man's hand, her voice rising several decibels: "I said, I don't want to dance with you. Please respect me!" Her eyes were filled with anger and disgust.
But the man laughed, his laughter filled with complacency and disdain. "Don't be so tense, relax."
"I haven't seen you around here before, have I?" the man asked rhetorically.
"I bet you haven't. A beautiful woman like you would have made an impression if you'd been here before. You might not know who I am, but let me tell you, no woman here can refuse my invitation."
"Oh? Well, today you're experiencing the first time."
With that, Freya raised her right hand and slapped the man with a resounding slap.
The crisp sound of the slap was drowned out by the noisy music in the dance floor, but the people around them clearly realized what had happened and stopped dancing to look at the two.
The man's expression changed from complacency to shock, and his cheek bore a bright red mark. His eyes widened in disbelief that he had been slapped. His mouth twitched slightly, a mix of embarrassment and anger making his face look hideous.
"Holy f**k!" Much of the man's drunkenness wore off, and he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, glaring viciously at the woman in front of him.
But Freya's eyes showed no fear; she casually picked up a bottle of alcohol and smashed it fiercely against the man's forehead.
- Writer
