I transmigrated and got a husband and a son!
Chapter 1085: How could someone live like her?

Chapter 1085: How could someone live like her?

[REAPER’S]

Hera whistled a tune, lying leisurely on the couch. She tilted her head from side to side, eyes closed. Elliot, who was trying to memorize every profile she handed him, glanced at her.

"Hera," he called, but she didn’t react. "Are you high?"

Hera slowly opened her eyes, and her whistling stopped. "I don’t do drugs."

"Are you sure?"

"You touched so many drugs than the Interpol confiscated," he remarked. "Are you sure you’re not high at the moment?"

"Haha." Hera closed her eyes again, chuckling. "I tried one or two in the past, just out of curiosity. Never again."

"Do I need to believe you?"

"I don’t care what you believe," she replied nonchalantly. "But if you think the chemists who cook drugs use them, you better rethink your entire life and career. They make it because the money comes in."

"Do you believe that those people don’t use them just because they know they’re harmful?"

"No." Hera slowly reopened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. "Because if they do, the money might stop coming in. At least, they use it when it’s necessary. For instance, they have to cook a certain amount in a short period of time. Hence, they needed the energy to stay up for days. You’re the president of the Interpol. I don’t need to spell out everything for you."

Elliot drew a deep breath, staring at the woman idling on the couch. What Hera said wasn’t far from what Interpol knew about the drug operations. Most drug users aside from the buyers were the ones who distribute and sell the drugs. But they rarely heard a lab chemist going insane for drugs.

"So, you’re up for a few days now because... of coffee alone?" he asked out of plain curiosity. "We both hadn’t slept, but unlike me, you seem... fine."

"Peace requires sleep," she murmured. "I think you know that."

"Something bothers you?"

"Didn’t you say you chose this career because that’s what you wanted?" Hera glanced down in his direction. "Why are you acting like a psychiatrist now? Change of heart?"

Elliot shrugged. "Because I can’t continue anymore. Even if I think sleeping right now is a waste of time, my brain and body need it. You’ve wasted too much of my time."

"Then, sleep," she returned. "Or do you want me to tuck you in?"

"Stop diverting my intention." Elliot slowly collapsed on the floor, feeling his every nerve giving in. "Being mean and thinking of any clever retort won’t change anything."

He slowly closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "Though I agree that sleep requires peace, I think you have a bigger problem than that. Insomnia can kill you according to People’s Time Magazine."

"You should stop reading nonsense then," she replied. "And you should have heard yourself. For a moment there, you sounded like you don’t want me to die."

"Because I don’t."

Hera glanced at him again. "Did you fall for me now? Sorry. Taken. Married woman here."

"I think you’re not as bad as I thought you were. Though just as intimidating and insane as I heard, I don’t think you’re a bad person," he murmured, yawning as his head started to throb again. "I don’t want you to die. If anything, I want you to turn yourself in."

"Haha." She smirked. "Over my dead body."

"Once I cleaned up the Interpol, I’d fight for a lighter sentence."

"Funny."

Despite his headache, Elliot slowly opened his eyes. "I don’t think you’re a bad person, but your actions were still wrong. You still have to pay a price for all of your crimes."

"Although, now that I think about it, just what kind of crime did you actually commit, Hera Cruel?" he continued quietly, staring weakly at the ceiling. "Killing the dons in the underground? Sabotaging any human trafficking in transit? Fighting against another criminal organization? Leaving a bunch amount of drugs for the Interpol to discover?"

Elliot smiled bitterly. "Why do those crimes sound so much worse back then compared to now?"

"During a confrontation against a mob eight years ago, five innocent bystanders died," she remarked. "Then there’s this kid in transit who died due to a lost bullet. Another family in the east was massacred just because my enemies thought they were my friends, just because I briefly talked to them while taking a walk in the park."

Hera let out a weak chuckle. "I can list down the numbers of casualties in every move we made. Do you want them? It might make you remember why the Interpol was after me."

"You remember all of them?"

"If I take drugs, I won’t." A subtle smile appeared on her face.

"Then, why didn’t you?"

Hera shrugged. "Just because."

Elliot stared at her side profile, pressing his lips into a thin line. When he peeled his eyes from her, he set them back on the ceiling.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said. "Hera, is there a way... for you not to become who you are?"

"If I’m dead, maybe? But then again, it’s already proven that even after death, people would dig my grave just to make sure I am there."

For some reason, Elliot balled his hands into tight fists. His jaw clenched, swallowing the tension in his throat. He wanted to say more things, but his voice was stuck in his throat. It wasn’t that he pitied her. She was not someone who needed to be pitied.

However, an unpleasant feeling was dominating his chest. He couldn’t properly articulate what it was exactly, but he knew it was utterly unpleasant — bitter.

How could someone... live like her?

"I’ve met some big criminals in the past. People who could threaten and pressure the government," he uttered with a deep exhale. "All of them are uniquely evil, but they all have in common. They live such a cruel life for so many different reasons: greed, money, power, influence, all things."

"But I’ve never met someone who lived just like them — perhaps worse — just because she got no choice," he continued. "Do you really think you got no choice, Hera?"