Chapter 866

Millie’s hands quivered, and her body was tense. Minutes later, a semblance of quiet settled, affirming

the assailant’s retreat.

With trembling hands, Millie illuminated the room, A few droplets of blood adorned the floor, the knife’s

blade stained by blood.

Her premonitions had fueled her unease before bedtime, Fortuitously, she had placed a knife beneath

her pillow as a safeguard against unforeseen threats.

Though her legs wavered, Millie resolutely wiped the knife clean, tidied the room, and inspected the

entrance. Just as she expected, the door had been tampered with.

Fortunately, the assailant wouldn’t likely return tonight, hampered by their wound,

Millie wedged a chair against the door, reclaiming her room’s security. Sitting on her bed, she

contemplated contacting Marcus to divulge the attempted assault. Yet, glancing at the late hour, she

decided against it, opting to spare him the late-night disturbance.

Rest eluded Millie throughout the tumultuous night, granting her only reprieve with dawn’s arrival.

Following her morning ablutions, Millie opened her door, intent on locating someone to address the

roof’s damage.

The instant the door ajar, Patrick greeted her, a basket of crimson strawberries in hand, his smile

directed her way.

“Near the agricultural station, there’s a strawberry garden. I picked these for you, I heard they’re great

for a girl’s complexion,” he remarked.

The basket’s contents were plump, vibrant, and red.

However, Millie harbored no desire for the offering. Aware of Patrick’s infatuation with her, she was

determined to maintain a boundary, deterring any misinterpretation. He deserved to find someone who

reciprocated his affection.

“Strawberries aren’t to my taste. Enjoy them yourself.” Millie apologetically declined, her smile

measured. Patrick was perceptive of Millie’s intentions: her reluctance to accept his offerings and her

desire to maintain a certain distance between them. Patrick, though disheartened by her refusal,

persisted.

“Give it a shot; I’ve already gathered them. Just have a taste, okay? I won’t pick them again,”

Millie furrowed her brows and glanced up, spotting Roland approaching with a reddened and swollen

face. Clearly, the insect’s poison had taken a toll, turning Roland’s face into an exaggeratedly plump

visage.

“Do you like Millie too? But your chances are slim, I’m pursuing her,” Roland declared with a measure

of arrogance, intervening in the scene as if asserting dominance.

He had noticed from afar that Patrick was pestering Millie. Of course, he had to interfere.

“Take your strawberries and go. If Millie wants strawberries, I’ll buy them for her, You don’t have the

right to provide for her,” Roland barked, shoving Patrick backward in a display of rudeness.

Patrick took a step back, his countenance darkening, yet a flicker of surprise registered in his eyes.

Quickly, Patrick realized that Roland, with his swollen face, was a local -his accent attesting to it.

Millie’s being pursued by a local seemed to complicate the situation,

Rubbing her forehead, Millie directed an exasperated look at the brusque Roland.

“Roland, as I’ve told you before, I’m married. Please refrain from pestering me.”

Unswayed, Roland persisted, shaking his head resolutely.

“That’s not possible. Marriage won’t change my mind. Even if you don’t fancy me now, I’ll wait until the

day you do.”