The Heiress They Lost Came Back Overpowered
Chapter 38 - 37: What a Coincidence, Beautiful

Chapter 38: Chapter 37: What a Coincidence, Beautiful

Back to Yvonne Lowell.

The moment she reached the top floor, she heard a door open and Kyle Quinn’s cursing. She quickly ducked into the stairwell.

She waited until she heard the elevator doors close before heading toward the room.

Leon’s voice came through her earpiece. "Lowell, that punk Henry Lynch just ordered food. You can just knock, pretending you’re with room service."

A smirk played on Yvonne Lowell’s lips. Staying clear of the peephole, she knocked on the door.

He must have let his guard down. Dressed in a tank top and shorts, Henry Lynch had barely opened the door before he turned to walk back inside without a moment’s pause.

"Long time no see, Henry Lynch," Yvonne Lowell said with a smile, locking the door and tucking her hands into her pockets.

Hearing that familiar voice, Henry Lynch whipped his head around and saw the face that had terrified him for two long years.

"You... you... you..." Henry Lynch stammered, stumbling backward in horror.

"What’s wrong? Don’t you recognize me? I’m just here to catch up, my old friend," Yvonne Lowell said, watching him with a smirk.

Henry Lynch said nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the gun on the coffee table and spun around to grab it.

But Yvonne Lowell, raising a silenced pistol, shot him in both knees, forcing him to his knees.

"AARGH!"

He refused to give up, still crawling desperately toward it. Yvonne Lowell simply stood and watched him, perfectly calm.

Just as his right hand was about to touch the gun, Yvonne Lowell put a bullet straight through his palm.

"AARGH! Falcon, we can... we can talk about this."

"Tsk. It’s not symmetrical. How ugly," Yvonne Lowell said, ignoring him. She shot his left hand as well and nodded in satisfaction. "There, that’s much better."

"I... I know... back then, I... I wronged you. For... forgive me. Just this once."

Yvonne Lowell walked over to him and looked down. "And why would you deserve that?"

The pain was already making Henry Lynch delirious. Yvonne Lowell just stood there, savoring his pathetic state.

A voice came through her earpiece. "Lowell, we’ve got company downstairs. Looks like the club’s owner, and from the looks of it, they don’t know about the merchandise being moved here. They beat the hell out of that punk Kyle Quinn the second they walked in. It’s a standoff down there now. You need to wrap this up, fast."

"Is that right? Then I suppose I should thank him."

With that, she pulled out a dagger, crouched down, and patted Henry Lynch’s cheek. "Remember this? I was cut nearly a hundred times with a dagger just like this one. If the prosthetic mask I was wearing hadn’t been so well-made, my face would have been ruined."

"I... I had no other choice! I was desperate!"

"Hah. If it weren’t for me, you’d have been fucking dead long ago. You wouldn’t even be alive to *be* desperate. And was it really desperation, or were you trying to usurp my position? You know damn well which one it was."

Yvonne Lowell drew the blade across his arm, the cut perfectly measured. She rested her chin on her hand, watching the blood slowly well up.

Henry Lynch let out a muffled groan, his forehead beaded with sweat.

"Why, though? Was I not good to you? In fact, I think I was *too* good to you. So good that I fed your ambition until it grew out of control."

There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in Yvonne Lowell’s eyes. The movements of her hand were fluid and seamless, without the slightest hesitation, as if she were merely painting with an unhurried, leisurely grace.

Blood dripped onto the floor, and the thick, coppery smell of it filled the air.

Every cut she inflicted on Henry Lynch’s body was a perfect replica of one she had once received—down to the exact location.

Henry Lynch finally broke, letting out a piercing shriek. His face was a mask of agony and terror.

"Falcon, please... I’m begging you. Let me go. Give me... one chance."

"Hah. Fine. We do have a history, after all. And since you’ve put it so nicely, I suppose I have to give you that chance," Yvonne Lowell said, sitting down on the sofa. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it.

"You can leave now. I’ll come looking for you when I’m done with this cigarette. But if I catch you again... well, sorry, not sorry."

The hope that had just sparked in Henry Lynch was instantly snuffed out. ’But what if...?’ he thought. ’What if I run into Kyle Quinn or someone else out there?’

He decided to take the gamble. It was better than staying here and being sliced to ribbons. Enduring the agony, he began to slowly drag himself toward the exit, leaving a smeared, bloody trail on the floor. He painstakingly unlocked the door and crawled out into the hallway.

Leon and the others, coming up from the stairwell, emerged to see a writhing, blood-soaked figure in the corridor.

As they drew closer and recognized his face, they instantly understood. This was Yvonne Lowell’s sick sense of humor at work.

"Well now, if it isn’t Ford the Dog. Still kicking, are you? You’re a tough one to kill," Leon said, nudging the man’s face with the toe of his shoe.

Henry Lynch had hoped to cry for help when he saw people arriving, but the moment he heard that voice, he knew it was hopeless. He was probably going to die here today.

Lying on the floor, he gave a self-mocking laugh. ’Of course,’ he thought. He knew her personality better than anyone. She despised betrayal above all else. ’How could she ever have really let me go?’

Regan Knight glanced at the elevator. The floor indicator was already more than halfway to the top.

He rushed to the room and pushed the door open. "Lowell, those guys who beat up Kyle Quinn are on their way up. They’re almost here."

"Let them come. I’ll go say hi in a minute. I promised Henry Lynch a whole cigarette’s worth of a head start. Tell our guys to be polite. After all, those people just did us a favor by drawing all the attention. Make sure no one starts a fight."

Yvonne Lowell leaned back against the sofa, smoking nonchalantly.

Regan Knight’s lip twitched. ’We don’t even know if they’re friend or foe,’ he thought. ’Only Lowell could be this laid-back.’

"Alright. I understand."

He knew that once Yvonne Lowell made a decision, there was no changing it, so he went to relay her orders.

’Besides, it’s not like we’re scared of them,’ he reasoned. ’Worst case, we’ll just have to fight.’

Regan Knight had just finished relaying the message when the elevator chimed with a DING. The doors slid open, revealing four people and... a human mop.

Everyone turned, their hands instinctively moving toward their lower backs.

Warren Lynch and his group eyed them with equal vigilance.

Leon stepped forward with a cheerful grin. "Sorry about this, folks. We’re the ones causing the disturbance. Just give us a moment. Once we’re done with our business, we’ll be sure to help you get this place back to how it was."

Leo Grant’s eyes swept over them and the heap on the floor. Not seeing the person he was looking for, his expression darkened. "Where is she?"

Leon watched him warily. They had been watching the security feeds, so they hadn’t missed his methods. The man looked deceptively handsome and proper, but his ruthlessness was on par with their own boss, Lowell.

Plus, he’d asked for Yvonne Lowell the moment he spoke, yet she had never mentioned knowing him. It was baffling.

Just as he was about to try and bluff his way out of the question, he heard footsteps behind him and turned to look.

Yvonne Lowell emerged, dagger in hand. When she saw the man standing not far away, her expression clearly froze for an instant.