The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1774

"You'd better. I still have things to take care of after dinner. Hurry up."

And with that, Malcolm left for the bedroom, leaving Janielle in the shadows.

Danger always came when one least expected it. Some scums simply didn't believe that evil would be met with retribution.

…

"Then, let us deliver justice ourselves. Tonight, you and I will bear witness."

Wynter instantly sensed something amiss when she saw the text.

She grabbed Bowie's wrist in one swift motion. "Is this the death notice you mentioned earlier?"

Bowie winced in pain, sweat beading on his forehead. "Y-Yes, that's the one."

He didn't dare lie anymore.

Wynter's fingers slid across her phone, continuing the login process. Normally, a site like this wouldn't allow access without a CAPTCHA, even for members. Wynter, however, cracked it with ease.

She didn't need to go to some internet café or cover her tracks. Instead, she directly opened the post's content and paid special attention to the ID.

"Tell me about this 'Sheep' member," Wynter said, her eyes locked on Bowie. "What's their personality like, generally speaking?"

Bowie grabbed his hair in frustration. "We've never met in person! You guys already guessed that, right? Everyone wears masks, and you can't even guess their height sometimes."

"Which is why I'm asking about their personality," Wynter said steadily, her hands simultaneously tracking the poster's location.

She found it—it was at an internet café. There was no time for them to slowly identify who it was. Every second saved could make a difference.

Bowie racked his brain. "We rarely even talk to each other. Usually, the sage would post instructions, and we just followed them. As for their personality, I wouldn't have thought they'd be this bold.

"They joined not long ago. They were scared to even show up the last time someone died. But the sage seemed to value them a lot and even told them that Stacey deserved it for seducing the teacher. Members like this wouldn't usually be chosen. But somehow, they just were."

Bowie clutched his head and continued, "I really don't know anything else. They hardly talk, even on the site, and their posts are boring. I just don't understand why they suddenly posted a death notice."

As Bowie spoke, Wynter was reading through the posts under the ID. They were indeed sparse and unusually serious.

The investigators weren't as calm as Wynter. They knew that a death notice meant someone else was about to commit suicide.

After obtaining the internet café's address, they immediately made a call. "This is the police. We need to pull surveillance footage from an internet café. Focus on identifying males with unstable jobs, especially those with prior harassment records..."

"It's not a male," Wynter interrupted, taking the phone herself. "The person we're looking for is quiet, married, female, frugal, and between 30 and 40 years old—a housewife whose spouse is a teacher. Focus on that.

"Don't waste time on the surveillance—it's too slow. Instead, check the IDs used to log in at the café."

This approach was indeed much faster. After all, how many housewives would frequent internet cafés?

But the investigators couldn't help but wonder how Wynter came to the conclusion that the suspect was a housewife. Bowie clearly pointed toward a male offender. Shouldn't they focus on the evidence provided?

Wynter knew what they were thinking. "There's a concept in romance scams called psychological suggestion. The more someone repeats the points you care about, the more it triggers a reaction in you. If someone wants to incite violence, they'll target the thing their victim hates most."

She glanced at the dazed Bowie. "Didn't he say that 'Sheep' became indifferent to Stacey's death after what the 'sage' said? Don't you remember what the sage said?"

The others hadn't caught on yet when Dalton spoke first. "He said Stacey deserved her end as she was always seducing the teachers."

"Huh? Yeah, he did say that. But to say that they are housewives just from that one sentence… Isn't that too..."

Dalton stood up and tapped the post that Wynter had pulled up. "It's not just that one sentence. Didn't this 'Sheep' member post something themselves?"

"'I still think I should marry a woman who can take care of the house and cook,'" the investigator read the post, but still couldn't understand. "Doesn't this just prove he's a male chauvinist?"

Dalton raised his gaze. "No, that's her speaking about herself. She's the one who takes care of the household. The post proves that she's a housewife and that she feels unappreciated at home.

"Her schedule is fragmented but still consistent. Do you notice how she's never online between 4:30 pm and 8:00 pm? Kindergarten and elementary school students are usually out of school then.

"She's likely busy picking up her kids, cooking, and helping with homework. She probably didn't even see the last murder notice because she was too occupied."

After Dalton's explanation, the investigators exchanged glances and quickly re-checked the posting times and other details.

Dalton was the first person outside Wynter's Special Unit team who could keep up with her thought process so effortlessly.

His voice was calm, as if discussing something unrelated to him. "Following the perpetrator's logic, the next victim is likely..."

"A mistress! She's going to kill the mistress, right?" The investigators jumped to the obvious conclusion.

But Dalton shook his head, his gaze unreadable. "Why go so far when the scum is right in front of her? Killing the scumbag is faster."

The investigators' expressions shifted. "Does that mean that she wants to kill her husband?"

Wynter, however, glanced at Dalton and said, "No. What he means is that the scumbag is a teacher from Monway University."

After all, this was about human sacrifice. He was hinting at her.

Dalton chuckled softly at her response. He reached out, took her hand, and his deep gaze bore into hers. "It's still the same question—would you save someone, knowing they are scum?"

The investigators frowned. They didn't understand what kind of question that was.

Bowie, on the other hand, let out a sneaky chuckle. He ached all over, but his lewd grin persisted as his eyes shifted to Dalton. "I told you, you're perfect for our group. If you started killing people, you'd definitely be better than us—"

Before he could finish, Wynter dislocated his jaw. It wouldn't kill him, but the pain was excruciating.

"He's mine," Wynter said coldly, grabbing Dalton by his white shirt and glaring at Bowie. "Don't even think about saying he's fit to join you. Are you even worthy enough to compete with me?"

Wynter didn't want to hear another word about killing people. She believed that Dalton was better off staying clean and untouched. There was enough resentful energy already, and it was best to keep them suppressed.

Dalton paused briefly at her words, then let out a low, soft laugh.

The sound brushed against Wynter's ear, so close she couldn't ignore it. She turned to look at him. "What?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that they aren't worthy," Dalton said. His presence, shaped by years of authority, radiated nobility. It felt as if he could offer her the world with that gaze of his, an embodiment of the deep affection he felt for Wynter.

"That guy made it pretty clear he wanted to recruit you," Wynter said as she gestured for him to sit behind her, confidently revving the engine.

She continued, "Forget their sage. I'm wrecking him out of existence today. They can't even earn more than me, and now they want to recruit my people. I really don't like what they're saying."

Dalton, of course, had noticed. His arms circled her waist. "Winning me over isn't easy, and it's impossible to get me for free."

Only then did Wynter look satisfied, speeding up the Tomahawk. The superbike cut through the dark mist as if it could split it apart, racing toward Iwarim.

…

Janielle entered the kitchen with a basket of groceries before pulling out a small bottle from her pocket.

The instructions were simple—just dissolve it in water. It was colorless, tasteless, and left no trace. Once the intended "sacrifice" consumed it, they would obey any command, no matter what it was.

With this thought, a resolute determination flickered in Janielle's eyes. She filled a glass of water, poured the liquid from the small bottle into it, and watched as it instantly dissolved without a trace.

Carefully, she carried the glass of water to Malcolm's room and knocked on the door lightly. "Malcolm, I brought you a glass of water to quench your thirst."

Malcolm was still on his phone, exchanging sweet nothings with Tracy. The smile on his face revealed everything, but being interrupted by Janielle soured his mood.

He shoved his phone into his pocket with irritation, opened the door, and frowned. "Just give it to me," he snapped, grabbing the glass.

Then, without hesitation, he added, "Don't bother me if there's nothing important. I can pour my own water." With that, he downed the glass in one go and handed it back to Janielle.

Watching him drink it all, Janielle's tense body finally relaxed.

In a low voice, she said, "Malcolm, you've barely come home ever since you started seeing that student from your school. You keep saying you're on business trips or busy with school matters, but yesterday, I saw you and that girl together, entering a house."

Malcolm froze for a moment, panic flickering in his mind.

He couldn't afford to break things off with Janielle just yet. Her father's old connections at the university were still crucial for his career. His boss often asked about their marriage, and Malcolm had been selling the image of a happy, harmonious family.

"That's just a student. I was tutoring her. Are you really going to nitpick over that? The school doesn't allow teachers to host tutoring classes, so I have to do it privately to earn some extra cash.

"How else do you think this family survives? Do you think money just falls from the sky the moment you ask for it? And sure, you've been making some money from whatever sketchy online thing you're doing lately, but that's barely enough!"

If Janielle hadn't crossed paths with Royston, she might have been left speechless by Malcolm's words. Even if she had seen it all with her own eyes, she wouldn't have been able to prove anything.

Worse, Malcolm would twist it around to make her seem like the unreasonable one, turning the blame back on her.

But now, Janielle simply laughed—a mocking, bitter laugh. "Malcolm, even now, you're still the same as ever."

She glanced at the clock on the wall and then shifted her gaze back to Malcolm. "Your time's up."

The moment the words left her lips, Malcolm clutched his throat. "You... What did you do to me?"

Janielle took a step closer, her voice cold. "What I did is the punishment you deserve. People like you don't deserve to live."

Suddenly, Malcolm's expression changed. His eyes went blank, and he was now an empty shell of a man.