Cassian had truly never seen people starved down to that degree. The streets were full of skin-and-bone bodies. Not the kind of "slim beauties" who'd dieted too much, but literal skeletons wrapped in paper-thin skin. Those who had once been plump were faring slightly better, but the ones who'd always been thin ... now they looked like walking skulls. Cassian frowned, and in his mind appeared Natalie's face—round, radiant, and full of life. Her skin looked like porcelain, her eyes glimmered, her lips were healthy and full, and her long hair fell smooth and glossy like silk. Her frame was slender, yes, but strong—when her arms flexed, you could see the muscle definition.Clearly, she was living much better than most. Glancing back at the streets around him, Cassian suddenly lost interest. "Let's head back." ... Natalie's group returned to Maplecourt to find that the water level had dropped again. Not by much—but since it was nearly down to the sixth-floor windows, anyone trying to get inside now had to push off from the seventh-floor ledge just to climb into the building. It was a lot more effort than before, but the drop was still good news. They struggled to haul the bags of fertilizer inside, then carried them in batches up to the 14th floor. On the way past the 8th floor, however, a very questionable noise drifted out from behind one of the doors. "Brax, louder. Don't be shy. Daddy likes it."What followed was a series of filthy, unmistakable sounds. The group happened to be hauling the second load of fertilizer right then, and the noise startled them so badly they almost dropped everything. Hearing Braxton's familiar voice in the mix made Natalie's stomach churn violently. Lucky, who had never been exposed to such things, perked up at the strange sounds and trotted over to the door of 801, listening intently. Natalie's face went green. "Lucky! Don't eavesdrop! Get back here." Even as she called her over, she was already thinking grimly that once they got home, Lucky was getting a long, thorough bath. Lucky had been standing too close to the door, and Natalie felt like even the poor dog had been tainted by the sounds leaking out. They kept hauling fertilizer back and forth, trip after trip, and the noises still hadn't stopped.It wasn't until about three minutes later that the moaning cut off abruptly. Natalie's group happened to be passing the 8th floor with their final load when the door to 801 suddenly swung open. Tiffany stumbled out, giggling and babbling like a fool. "Hehehe! Outside! Let's go outside and play!" Instinctively, everyone glanced inside. There was Braxton—completely naked, slumped over the dining table—while behind him stood a bearded man well over 250 pounds, buckling his belt. ... After witnessing too much, it felt like her eyes burned out. Natalie's first thought was, "God, am I gonna get a stye from this?" Braxton, panting and drenched in sweat, lifted his head, only to lock eyes with the three pairs staring at him from the doorway. He froze. Then shame crashed over him like a wave. He let out a high-pitched scream and scrambled for the pants lying on the floor, his trembling hands fumbling to pull them on. The bearded man finally noticed the spectators outside but didn't seem to care in the slightest. Instead, he grinned and gave Braxton's ass a sharp smack. Smack. The sound echoed, obscene and humiliating. To Braxton, it felt like the slap had landed square on his face, right across his soul. His cheeks flamed red as he yanked on his pants, tears welling up in his eyes. The bearded man, meanwhile, finished buckling his belt and strutted out with a satisfied grin. As he passed, he licked his lips and muttered, "Edric was right, definitely worth it." Natalie didn't care who this Edric freak was. All she knew was that Braxton had just sunk even lower in her eyes. She had already known he was selling himself to survive, but hearing about it and seeing it with her own eyes were two very different things. It was even more disgusting than she had imagined. Yet, there was a sharp, vengeful satisfaction bubbling up inside her. She curved her lips in a mocking smile, deciding to twist the knife into his already fragile nerves. "Braxton, not bad at all. That guy looked pretty satisfied with your performance." He was mortified, wishing the floor would swallow him whole. He was supposed to be a prestigious PhD student, admired by countless college girls, with a bright future laid out before him. Now, here he was, reduced to a stray dog—selling himself for a bite of food, getting used and discarded by some uneducated brute. What made it unbearable was that the last person in the world he wanted to know about this had just witnessed it with their own eyes. That shame was worse than death. A broken wail ripped from his chest as he stumbled to the door, slammed it shut, then collapsed against it, sobbing helplessly. Listening to the muffled cries from inside, Harold and Olivia both shivered, goosebumps prickling their arms. For some reason, after what they had just seen, Braxton's voice now reminded them of those sniveling, emasculated eunuchs in period dramas—pitiful and revolting all at once. Natalie, on the other hand, felt rather pleased. She waved the two of them along to keep moving supplies. By the time they finished and made it back home, she dropped onto the couch and let out a long, cathartic sigh.So often, it wasn't family who understood you best—it was your enemies. After living two lifetimes, Natalie knew Braxton inside and out. He was selfish, vain, opportunistic, ruthless when it suited him—but above all, he was a master at wearing a mask.