True Tycoon Her Empire, Her Rules

Quincy’s heart raced as the spiritualist’s grave tone pierced the silence in the room. 

Ghosts. It was as he’d feared. 

“Can you get rid of it?” Quincy asked, his voice tinged with urgency. 

Before the spiritualist could reply, Quincy hastened to add, “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll make it worth your while.” 

The middle–aged spiritualist, his robe reminiscent of a mystic sage, offered a slight smile and replied, “Well then, I shall give it my best attempt.” 

With that, he began his elaborate ritual, setting up a circle and chanting incantations, the very picture of the solemn ceremony. 

Quincy had seen his share of so–called powerful spiritualists. 

He had been impressed by Winnie’s immediate control at the hospital. But after the debacle with the leaked recording, he couldn’t possibly ask for her help again. 

Watching as the spiritualist flung a talisman toward the heart of the bed, Quincy cheered up, hoping to get rid of the disruptive spirit soon. 

But the room’s temperature plummeted the next instant, and the talisman burst into flames mid–air. 

Before Quincy could ask, the spiritualist’s complexion changed drastically, and he hastily threw two more talismans, which also burned to ashes before reaching their target. 

The once–composed spiritualist looked at Quincy with a fury, questioning. “Why didn’t you tell me there was more than one ghost in this villa?” 

He never would have gotten involved if he had known the big trouble that he was in. His recent actions had only angered the evil spirits inhabiting the place. 

“We need to leave, now!” he insisted, gripping Quincy’s arm and making for the.exit. Confused but realizing the spiritualist was out of his depth, Quincy allowed the spiritualist to pull himself toward the door. They almost reached it when the door slammed shut with a loud bang. 

At the same time, Quincy felt like something had seized his feet, rendering him immobile. He glimpsed a familiar silhouette by the bed from the corner of his eye. 

As the figure turned slowly toward him, Quincy’s heart raced. The pale hand reached out, moving closer to his neck. 

His eyes widened in terror, convinced his end was near. 

Just then, he heard a knock at the door, and Barton’s voice came through. “Quincy? Are you in 

there?” 

Hope surged through Quincy. He tried to call out, but a cold hand suddenly covered his mouth. from behind, silencing him. His body went rigid, and he couldn’t utter a sound. 

Never had he felt such fear. He could sense the presence of something cold pressing against him. 

Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably, desperate to cry for help, but no words would 

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In that dire moment, the spiritualist slashed his fingertip and flicked droplets of blood through the air, some landing on Quincy’s face. 

A shrill scream pierced the room, and the cold grip on Quincy’s mouth withdrew. Seizing the opportunity, he shouted towards the door. “Dad! Save me!” 

As his plea echoed, the door swung open, revealing Barton, who had been about to leave after receiving no response. 

As Barton stepped inside, the room’s chill began to dissipate. 

The spiritualist sat on the floor, holding his bleeding finger, muttering, “Too strong… Jesus, it 

was too strong.” 

This job had cost him dearly. He’d need significant time to recover from the loss of vital energy 

spent. 

Perceiving that the malicious spirit had vanished, he was far from relieved. He doubted his blood had driven it away. 

His eyes landed on the Amulet around Barton’s neck, and his expression turned indignant, “Mr. Henderson! I thought you sought my help earnestly, yet you’ve been less than truthful!” 

Barely recovered from his ordeal, Quincy bristled at the spiritualist’s accusation. “What are you implying?” 

The spiritualist pointed accusingly at the Amulet. “If you know someone who can craft such. protective amulets, why seek me out? Even without my help, that Amulet should shield you from harm!” 

Quincy and Barton were shocked, their eyes drawn to the Amulet, a gift from Winnie. 

Though skeptical of her claims, they had worn the Amulets, and misfortune seemed to lessen. However, they only had two, and Barton couldn’t always be by Quincy’s side, which led them to hire the spiritualist. 

Could Winnie’s Amulet have surpassed even the spiritualist’s powers? 

“So, you’re saying if I wear the Amulet, that ghost can’t harm me as it did before?” Quincy asked, his voice heavy. 

“I believe so,” the spiritualist replied, his anger subsiding. As one from the Mystical Sects, he 

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wasn’t used to apologizing, but he tempered his voice, “The spirit in this villa is no ordinary one. I have some skills, but I’m at my wits‘ end here. You should ask the master who sold you the Amulet to intervene if you seek a permanent solution.” 

Quincy and Barton exchanged a look, their faces as white as sheet. How could they possibly explain that they didn’t purchase the Amulet? 

If not for the recent string of bizarre events, the Amulet around Barton’s neck would probably be gathering dust in some forgotten nook or cranny of the attic. 

Barton knew Quincy had been haunted by nightmares and agreed to bring in the spiritualist to cleanse their home. 

But what if they had to turn to Winnie again? 

Quincy stayed silent. He was mulling over the same dilemma, too. 

After their last encounter, he couldn’t be sure Winnie would help him again. And he was sure Kathryn wouldn’t be thrilled about him seeking Winnie’s assistance again. 

Quincy was left with only one option if they couldn’t find another reliable spiritualist to step in. 

He’d have to get the protective Amulet back from Kathryn first.