Peter tore off Claire's clothes, ignoring the fact that the room was below minus sixty degrees.
Claire lay there, motionless and glassy-eyed. She had no strength to fight back.
But just as Peter dropped his pants, he realized a cruel truth—
He couldn't get it up.
No kidding—between the freezing cold and his wrecked physical state, there was zero blood flow down there.
"Get up… Come on, GET UP!"
Peter tried everything. No use.
It was as if that part of him had frozen off, permanently.
Claire sneered, eyes filled with contempt.
"You're pathetic."
"ARRRGHHHH!!!"
Peter's roar of despair echoed through the room, like a neutered dog howling at the moon.
That same night, after much contemplation, Dr. Chloe finally gave Ethan a reply.
She knew this was a test.
Dangerous? Yes.
But if she didn't take this chance, she would end up dead anyway—probably at the hands of Tony and his men.
She had to bet everything on this.
That evening, Tony and his goons lounged in the living room while a lackey went to the kitchen to cook.
Chloe watched from the corner, then slowly got up.
"I'll help him," she said.
Tony glanced at her coldly, a twisted grin forming on his face.
"Hah… I knew you'd crack eventually."
Chloe's body stiffened. Her blood felt like it froze in her veins.
Tony chuckled.
"Haven't eaten in two days, huh? It's fine, Chloe. No shame in wanting to survive."
She forced herself to nod.
"You're right… I don't want to die. I want to live."
Tony, thinking she'd finally submitted, nodded in approval.
"Good. You're still useful to me. Would be a shame to lose such a fine doctor so soon."
Chloe exhaled quietly and turned toward the kitchen.
Inside, bloodstains covered the counters and walls.
Even with a stuffy nose, she could smell the stench.
Chloe kept it together, barely.
She stepped forward, offering to help the lackey.
He just stared at her blankly and pointed at a pile of chopped furniture and an axe.
Kindling. Got it.
They didn't have fuel. All they could do now was burn furniture for heat.
The stove was makeshift. An iron pot sat on top.
Once the fire was lit, snow inside the pot began to melt into water—but it was murky, filled with dirt and grime.
Still, no one cared about cleanliness anymore. Survival trumped everything.
Chloe kept glancing at the lackey, timing her moment.
Her palms were sweaty. Her legs trembled from tension.
Eventually, the man dumped some "meat" into the pot and added a few random spices.
"Watch the pot."
Then he left.
Chloe waited, held her breath.
When she was sure she was alone, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a small vial, and unscrewed the lid.
She dumped a heap of white powder into the pot.
Then she stirred it thoroughly.
It was done.
Her heart was racing like a single-cylinder engine. Her body shook.
But there were no mishaps.
No one noticed.
No one questioned.
This isn't a movie. Sometimes things actually go according to plan.
Given the horrible living conditions, everyone was numb. No one suspected the doctor.
At noon, Chloe served the large pot of stew. Tony and his goons rushed over like starving wolves.
To keep up appearances, she took a bowl herself and returned to her room.
No one stopped her. Everyone was too focused on the food.
A hot meal = survival.
The difference between eating or not could mean life or death.
Sitting in her room, Chloe held the bowl in her hands and waited silently.
She had used half a bottle of strong sleeping pills. One tablet could knock someone out in thirty minutes. She had poured in dozens.
Especially after a full stomach, the human body naturally slowed down.
Even a damn elephant would be put to sleep.
She knew exactly how this dosage would work. Unless something major happened, none of them would be waking up anytime soon.
Sure enough, before long, she heard loud snoring from the living room.
Chloe crept to the door and peeked.
Tony and all his men were slumped over, passed out on sofas and chairs.
She quickly messaged Ethan:
"I drugged them. They're out cold. What do you want me to do now?"
Just across the wall, Ethan had been waiting for this confirmation.
Only after proving her value could Chloe become a true piece in his game.
When he saw her message, he raised a brow and replied:
"Drag them all out onto the balcony."
Ethan wasn't going over there himself. This could still be a trap.
Chloe bit her lip.
"Okay."
She didn't hesitate anymore.
Anyone else would've been scared to death.
What if one of them suddenly woke up? What if they caught her?
But Chloe was a doctor. She trusted the dose.
One by one, she dragged them out onto the balcony.
The frigid wind howled, but none of the men stirred.
Their bodies, in deep sleep, had entered energy conservation mode. Cold made them shut down even more.
Through his window, Ethan watched it all.
He knew exactly how many people Tony had under him.
He had the whole building under surveillance.
And now, as Chloe dragged the last man onto the balcony, Ethan gave a satisfied nod.
"What now?" Chloe asked, her voice trembling.
"That's enough. Just wait."
Ethan set down his phone and walked to his bedroom.
He changed into a thick, military-grade snowsuit from his storage space.
Strapped ten thick ropes to his belt.
In one hand, he held a loaded crossbow.
On his back: a machete.
He paused.
Then grabbed a pistol—just in case.
Only when he had every weapon secured did he feel truly safe.
Ethan stepped onto his balcony for the first time since the world froze.
The lock had three layers—fingerprint, digital, and mechanical.
After unlocking each one, he opened the door and stepped outside.
The cold wind hit him like a wall, but his suit handled it easily.
These suits are worth every damn dollar.
Across from him, Chloe stood shivering at the edge of her balcony, hugging herself.
"You… You're going to kill them, aren't you?"
Ethan's smile curved coldly.
He raised his gun, aiming casually at both the sleeping bastards—and at Chloe.
Then, he tossed the ropes at her feet.
"Not me."
"You."