A Second Chance at Forever novel (Eleanor and Bernard)

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Chapter 1377

Without offering any explanation or begging for mercy, Peterson simply walked into the middle of the

study. With his back to Yates, he shrugged off his coat and knelt down with a stoic grace.

With a whip in hand, Yates rose from the leather couch, his gaze unwavering as he lashed out at

Peterson’s scar-riddled back. Twenty times the whip cracked, each strike splitting skin and drawing

fresh, crimson blood that spurted out in a grim display. Through the excruciating pain, Peterson didn’t

utter a single sound.

Once done, Yates tossed the whip aside and stared coldly at Peterson.

“The chip in Bernard’s head, and the injuries he had-I don’t want you mentioning a word to Eleanor.

Next time, it won’t just be twenty lashes.”

Biting back the pain, Peterson dressed, turned with a pale face, and nodded to Yates.

“You have my word, I won’t interfere any further.”

He had already betrayed his grandfather once, he couldn’t bear to do it again. So now, it was up to

Eleanor to uncover the truth on her own.

After dealing with Peterson, Yates stood up, “We set out for Area Opaca now. We must return by six in

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the morning. Make the arrangements.”

“Understood.”

Peterson, having acknowledged the order, pushed open the door of the study just as Eleanor appeared

outside, waiting. He quickly wiped the sweat from his brow before she could see.

The study was soundproof; Eleanor hadn’t heard a thing. And with two bodyguards stationed outside,

she couldn’t get closer.

Seeing Peterson emerge, she quickly approached, concerned whether Yates had been harsh with him.

Peterson, his injuries hidden by the black suit, smiled reassuringly. “Our grandfather? How could he be

tough on me? Don’t worry about it.”

Eleanor had more questions, but Peterson, pressed for time, cut her off. “Dear Eleanor, my mother isn’t

feeling well. I must hurry home.”

Seeing the urgency in his demeanor, Eleanor nodded. “Then go, but if Yates gives you trouble, tell me.

I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

Peterson couldn’t help but smile at her words. Twenty lashes in exchange for his cousin’s trust and

care was a price he was willing to pay.

After making the necessary preparations, Peterson and Yates left through the back of the mansion. A

group of figures in black, their faces masked, quickly made their way to Area Opaca.

The Biozone was a chilling sight: rows upon rows of transparent glass chambers, lying on the floor as

far as the eye could see. From above, one could peer through the glass and see the lifeless bodies

within.

These were not just any bodies; they were specimens for biochemical experiments, each marked with

the letter ‘S’-members of the Siren Organization.

In one of these chambers, a tall man sat against the floor, one knee raised, his long, elegant hands

resting on it. Following those well-defined fingers upward, one met a face chiseled and hauntingly

beautiful, devoid of any discernible emotion.

His eyes, once as dazzling as the stars, now held nothing but emptiness and uncountable despair-the

despair of a husband who has lost his wife to the sea, and of a man surrounded by bioengineered

beings once comrades and friends. Now they were all gone, and he was powerless to do anything but

watch them succumb to infection and decay into mummies.

Many times he had wished to join them, but the hatred etched into his bones kept waking him in those

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cold, desolate nights, forcing him to survive.

And survive he did, time and again, through infection and despair….

Tonight, he would finally face the one he sought vengeance upon.

A mechanical voice announced the release of security protocols, and the heavy doors to the Biozone

slid open.

Bernard, by the dim light, slowly lifted his thick lashes, looking past the figures at the doorway to the

moonlight spilling in from outside. The faint glow wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell him it was night-

the first he had seen in half a year.

“Mr. Laurence,” Yates began, stepping toward him with an entourage of masked men. “Let’s make a

deal.”

Yates, his face obscured by a mask and his body by a hazmat suit, looked down upon Bernard with the

air of a sovereign.

Bernard propped against the wall, now cleaned and clothed by the medics, met Yates’ gaze with icy,

lethal eyes.

He didn’t speak, his silence a testament to his disdain for negotiation. Yates, unperturbed by the pride

emanating from him, even seemed to appreciate it.

“I’ll trade you Eleanor’s news for one promise from you. Do we have a deal?”

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