The Billionaire's Ultimate Challenge

Chapter 5:

“Yes,” Ricard replied quickly, without hesitation.

“So many people, who exactly are they?” Abigail pressed further.

“No rush. You’ll have another chance soon,” Ricard said, leading her toward the cemetery. This was the William family’s cemetery, and besides the cold tombstones, it also held the ancestors of the William family. Ricard led Abigail to two adjacent graves, where she saw two photographs. The caretakers cleaned the cemetery daily, ensuring that the pictures on the graves were polished and clear.

A handsome man and an elegant woman.

If she guessed correctly, these must be Ricard’s parents. Strangely, despite living with Ricard and Grandfather for so many years, she never knew the cause of their deaths and never heard the housekeeper or servants mention them, as if they had never lived on the island.

Abigail thought Ricard would bow to his parents’ graves, but he stood there with a straight back for over ten minutes before turning away, his stony gaze unchanged.

Ricard took her on a walk around the mountain. The icy wind blew in her face, branches swayed, and the surrounding graves gave her chills.

Suddenly, she saw a large, unnamed grave and stopped, staring at it for a long time before she couldn’t help but ask, “Why doesn’t this grave have a name?”

To her surprise, Ricard swiftly pulled her close, saying calmly, “This is a grave prepared for us. We will be buried here together.”

As he approached, he patted the grave and said, “Abigail, being by my side forever is your fate.”

Abigail, just eight years old, couldn’t fully understand the deeper meaning of his words. She blinked her enormous eyes and asked, “Ricard, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You don’t need to understand. Just follow my orders.”

Abigail wanted to argue, but suddenly, there was an explosion sound from the foot of the mountain, followed by shrill screams.

After the funeral, Abigail returned to the small island, resuming her previous life. She woke with the sun, slept when it set, attended classes, and practiced piano—a stifling and monotonous life.

Ricard, unburdened, often stayed by her side, watching her study, watching her play the piano, as if his world revolved around her. Her spirit was weak, her gaze vacant, and no one knew what she was thinking.

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Eight years later.

The sky was clear, and the waves were blue. Birds playfully dipped into the river and soon flew back into the embrace of the sky. Such a beautiful, harmonious scene should mean the situation on the river was pleasant. But guesses are just guesses. At that moment, a fifteen-year-old girl with long black hair was alone piloting a small yacht.

Her face was filled with panic, occasionally glancing back. It turned out her boat wasn’t the only one on the river; about a hundred meters away, countless small boats were chasing her.

She increased her speed, the river wind whipping her cheeks, her black hair fluttering, looking more enchanting than peonies in bloom.

Even though she had pushed the yacht to its maximum speed, she couldn’t outrun the boats closing in on her.

One minute, two minutes, three minutes...

The river rippled as countless boats closed in, quickly surrounding her.

Seeing the situation was hopeless, she gave up, slumping back and panting heavily.

“Miss, please come back with us. The master is waiting.” A boat drew near, and a man in black said emotionlessly.

The girl stood up, her hair covering her face, hiding her expression. Her hands clenched at her sides before slowly relaxing. Meanwhile, the man’s boat came alongside, and he jumped aboard her small yacht, standing firmly.

Reluctantly, she shifted, sitting back down, watching the man start her beloved yacht.

This fifteen-year-old girl was Abigail. Unlike seven or eight years ago, she had grown into a stunning beauty, with flawless white skin, large sad eyes, and a curvaceous figure. She was 1.65 meters tall, with jet-black hair. Her mere presence could drive people to madness. Recently, she enjoyed piloting the yacht, becoming proficient. Today, she didn’t know what possessed her, sailing away, desperate to leave the island behind. Naturally, her plan failed. The black-clad bodyguards always watching her saw her speed off and immediately pursued.

The river stirred again as the small boats raced by, scaring birds into flight.

When Ricard heard his treasure had tried to escape, he neither got angry nor upset. He leisurely continued smoking his cigar, casually telling Henry, “She won’t get far.”

He puffed on his cigar, sat down, exhaling smoke. “You will be occupied with the mine for some time.”

Henry replied, “Rest assured, Master. I’ve handled killings before. Mining diamonds won’t be a problem.”

Ricard squinted, exhaling smoke. “Mining is much harder than killing.”

“You’re right, Master,” Henry conceded, retracting his bold statement.

A black-clad bodyguard knocked, and Henry opened the door, nodding after hearing the report.

Ricard, aware of the situation below, adjusted his suit and said, “Take her back to the bedroom.”

The bedroom he referred to wasn’t Abigail’s room from eight years ago, but their shared room. It was an immense but dark space, with black sheets, black curtains, black carpets, and even dim lighting that couldn’t fully illuminate the room even at night.

Abigail was already in the room, trying to open the door handle but failing. She didn’t rush; instead, she ran into the bathroom.

Moments later, the sound of running water came from the bathroom, just as the room’s door was opened.

As she was applying body wash, the bathroom door was suddenly kicked open. She turned in fright, covering her chest with her hands and lowering her head.

“There isn’t a part of your body I haven’t seen,” Ricard said, unbuttoning his shirt as he approached her.

The shower water ran down Abigail’s face, soaking her completely, but it couldn’t hide her beauty.

Ricard had taken off his shirt, revealing his magnificent upper body, with a muscular chest and some chest hair. He tossed his shirt aside and removed his pants. Abigail closed her eyes, recalling that night.

It was half a year ago, after a piano practice session, he had poured her a glass of milk, whispering in her ear, “Abigail has grown up, getting more beautiful by the day.”