So that's why he was so scared. She'd looked possessed—like she might tear him apart in the next breath. He even thought, if he hadn't woken up in time, she might've really done it. Wilona sat on the couch with a swollen face and tried to explain, "I don't know what happened. My emotions just went haywire." It was all those three neighbors that made her so angry, and then she came back and saw Frederick still sleeping like a baby, and that pushed her over the edge. She couldn't control it. She rubbed her hot, bruised cheek. "You hit way too hard! Can't you talk to me like a normal person? Why'd you slap me?" Frederick rolled his eyes. "If I didn't slap you awake, you might've killed me." Then he scowled. "I didn't try to kill you. Why'd you freak out like that?" He sneered. "And you peed yourself—seriously? I was scared out of my mind because of you, but I didn't wet myself!" Wilona rubbed her face. "I don't know—I felt terrified. Just ... terrified." Something clicked for Frederick. He sat up, studying her. "Did you go outside? Breathe a lot of that fog?" Wilona nodded. "I did go out." Frederick slapped his thigh. "See! I told you that fog's poisonous—you didn't believe me!" Wilona frowned. "But I've gone out before and nothing like this happened." He clicked his tongue. "That's because you weren't emotionally stirred before." He'd already noticed the fog amplified whatever was inside someone; it didn't create feelings out of thin air.Before, when Wilona bossed him around at home, he'd get annoyed—sometimes want to toss her off a hill—but outside, when his mood was up, he'd dance like an idiot. He'd never been that emotionally explosive until the fog moved in. Over time, he'd realized the fog was toxic—and the way neighbors went mad and turned on each other only proved it. Wilona had thought he was overreacting—until tonight. Now, she had to admit something odd had happened to her. Frederick grinned a little when she finally agreed. Then, something clicked, and his smile faded. Wait—if the fog only amplified emotions and didn't create them ... then Wilona's anger toward me was real. He frowned. He fed her, he kept her—where did that anger come from? It made no sense. He narrowed his eyes. "Wilona, do you hold resentment against me?" She blinked, then turned her face guiltily. "What? No—why would I have resentment ... ?" Frederick's gaze sharpened. "Really?" Wilona replied, "Of course not! I love you, how could I resent you?" He kept staring, sharp as a searchlight, while she flustered and tried to cover it up with forced sincerity. "Okay, fine—maybe I'm a little mad, but not at you. I'm mad at the neighbors." Frederick arched an eyebrow. "The three next door? You went over there and got turned away again?"She'd been talking about those neighbors—about their chickens, rabbits, and stash of supplies. He wasn't immune to being tempted, but he remembered when Natalie first moved into the villa, she came with those neighbors. Natalie had once pointed a gun at him and scared him stiff; later, Cassian had done the same. He'd learned to stay away from people he couldn't handle. Chickens and rabbits weren't worth the trouble. Thinking that, Frederick frowned. "You got in a fight with them?" If she had, he'd kick her out—he barely knew her. Wilona rolled her eyes and snapped, "I didn't offend them. They mistakenly thought I was the thief and grabbed me!" Of course, she was angrier about Harold rejecting her confession than being cuffed. But she couldn't let Frederick know that—he was her only sugar daddy until she found the next mark. Frederick asked, "A thief?" Wilona explained, "Someone broke into their yard but got away, kind of hurt. I had this scarf, and they thought I was hurt and grabbed me as the suspect." She pointed at the red scarf lying on the coffee table. Frederick studied the scarf for a few seconds, raised an eyebrow, and muttered, "You're flirting again?"