Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby
Chapter 81: The Leg Tale

Chapter 81: The Leg Tale

For the first time in what felt like ages, Grayson slept peacefully through the night. After recounting everything that had happened at the GMITCC banquet to his family, it was well past midnight by the time he finally crawled into bed. He had hoped to sleep until seven in the morning... just enough time to get ready for the crucial meeting at Purplebricks at nine.

But life, as always, had different plans.

At five in the morning, his wife, Florence, gently shook him awake. Her voice was calm, but her expression was unreadable. Grayson groaned, irritation bubbling under his skin, "What happened? It’s still early..."

Florence didn’t waste time with pleasantries. "Someone cut off Luke Baxter’s leg last night."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Still caught in the fog of sleep, Grayson didn’t fully grasp what she’d said. But his instincts told him it was serious. He sat bolt upright, alarmed. "Who?"

"That bastard Luke Baxter," Florence said flatly. "It’s all over the news. Someone chopped off one of his legs. The news has made headlines."

Grayson scrambled out of bed and rushed to the lounge. "Let’s check the news. I need to see this for myself."

The television was already on when they entered, but the presenter had moved on to another segment.

"Did you actually see it?" Grayson asked while adjusting the volume.

"Yes," Florence replied. "It was the first headline when I turned it on. As soon as I heard it was Luke, I went to wake you."

They sat on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, watching national news segments roll past. Ten minutes later, their patience was rewarded.

The anchor’s voice turned grave: "Late last night, at approximately 11 p.m., a young man exited a local Manchester bar with his girlfriend. While they were waiting on the curb for a ride, an unknown woman clad entirely in black approached and, in a brutal and precise motion, severed the young man’s leg. Witnesses reported that she took the leg with her before fleeing the scene. The victim, now confirmed to be thirty-four-year-old Luke Baxter, was rushed to the hospital. His girlfriend is currently assisting police with their investigation."

The report continued: "Security footage from surrounding establishments was unavailable due to intentional damage to nearby cameras shortly before the attack. The police are currently working under the assumption that the assailant might be a former lover, as Luke Baxter is known to have had several girlfriends in the past."

Grayson and Florence stared at the screen in stunned silence.

After what felt like minutes, Grayson broke the silence. "Do you think...?"

Florence didn’t even let him finish. "I’m sure of it. Don’t you remember what she said before getting into the car last night?"

Grayson’s face paled as he recalled the cold, chilling voice: "I want Luke Baxter’s leg tonight."

He shivered.

Florence continued, her voice laced with awe and fear. "Last night, when Miss Raynor went to the restroom, another woman entered shortly after. I waited outside, but soon after, I heard glass shattering and rushed in. The girl was on the floor, and several men in black had surrounded her. Miss Raynor calmly asked me to leave. A few minutes later, she walked out as if nothing had happened."

Grayson asked, "And you think those men were her people?"

"She didn’t have a spare gown with her. But when she came out, she was wearing a different dress. Where did the new one come from? And what happened to the old one? We were with her all night. I never saw her make a call or send a message. It was like they already knew exactly what she’d need and when. That level of preparation... it’s terrifying. And did you see how respectful Chairman Miller was to her?"

Grayson nodded solemnly. "Thank you, dear. I believe it now. It was her."

Florence placed a hand on his shoulder. "But we shouldn’t dwell on that. What happened has nothing to do with us. You need to focus on today’s meeting with Purplebricks. Just because they invited you doesn’t mean they’ll offer anything substantial. They already have other suppliers. It’s your job to prove yourself."

Grayson let out a long breath. "You’re right. I’ll give it everything I’ve got."

Just then, a terrified scream echoed from upstairs.

Both Grayson and Florence shot to their feet and bolted toward their daughter’s room. When they entered, they found Jessica standing in a corner, trembling and covering her eyes, her lips moving in panicked prayer.

"Jesus, help me! Lord God, protect me!"

Grayson’s heart dropped. "Jessica! What happened?"

Recognizing her father’s voice, Jessica peeled her hands away from her eyes and ran into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Florence hugged her daughter tightly. "Shh, baby. It’s okay. Tell us what happened."

Through sniffles, Jessica pointed at her dressing table.

Grayson and Florence turned to look... and their blood ran cold.

There, placed neatly on the vanity, was a human leg. It had been carefully wrapped in transparent cling wrap, preserving it like some grotesque piece of art.

Grayson stared in disbelief. "Do you think...?"

Florence nodded, equally shaken. "Yes. It’s exactly what we think."

Grayson handed Jessica to her mother and walked over for a closer look. Beside the leg was a small, folded note.

It read:

"A gift from my Madam. If you’ve enjoyed enough, unwrap and pour the contents of the bottle onto the gift. It will melt, then flash to the sewerage line."

Grayson let out a dry, humourless laugh. "’Gift’? ’Enjoy’?"

He turned and handed the note to Florence, who read it with visible unease.

"Jessica," Grayson asked gently, "is there a bottle on the table that doesn’t belong to you?"

Jessica wiped her tears and hesitantly looked at the dressing table. "That white bottle... I’ve never seen it before."

Grayson nodded grimly. "Wife, let’s deal with this. We can’t keep it in the house."

***

Across the city, news of Luke Baxter’s brutal maiming spread like wildfire.

In his private villa, James Clifford was passed out on the floor, surrounded by empty beer bottles. A call from one of his fellow rich playboys jolted him awake. Groaning, he picked up the phone, nursing a splitting headache.

"James! You heard the news?" his friend blurted. "It’s Luke... he’s been attacked. A woman cut off his leg. They were just leaving a bar with his new girlfriend when it happened... right in front of everyone. And get this... she took the leg with her!"

James sat in stunned silence, the headache worsening. He didn’t respond.

"Hello? James? Are you listening?"

But James couldn’t find the appropriate words.