Escaping from the Yandere Young Heiress - Chapter 24

The morning light was merciless, exposing every detail in the bedroom.

Only after confirming that Leng Tan had left did Jian Anji allow herself to fully relax her tense body. The moment she did, the pain throughout her body surged forth like wild beasts freed from their restraints, tearing into her with renewed ferocity.

Clenching her teeth, she slowly slid off the bed. When her feet touched the floor, the whip marks on her calves nearly made her lose her balance. She steadied herself by gripping the icy bedside table.

The crumpled black slip clung to her like a layer of shameful skin.

She walked to the bathroom door, hesitated, then pushed it open.

The room still steamed with the damp heat and that unique, cold fragrance left by Leng Tan’s shower. A thin mist coated the mirror.

She turned on the cold water, cupped her hands, and splashed it on her face.

The icy shock made her shiver, but it also brought a brief moment of clarity.

She lifted her head and looked into the mirror.

As the mist gradually cleared, it revealed a pale, vacant face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and the bite marks on her lips had already crusted over with dark red scabs.

Her disheveled hair clung to her cheeks and the sides of her neck.

She lifted the straps of her chemise, turned sideways, and looked at her back in the mirror.

She gasped.

Under the dim light last night, she had only seen a jumble of red welts. But in the bright morning light, the sight was far more brutal.

The raised welts crisscrossed her back, their colors ranging from deep crimson to purplish-red. In places where the welts overlapped, the skin was a horrifying blackish-purple.

The ointment hadn’t covered everything. Some areas had dried into a white film, while others had been smeared by sweat or… other fluids, leaving mottled stains.

Beneath the fresh wounds lay older bruises, still fading from the past few days. Layer upon layer, they resembled an abstract painting violently smeared over and over.

Her thighs and sides were the same.

On her delicate skin, the whip marks looked even more savage.

She couldn’t bear to look closely. She quickly pulled up her chemise, as if that could hide these marks of shame covering her body.

Leng Tan had said someone would bring medicine.

What kind of medicine?

Was it the same cooling, pain-relieving ointment from last night, or something else?

And who was this “someone”?

A regular doctor, or one of Leng Tan’s subordinates who knew what was happening?

The questions brought fresh anxiety.

She didn’t want anyone to see her like this, not even the person delivering the medicine.

The urge to resist or hide flickered through her mind, but the sharp pain in her back and the recent ordeal crushed it mercilessly.

She had no choice.

She slowly walked back to the bed, too weak to make it properly. She merely smoothed out the tangled sheets a little before shuffling over to a small armchair by the window and sinking into it.

The chair’s stiff fabric rubbed against the wound on her leg, forcing her to lean sideways, trying to keep her back from touching the chair.

The wait felt endless.

Each tick of the clock’s second hand seemed to strike her nerves like a hammer.

The pain in her body kept her constantly aware of its presence, while her mind replayed Leng Tan’s calm tone as she left, the murmured words from last night’s dream, the sketches in the ledger, and the sunset described as “like blood.” These images swirled endlessly, stirring up her unease.

After what felt like an eternity, the doorbell rang.

The crisp electronic chime cut through the apartment’s oppressive silence, startling Jian Anji.

She took a deep breath, braced herself on the armchair’s armrest, and struggled to her feet, slowly making her way to the door.

Peering through the peephole, she saw a middle-aged woman in a dark blue uniform standing outside, carrying a small medical kit. Her expression was flat, her eyes professional and distant, devoid of curiosity or emotion.

Jian Anji opened the door.

The woman nodded slightly, her voice steady. “Miss Jian? Mr. Leng asked me to come change your bandages.”

“Mr. Leng…” The title pricked Jian Anji’s heart again. She stepped aside. “Please come in.”

The woman entered, her gaze sweeping quickly over Jian Anji. It lingered for a moment on the scars peeking out from beneath the hem of her slip, but her expression remained impassive. Clearly, this wasn’t her first time handling such situations.

“Please move to a better-lit area. I need to examine the wounds,” the woman said in a businesslike tone, heading toward the living room.

Jian Anji followed, and at the woman’s gesture, sat sideways on the sofa with her back to her, careful not to put pressure on the injured areas.

The woman opened her medical kit, taking out disinfectant, fresh ointment, gauze, and cotton swabs with practiced efficiency.

When the cold, antiseptic-soaked cotton ball touched the whip marks on her back, Jian Anji couldn’t help but flinch.

The woman’s hands were steady as she cleaned the wounds and applied the ointment with swift, precise movements. Her actions were purely professional, devoid of any unnecessary touch or emotion.

This, paradoxically, brought Jian Anji a sense of pathetic relief. At least this wasn’t another form of scrutiny or control.

“The injuries are mostly superficial, affecting the epidermis and shallow dermis, with some localized bruising,” the woman stated calmly, as if reporting lab results. “Apply the medication as directed, avoid friction or pressure, and the redness and swelling should subside in about a week. The bruising will take longer to fade. Watch for signs of infection.”

Jian Anji listened silently, offering no response.

The woman continued treating the other wounds, unfazed by the silence.

When she reached the back of Jian Anji’s thigh, she paused and retrieved a slightly larger tube of ointment from her medical kit.

“The skin here is thinner, and the damage is deeper. This stronger ointment may sting a bit, but try to bear with it.”

The cold ointment immediately brought a sharper, burning pain. Jian Anji’s fingers dug deep into the sofa armrest.

The dressing change took about twenty minutes.

The woman worked with professional efficiency.

When finished, she packed up her medical kit and stood.

“The ointment and bandages are here. Instructions and precautions are on the labels,” she said in her usual flat tone. “Mr. Leng said you need to rest today. If you develop a fever or the wounds become unusually red, swollen, or start draining pus, call this number.”

She handed Jian Anji a white card with only a phone number printed on it.

Jian Anji took the card, her fingertips were icy.

The woman nodded slightly, said nothing more, and turned to leave.

The door closed softly behind her.

Once again, Jian Anji was alone in the apartment, the air now thick with the mingled scents of fresh and old medicinal creams.

She glanced down at the card in her hand, then at the small pile of medicines and bandages on the coffee table.

Rest.

In this body was scarred and burdened by secrets, in this cold, empty space where there was nowhere to hide, the word “rest” sounded like a cruel joke from a distant land.

The sunlight outside grew more intense, streaming through the spotless glass to bathe her in its bright glare. Yet she felt no warmth.

Only the newly treated wounds on her skin pulsed with a persistent, icy sting under the medicine’s effect, a constant reminder of the night before and this reality that seemed like care but was, in truth, a deeper confinement.

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