Wrong Marriage and Sweet Love

Joyce spent an entire day idling in the Imperial Villa, unable to come up with any good ideas. She could only lie down and sleep.

She still hadn’t figured out how Clint had managed to get her from South Island to here. South Island was heavily guarded. How did he do it? She had to admit, he was quite capable.

She knew Clint would never tell her the reason. But she now suspected it had something to do with Elsa. Perhaps Elsa was just a decoy, and there was another plan behind her arrival on the island. Other than that timing, she couldn’t think of any other way someone could have infiltrated the island.

She was very worried about Luther, Anderson, Iris, Wilson, Cullen, and Cecelia.

For Luther, he had lost her once before and still suffered from that trauma. And her mother had been separated from her for over twenty years. They must be going crazy with worry. It was her fault for making them endure such pain again.

She desperately wanted to let them know she was safe. But she had no way to contact the outside world.

All she could do was wait anxiously.

Since she couldn’t think of a solution, she decided to sleep. She slept from afternoon till evening, woke up to eat something, then went back to sleep until dawn, trying to regain all her energy and strength.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

In the morning, Joyce was awakened by a commotion. She sat up in bed and faintly heard screams but didn’t know what was happening.

She quickly got dressed, washed up briefly without even combing her hair, and rushed out of the Imperial Villa.

Following the direction of the screams, she finally reached the source of the noise.

It was the inner courtyard, with an open space in front of it. Several people stood with their backs turned, heads lowered. Behind them, a man wielded a long whip, striking them harshly.

Looking closer, she saw Clint sitting leisurely in a chair in front of the courtyard. Beside him was a high tea table with a tea set on it. A maid stood next to him, pouring tea.

Clint picked up a teacup, lifted the lid, gently brushed away the tea foam, and took a sip. His demeanor was relaxed and elegant.

The screams continued unabated, but to him, they seemed like pleasant music he casually enjoyed.

Joyce was stunned. She hurried forward and quickly walked up to Clint’s side. “What are you doing?”

She looked at those being beaten and saw they were the guards who had been stationed at the East Palace gate yesterday, including the head guard who was being beaten the worst.

Joyce snatched the teacup from Clint’s hand. “You already punished them yesterday by making them kneel all day. Why are you whipping them now?”

Clint glanced at Joyce. “This is the rule of the East Palace. Twenty lashes for each person, fifty for the head guard. For such a serious mistake, how could kneeling for one day be enough? You’re too naive.”

“You’re too cruel,” Joyce retorted bluntly. “Clint, you’re doing this for my benefit, aren’t you? You just want to warn me not to implicate others! Fine, I’m new here and don’t know the rules. I’ve offended you; I apologize. But please don’t torture others. Make them stop.”

Seeing Clint unmoved, Joyce angrily threw the teacup in her hand.

The cup instantly hit the wrist of the man wielding the whip. He cried out in pain as his whip fell to the ground.

Joyce had always been skilled with darts; her throwing accuracy was exceptional.

“Bravo!” Clint clapped lightly. “Impressive-throwing with bare hands and hitting every target precisely. As expected of a famous sharpshooter. Seeing is believing.”

He looked at Joyce with his long eyes filled with amusement and a glint of calculation.

For some reason, Joyce felt uneasy about his gaze; it usually meant he had another idea brewing.

Clint spoke leisurely, “According to East Palace rules, sparing their lives is already lenient. Since you want them spared from punishment so much, why don’t we play a game?”

“What game?” Joyce knew he wasn’t up to any good. Getting acquainted with someone and getting deeply involved were two different things. Now she slowly understood what kind of obsessive and twisted person Clint really was.

Clint pointed at the guards ahead. “You’re good at shooting; let them stand in a row with fruits on their heads. If you hit the fruits, they can avoid punishment. How about that?”

Joyce squinted her eyes; this was playing with people’s lives! If she missed even slightly, she’d hit their heads instead of the fruits-this could be fatal.

However, considering such whipping-twenty lashes or fifty lashes-would leave them either dead or crippled; it wasn’t much better off either way. Clint was simply too ruthless.

“Since this matter started because of you,” Clint said as he walked up to Joyce and lifted her chin with his long fingers, examining her closely like an object on display.

Joyce felt that describing his gaze as “observing” fit perfectly-this man was insane!

He had clearly lured her here on purpose just to show off in front of her today; whether she agreed or not didn’t matter-he would find ways to force her into submission eventually.

This was Clint-pathological and relentless until he achieved his goal.

Perhaps his most merciful act ever was sending her to a hospital when she was about to give birth-giving her a momentary respite.

Hearing such a proposal made all guards tremble but they dared not object since it came directly from Prince Clint himself-even though they heard rumors about Joyce being an expert marksman-but who had actually seen it? What if she missed? Their lives were at stake!

Joyce shook off Clint’s grip with disgust flashing through her eyes.

“Fine,” she agreed reluctantly but firmly added: “Have each one place an apple on their head-and get me a gun.”

For someone capable of precision down to 0. 01 millimeters like herself-it should be easy enough-but still risky given human error potential under stress conditions…

Yet Clint caught sight of that fleeting look of disdain in Joyce’s eyes which enraged him internally-how dare she look down upon him so openly!

He sneered wickedly: “Apples? Too easy for someone like you-a renowned sharpshooter-it’d be boring.”

He waved dismissively signaling one attendant nearby: “Go fetch cherries instead-let each one place one cherry atop their heads.”

Everyone present-including Joyce herself-was utterly shocked by this outrageous demand… cherries?!

Clint had gone too far!