The sheer brutality of the scene left everyone in the room paralyzed, their bodies seized by cold, primal terror. The air in the Peony Pavilion—once thick with the scent of expensive wine and rare delicacies—was now heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid smell of fear.
Pauline Nelson, a woman who had spent years cultivating an image of cosmopolitan poise in the boardrooms of the West, found her composure shattering like cheap glass. Her knees buckled as she scrambled to hide behind the only man still standing with an aura of unshakeable calm: Dominic Mylod.
"This is madness... they’re monsters!" Pauline gasped, her voice trembling so violently it was barely a whisper. She clutched the back of Dominic's jacket, her knuckles white. "Please, we have to do something. Negotiate w
