Chapter 392

Chapter 392:

Engulfed in these thoughts, Rosalie’s fatigue from the day’s turmoil soon lulled her into sleep.

In contrast, Ashton felt no desire for romantic encounters with Rosalie that evening.

The unsettling aura he had detected from Flint left him vigilant, prepared for any unforeseen incidents. Indeed, a disturbance outside his door around midnight abruptly roused him.

Ashton glimpsed a cluster of elegantly attired individuals engaged in conversation outside when he peered through the peephole.

Their furtive glances instantly triggered his suspicion. Once they verified the coast was clear, they hurried to his door and skillfully manipulated the lock.

Bursting into the room without hesitation, they brandished silenced pistols and unleashed a flurry of shots into the lumpy blanket on the bed.

Observing no movement under the covers, the assassins shared self-satisfied grins, believing the task had been far too simple.

They reveled in the millions of dollars earned with scant effort, wishing for more gigs of such ease.

One assassin moved to verify their success, intending to capture a photo of the supposed corpse to secure their final payment from their employer.

But upon yanking back the blanket, they stood aghast. No one was underneath.

Seizing the moment of their astonishment, Ashton dropped from the ceiling.

His ambush left the assassins staggered; they scarcely had time to react before Ashton subdued them one after another.

Surveying the groaning figures scattered across the floor, Ashton collected their firearms and pressed his foot against one assailant’s head, his gaze icy.

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“If you want this to end quickly, spill it. Who sent you?” he growled.

The assassins struggled on the floor, attempting to rise, but Ashton, being a skilled doctor, had incapacitated their meridians, causing their bodies to feel electrified and completely immobilizing them.

Despite their predicament, the assassin under Ashton’s foot firmly said, “You want us to turn against our employer? Even if you kill us, it’s impossible!”

Ashton found himself admiring their loyalty.

Then, mixing respect with practicality, he nonchalantly drew a short knife from the assassin’s belt.

He chuckled and said, “I did mention that honest confession might ease your passing. But I never said I’d kill you for staying silent, did I? As professionals, you should realize better than I that sometimes, living can be more torturous than dying.”

While speaking, Ashton’s hand flashed coldly, and he quickly inserted a silver needle into the back of the assassin’s neck.

Simultaneously, the short knife in his other hand plunged through the back of the man’s hand, impaling it completely.

The assassin, who had been ready to die rather than betray, suddenly experienced pain so severe that it wiped his mind clean.

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