Staring at the blinking red error symbol on the elevator, Jasmine Sinclair laughed in frustration. It could have broken down at any other time, but no, it had to be now. ’What a coincidence,’ she thought. ’It’s like it’s forcing me to do manual labor, isn’t it?’
Annoyed, Jasmine viciously kicked the "Mexican chicken burrito" on the floor a few times before resignedly dragging it into the stairwell. She hauled it with a roughness born purely of vented frustration.
Anyone who’d been working around the clock all night would be in a foul mood. If Jasmine didn’t still want to return to the real world to keep fighting Jessica Adler, she wouldn’t bother with this bullshit mission at all.
"Host, can you please drag him a little more gently? Don’t kill the mission target."
System 777 was a little worried about the condition of the man inside the Mexican chicken burrito. It would be a shame if he wasn’t killed by his enemies, but by its Host instead.
"If he dies, he dies. The next one will be even crazier."
As she spoke, Jasmine deliberately slammed the Mexican chicken burrito against the steps. A man’s pained hiss immediately came from within—low, hoarse, and suppressed, like that of a wounded beast.
’His pained gasps are actually kind of exciting. I really want to hear more.’
And so, for the next three floors, the thuds and muffled grunts formed a strange rhythm. Jasmine even started humming a tune. It wasn’t until she had dragged the man onto her bedroom floor that she, panting, lifted a corner of the blanket.
The moment her fingers reached his nose, she curled her lip. "Tough bastard."
The man’s pale face was half-hidden in the bloodstained blanket, his eyelashes still trembling faintly in his unconscious state. Jasmine squatted beside him for a moment, then reached out and poked the wound on his side. Fresh blood immediately seeped out.
’He’s not bad looking at all. Truly top-tier features. Deep-set brow, high-bridged nose, sharp jawline... and that prominent Adam’s apple, combined with this battle-worn state... it’s just so damn sexy and alluring.’
Jasmine bit her lip, shaking the useless thoughts from her head. After a short rest, she dragged him into the bathroom, found a hemp rope, and, with swift, professional movements, tied him up and tossed him into the bathtub.
Watching its Host’s expert knot-tying and the shamefully suggestive result, System 777 seriously suspected she had some kind of twisted fetish. How else could she be so proficient?
To prevent the man from making any noise when he woke up, Jasmine found a signed golf ball and stuffed it in his mouth.
Seeing this, System 777 was now certain that the Host it was bound to was a pervert.
’It’s over. Is the Host going to break all our future mission targets?’
After finishing all this, Jasmine picked up her phone to check the time. Holy cow, it was already 7:30. She had wanted to take a quick nap, but that was clearly out of the question now.
’Being a Siren who’s also a time management master is no easy feat. Working around the clock, drinking one moment and doing manual labor the next... It’s exhausting.’
Jasmine changed her clothes and, yawning, dragged her weary body downstairs. The moment she reached the first floor, she saw Clara Sinclair already sitting in the dining room.
The instant their eyes met, Jasmine put on a sweet smile. Her voice was sugary and soft as she greeted Clara enthusiastically, "Sister, good morning! Did you sleep well last night?"
"It was fine."
Faced with Jasmine’s warmth, Clara Sinclair merely gave a polite nod.
Jasmine sat down across from Clara. Seeing the dark circles under Clara’s eyes, she knew her sister hadn’t gotten much rest either. ’She probably went out for a solo street race.’
Not long after Jasmine sat down, Hugo Sinclair and Madeline Shepherd also arrived in the dining room. Seeing the master and mistress of the house seated, the servants quickly brought breakfast to the table.
Clara Sinclair stared at the bread and milk on the table with no appetite. She was used to warm meal and couldn’t get accustomed to cold ones.
"Mom, Sister doesn’t like cold bread and milk. From now on, let’s have Auntie Lowe prepare a separate warm meal for her."
Jasmine flashed a sweet smile at Clara, who was sitting across from her.
Clara remained outwardly cold, but her heart was warmed again by her new sister’s gesture. ’This crafty girl actually noticed so quickly that I don’t like cold ones.’
Madeline Shepherd and Hugo Sinclair both looked at their biological daughter’s plate. When they saw the untouched food, they were immediately filled with guilt. Even Jasmine had noticed that Clara didn’t like cold food, yet they, her own parents, had failed to see it.
Madeline hurriedly stood up and called towards the kitchen, "Auntie Lowe, quickly, go make some oatmeal, fry two soft-boiled eggs, and prepare some soup."
After giving the orders, Madeline looked at her biological daughter with self-reproach and said, "Clara, I’m so sorry. Mom didn’t know you don’t like cold meal. From now on, Auntie Lowe will prepare you some warm meal every day. After we eat, please make me a list of foods you like and dislike. I’ll give it to Auntie Lowe so she can be mindful when she cooks."
"Clara, this card is for you," Hugo Sinclair said, holding out a bank card. "Dad will put your monthly allowance on this card. From now on, buy whatever you want. If it’s not enough, just tell me."
Facing the biological daughter he had been separated from for over a decade, he still didn’t quite know how to interact with her. But in his heart, he loved this daughter. Blood is thicker than water; how could a father not love his own child? It was just that they had missed too much time. It would take a long period of adjustment to truly live together like a family.
Clara stared, stunned, at the bank card held out to her. Ever since she’d arrived at the Sinclair Family’s home, she had felt completely out of place.
She felt like an outsider who had suddenly barged into this family. She believed her biological parents and brothers only loved their adopted daughter, Jasmine Sinclair; they didn’t like her or care about her.
But just now, seeing her biological mother feel guilty for not knowing her breakfast preferences and her biological father gently offering her an allowance, she realized it wasn’t that they didn’t like her. It was that they had missed too much time. They needed time to get along, to understand each other.
"Sister, Dad’s giving you an allowance. You should take it. If you don’t want it, I’ll take it!"
Seeing that Clara still hadn’t taken the card, Jasmine reached out as if to grab it herself.
"Jasmine, that’s for your sister," Hugo Sinclair quickly chided. "If your allowance isn’t enough, just tell Dad. How can you take your sister’s?"
"I don’t need the money. Give it to Jasmine."
Clara wasn’t short on money. ’Since the little schemer wants it, she can have it. I’m the older sister, after all. I should give in to the younger one.’
"Clara, this is your allowance. Jasmine gets one every month, so you should have one too. As for Jasmine, don’t worry about her. Even if she spends all her money, Caleb and Simon will take care of her."
Hugo felt his biological daughter was just being stubborn and shy. How could she not need money? ’She’s a child who grew up in the countryside; what ability could she possibly have to earn money?’
The day he went to the village to pick her up, he saw her emerge without even a suitcase, carrying only a burlap sack. His heart had ached terribly at the sight.