Now he's actually saying I, Wilona, am not good enough for him?! Wilona was so furious she could barely see straight. But he said it so earnestly, even patted her shoulder like he was comforting her, so she couldn't really explode. Even so, for the sake of supplies, she forced a smile. "Harold, what are you talking about ... " Ghania, barely hiding her laughter, shoved Wilona toward the door. "Alright, Ms. Rowse, please leave and stop bothering us!" Bothering them?! Pushed out the gate and then pushed out of the yard, Wilona finally lost it and let out a piercing scream. Ghania pretended not to hear, calmly locked the gate, and went back into the villa. Humiliated, Wilona raged outside for a while before stomping back to Villa 6. The fog made her pant; her eyes were bloodshot with anger. Frederick, who'd been fast asleep, suddenly felt as if some beast were watching him. Self-preservation jerked him awake; he blinked groggily. Before he'd cleared his head, he met a pair of blood-red eyes. He jumped, "Aah!"—bolted upright in bed, his blood rushing to his brain, shaking the sleep right off. He rushed to the edge of the bed. There was no beast—just Wilona glaring at him. Frederick breathed out, leaned on the windowsill, and took several deep breaths; when his heart calmed, he snapped, "You crazy woman! What the hell are you doing?"Wilona didn't answer—she just stood at the foot of the bed and stared. Her eyes—furious, yet tinged with sorrow. Longing laced with reproach. A storm of emotions, tangled and restless, all burning inside those bloodshot eyes. Frederick felt the fear he'd pushed down creep back up; his spine went cold. Again, he barked, "Wilona, what kind of nonsense are you pulling now?!" She kept staring, panting, not saying a word. Frederick swallowed, glanced at her hands for weapons. Seeing both empty, he tried to toughen his voice. "What are you staring at me like that for?!" Still, there was no answer from her. He cursed at her a few times, but she only watched him like she might pounce. He couldn't take it—he decided to strike first. He shouted, lunged, and landed a hard punch on her face. "Wake the hell up!" Wilona hit the floor and screamed. Frederick grabbed her collar and hit her again. "Snap out of it! Act normal!" He kept throwing hooks until that wild, inexplicable fury drained out of her. She stared at him for a few seconds, then trembled. "Ahhh! Help! Somebody! He's killing me!" She screamed like a butcher's pig. Frederick paused, dumbfounded. "Really? Come on—I just wanted to wake you up. I didn't try to kill you."He didn't hit women—never had. She was usually full of stunts; he'd never hit her before. If she hadn't been so terrifying tonight, he wouldn't have. "Hey, stop crying. Want me to rub your shoulders?" he said. As he knelt there, a warm wetness hit his knees. As he knelt there, something warm and wet soaked through his knees. "Oh, crap! "Did you just pee yourself?! "What the hell? You were about to kill me a second ago!" Frederick scrambled to his feet, grabbed a pillowcase, and started frantically wiping himself off. Wilona sobbed and got up, shaking, crying uncontrollably. Frederick finished wiping, scowled, and snapped at her, "Shut up!" This crazy woman was pulling the sympathy card now? He was the one who'd been wronged—woken, scared, and peed on. Ridiculous. After he got dressed, he left Wilona trembling in the bedroom and went to the living room. An hour later, she finally calmed enough to creep out and sit beside him, embarrassed. Frederick frowned. "You okay?" Wilona nodded. He relaxed. "Damn. That look you had—like a serial killer with a pile of bodies behind you." He'd played roles like that in movies, but even as an award-winning actor, he'd never seen anyone nail it the way she just had. He knew her acting was artificial—relying on looks to stay famous—so to pull off such a terrifying effect felt uncanny. If not for her face, she'd have been out of the industry a long time ago. Her acting alone shouldn't have made her that convincing.