Turning back, Sheryl Lancaster trembled violently under the murderous glare of Titus Quinn, as if the man standing before her was a devil. "You... why did you hit me?"
"Stupid woman, what exactly have you done?" Titus Quinn yanked her in front of him, his large hand gripping her neck, slowly tightening, his deliberately lowered voice filled with malice and fury, "Did they learn anything from you?"
"No... no," Sheryl Lancaster was so terrified she didn't dare to breathe deeply, stammering, "I just destroyed the old man's painting, and then Melody Thorne just brought that man over, and without a word, they gave me a sedative that knocked me out."
Though it seemed like she was dreaming, she dreamed Titus Quinn had just returned, he had carried her to the bed, and spoke to her very gently, but she couldn't remember what he said. Later she seemed to sleep deeply.
"Just a sedative?" Titus Quinn's gaze shifted to the spot on her arm where the red mark from the injection hadn't faded.
