“Mm-hmm, it’s... you handle it,” Charles Sutton handed the letter back to the woman without looking, then introduced to Evelyn Lewis, “This is Manager Quinn, she’s in charge of the bar.”

“How do you know Wendy Lane?” Manager Quinn immediately questioned Evelyn Lewis.

“We were on the school yoga team... she was a few years ahead of me...”

“What can you do?”

“I have an accounting certificate, a driver’s license, I can play tennis, golf, and I know computers...”

“These... none of them are useful to us. We already have an accountant, and we’re not planning to replace them for now. Can you mix drinks? Can you sing? Can you chat with customers?” Manager Quinn’s questions grew harsher with each one.

“That’s enough,” Charles Sutton interjected from the side, his tone stern.

“All right,” Manager Quinn immediately softened, reluctantly saying, “We do have one open position—marketing planner. It doesn’t matter if we have a few idle people in that role. When you look for another job in the future, it’ll sound good to say you were a marketing planner. You’ll be our marketing planner, then.”

“Mm-hmm, well then, welcome to ‘Demon World’,” Charles Sutton extended a hand to Evelyn Lewis.

Evelyn Lewis hesitantly shook her hand, always feeling there was some hidden meaning in her words.

Chapter 2 The Secret of The Sutton Garden

In the tropical forest, Charles Sutton was running, gasping for breath.

As he ran, he kept glancing back in panic. Behind him, chaotic trampling sounds echoed through the jungle, and through the gaps in the leaves, dark shadows darted, leaping and chasing.

Those shadows were part human, part beast, moving with extraordinary speed and agility.

Charles Sutton set up trap after trap along the way using branches and puddles, but none of them worked. They didn’t even slow his pursuers for a moment. On the contrary, Charles Sutton only delayed himself by setting the traps.

Charles Sutton had run out of tricks, feeling utterly powerless. He was finally caught by his pursuers, surrounded by several beings that were half-human, half-beast. He fought desperately, but it was like a dragonfly shaking a tree.

His feet were tied, and he was dragged back into the forest.

Looking up at the sky, suddenly a little girl’s face appeared among the leaves. Her face was like a doll’s, and she looked at Charles Sutton sadly, her lips moving as if saying, “Shu, save me... save me!”

“No,” Charles Sutton suddenly sat up, raising his fist to the sky, “I did not give in!”

All around was silent—no jungle, no monsters, no doll-like little girl. Only a bed.

“Flora,” Charles Sutton murmured softly into the empty room, “I haven’t given up. I’m still fighting.”

Yvonne Quinn’s unadorned face suddenly appeared at the door. She asked with concern, “Another nightmare? Do you need me to get Dr. Quinn?”

Charles Sutton gloomily threw off the covers and got up, replying as he did, “How many times have I told you, don’t just come into my bedroom. Knock before you enter. It’s a matter of manners, understand?”

Yvonne Quinn sighed smugly, pretending to complain, “Can’t help it. Your father gave me the keys to every room, didn’t he? And I care about you, don’t I? And you’re hardly ever home, so no one cleans the rooms, right? And—”

“That’s enough!” Charles Sutton turned and walked to the window, lifting a corner of the curtain to look outside.

Yvonne Quinn strolled into Charles Sutton’s bedroom and naturally began tidying the bed. Dressed in pajamas, she moved with ease, like a wife tending to her sleepy husband. As she bent over, her braless breasts bounced beneath her pajamas, and from time to time, like startled rabbits, half of one would peek out from the open collar, the tip delicate, white and soft.

“I looked it up in a book recently,” Yvonne Quinn said as she worked, “It says nightmares happen during the transition between sleep and wakefulness. No matter what the nightmare is about, its essence is always the same: it’s a memory from a previous life, a point where this life and the last intersect.”

“Hey,” Yvonne Quinn laughed, self-mockingly, “The book makes it sound so mysterious... Reincarnation?! You didn’t use to have so many nightmares. Ever since that time... you’ve been unsettled. Maybe we should see a psychologist...”

Suddenly, a wandering hand interrupted Yvonne Quinn’s words. The hand slid slowly over her breast through her pajamas, igniting a wave of heat, finally resting on her nose.

The skin on Yvonne Quinn’s neck began to flush, her full breasts swelling outward, the two little cherries on top growing hard and prominent. She moaned softly, murmuring, “Your hands are always so naughty...”

The large hand on her chest suddenly withdrew. Yvonne Quinn’s face was flushed, but she felt empty inside. She forgot what she’d been about to say, only gazing at Charles Sutton with watery eyes.

Charles Sutton looked completely calm, as if he hadn’t just done something bad. He looked at Yvonne Quinn and said, “I’m hungry.” Just like a husband giving orders to his wife.

Yvonne Quinn snapped back to herself and immediately replied, “I’ll go get your food.”

As she neared the door, Yvonne Quinn added, “Maybe this should be called lunch.”

There was no response from behind her. Yvonne Quinn paused, smoothed her flushed face, and quickly walked out the door.