?<strong>Chapter 493:</strong>


    Feeling lightheaded from theck of oxygen, Carrie experienced a conflicting surge of pleasure while gasping for air. Kristopher made love to her twice, pausing only when he remembered her earlierint of an upset stomach. Afterward, he cleaned her up and made sure she wasfortably tucked into bed.


    Carrie watched him from under the covers, her eyes peeking out, tracking his every move. He caught her watching and softly suggested, “Try to get some rest. I need to join a video call.”


    Her hand emerged from the nket, clutching at him, pleading, “Stay with me.”


    Turning off his camera, he grabbed hisptop and settled next to her on the bed. She curled up beside him, idly ying with the drawstring of his pajamas.


    At the underground fight club, a man wearing a sinister mask and a white shirt sttered with vivid blood stood ominously in one corner of the stage, his presence as haunting as a scene from a horror film. Even those who knew him well could not reconcile this merciless fighter with the usually mild-mannered Daxton.


    At his feet, a muscr many shirtless and writhing in agony on the ground. When the club’s doctor arrived, the man had already stopped moving entirely. After examining him, the doctor stood, shaking his head solemnly. “He’s dead.”


    Without a second nce at the dead man, Daxton instructed the man next to him, “Send three hundred thousand to his family forpensation.”


    Underground battles often came with life-or-death agreements, and it wasn’t umon for them to end fatally, particrly when vast sums of money were at stake. Tonight’s crowd, however, consisted of mere tourists looking for entertainment, and they were horrified to witness an actual death unfold before them. The shock rendered everyone motionless.


    Clearly, the fighter on stage regarded human life as nothing more than a spectacle. The onlookers held their breaths, afraid that Daxton might notice and direct his deadly attention towards them.


    g?lnσν????s is your escape to fiction


    With a stoic expression, Daxton stepped across the lifelesspetitor and deftly leaped from the stage, making his way to the backstage area. Once in the dressing room, he removed his mask and swapped his clothes. His assistant noticed a cut on his arm and promptly said, “Mr. Garcia, you should have that looked at.”


    Looking down, Daxton observed the blood seeping from a minor cut on his arm. He remembered that the injury had urred during a brutal takedown, where he had mmed the muscr man’s head repeatedly. During the scuffle, the man’s eye socket had ruptured, sshing fluid onto Daxton. In his distress, the man had scratched Daxton.


    The cut was minor, and the rush of adrenaline had masked any pain Daxton might have felt. An impulsive thought hit him. Eyeing a pair of scissors on the table, he deliberately deepened the cut, allowing the blood to run. A slight smile yed on his lips. This severe injury would surely cause her concern.


    “Hold on a second,” he called to his assistant, who was on the verge of stepping out. “Take me to the hospital, and then inform Carrie.”


    Daxton was eager to see what decision Carrie would make. Would she choose to stay with Kristopher, or rush to his side upon hearing of his injury?


    At the hotel…


    Kristopher waspletely absorbed in his work. He sat in front of hisputer, listening intently to a reporting through on the other side while typing out notes into a document. Meanwhile, Carriey beside him, bored out of her mind, mindlessly scrolling through her phone when, out of nowhere, an unfamiliar number shed on the screen.


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