When Daisy Ginger asked this question, her expression was still calm.
It was only upon seeing Charlotte Smith’s face change—a face that rarely showed much emotion—that she gradually realized sothing.
She lowered her head, once again examining the pills, her expression becoming gradually incredulous.
She pushed past Charlotte, who was standing at the doorway, and opened the door, walking into the bedroom she shared with Edward Stephens.
The room hadn’t been cleaned by the servant yet, and at this lazy morning hour, it exuded a faint warmth and laziness.
On the bedside table sat the milk that Edward had specifically brought her last night; on the sofa was the coat she had taken off yesterday and hadn’t had ti to hang up.
No matter what, this bedroom had already completely blended the life aura of her and the man, emitting a faint feeling of ho.
Yet at this mont, Daisy stood at the door, feeling a chill throughout her body.
She couldn’t describe what she felt inside, she just hurriedly walked over and took the bottle of pills from the dressing table.
These were the pills she took every day.
Having been in Chicago for over three months, this was her fourth bottle.
Kept on the dressing table, she didn’t try to hide it from Edward, openly using it as contraception.
Daisy, with a cold face, opened the bottle cap, poured the pills into her palm, and scrutinized them.
"Miss Ginger."
Charlotte called out to her from behind, sowhat at a loss, her voice hoarse.
Daisy kept her head down, staring unblinkingly at the nearly identical pills in her hand. She had never compared them to see how they differed from what she used to take.
"Miss Ginger."
Charlotte’s normally steady voice had a slight tremor.
She walked over, standing behind Daisy, yet didn’t know what else to say.
Daisy looked for a while, then slowly turned around to face Charlotte, whose face was pale.
Charlotte t her gaze, slightly biting her lip, her reaction a mix of fear and helplessness.
Though Charlotte said nothing, Daisy understood everything.
She opened her mouth, hoarsely asking, "Did he ask you to do it?"
Charlotte shook her head, lips pressed tightly together, saying nothing.
Daisy clenched the pills in her hand. She felt she had never been this angry, yet never this calm.
She set the bottle down, picked up a brow razor from the dressing table right in front of Charlotte.
"When did they get switched?"
She walked up to Charlotte and looked up at her.
The thin blade in her hand pressed against Charlotte’s face, sharp enough to scar with a single slice.
Charlotte, however, just pressed her lips together tightly, not saying a word.
Daisy’s eyes burned with a tint of red, her slender fra trembled slightly, then she gave a soft laugh to Charlotte, "Not talking?"
She raised her hand, revealing her wrist, and pressed the blade onto her own hand, sliding it forcefully—"Slash!"—a gash over twenty centiters long appeared on her forearm, cut by herself.
The wound wasn’t deep, but blood instantly flowed out, staining her whole forearm red.
"Miss Ginger!"
Charlotte exclaid, her always composed face finally unable to maintain calmness. She instinctively reached out, wanting to grab the razor from Daisy’s hand, but Daisy coldly stopped her.
"Don’t co over." She seed to feel no pain, her arm hanging naturally, letting the blood flow freely onto the floor. Clutching the razor, she looked at Charlotte, and asked again, "Did he make you switch them?"
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