Three days had passed since that chaotic night that had nearly torn her apart.

Chloe had hidden herself in her long-abandoned studio in SoHo. This was her last personal space before marriage, filled with past dreams and unfinished, brightly colored canvases. Now, it had become her only sanctuary.


She couldn't go home—that place had become a stage for absurd dramas. She couldn't go to her parents' either; how could she explain to her father the unspeakable relationship between her perfect husband and his beloved youngest son?

She cut off all contact with the outside world, letting her phone die silently in the corner.

Her world shrank to dancing dust particles in her studio and two constantly battling notions in her mind, both named "shame."


Shame for her thoroughly fraudulent marriage.

Shame because after escaping that fraud, she'd thrown herself into the arms of another man—a man she thought had always despised her—and engaged in an even more frenzied, uncontrolled encounter with him.


She sat on the floor before her easel, hugging her knees like a child abandoned by the world. She couldn't understand. The more she recalled that night—Julian's devouring eyes, the burning heat of his body, that undeniable force that nearly shattered her—the more confused she became.

He didn't love her. This she'd known since she was eighteen. But if there was no love, what was that almost painful possession supposed to mean?

This question trapped her in an unsolvable loop.

Just as she was about to be driven mad by this internal struggle, someone pounded on the studio door. Bang, bang, bang.

It was her father.

He'd somehow found her hideaway. He stood in the doorway, taking in his daughter's pale face and lost demeanor, brows furrowed, his tone an unquestionable command.

"There's an important dinner with family friends tonight. Julian will be there too. Go change into something presentable. The driver will pick you up in half an hour."

Chloe wanted to refuse, but meeting her father's stern, unyielding eyes, she couldn't speak. Her life seemed constantly arranged by others—first her father, then Daniel, and now her father again.

Half an hour later, like a carefully dressed puppet, she wore an appropriate black dress and slid into the waiting car.

The dinner was held at an exclusive members-only restaurant. Along the long table, elegantly dressed guests clinked glasses in animated conversation. Chloe sat beside her father, silently cutting her steak, tasting nothing but cardboard.

Her gaze drifted uncontrollably toward the man sitting at the head of the table.

Julian.

He wore a deep gray suit, his demeanor cold and distant as ever. He conversed quietly with someone beside him, his elegant table manners a stark contrast to the wild, beast-like man who had ravaged her that night.

As if sensing her gaze, he suddenly looked up, his eyes piercing through the crowd to lock with hers.

His eyes were deep and complex, like a dark sea with surging undercurrents.

Chloe's heart contracted sharply, gripped by an invisible hand. Like a thief caught in the act, she hurriedly lowered her head, not daring to look at him again.

"Chloe," her father's concerned voice sounded beside her ear, "what's wrong with you? You look terrible. And where's Daniel? Why haven't we seen him lately?"

The question struck Chloe like lightning, paralyzing her.

Her hands trembled, knife and fork shaking beyond her control. Her face drained of color, lips quivering, but no words came. She felt everyone's eyes subtly focusing on her.

Just as she was about to break down in front of everyone—

Julian, seated at the head of the table, wiped his mouth with a napkin. In a seemingly casual but commanding tone that instantly drew everyone's attention, he turned to her father.

"Alan," he said with the easy familiarity of old friends, "about that new energy project you mentioned—I've just received some fascinating data from Europe you might want to see."

The topic was so precise and important that her father's attention immediately shifted. A crisis about to erupt was effortlessly defused by Julian with just one sentence.

Chloe stared at the scene in a daze.

For the first time, she realized what true power was. Not arguing or violence, but the ability to control a situation with minimal effort. Julian's rescue was a masterclass in influence.

After the meal, the guests gradually dispersed.

"I'll take you home," Julian said, appearing at her side. Not a question—a statement.

Chloe's father, suspecting nothing, patted Julian's shoulder before leaving.

Inside the car, a suffocating silence hung between them.

Chloe leaned against the window, watching the streetscape blur past while her mind raced. Inspired by Julian's skillful handling of the dinner situation, her thoughts began actively analyzing her predicament.

Where does Daniel's power come from? From his public image as the 'perfect husband,' from my father's funding and connections. His weakness lies right there. What if… I take all that away?

This thought sparked a faint light in her heart of dead ashes.

Lost in thought, she suddenly realized the car wasn't heading toward her apartment.

"Where are we going?" she asked, instantly alert.

"To get your things back," Julian answered, eyes fixed straight ahead.

The car finally stopped beneath his penthouse—a place she'd never visited before.

Chloe followed him upstairs. When the elevator doors opened to his huge, austere apartment filled with masculine energy, she instinctively looked around. Throughout the entire space, there was no trace of any female presence. No soft touches, no excessive decorations, and even in the bathroom, just one set of toiletries.

This clashed violently with her perception that "Julian has a chaotic private life and likes sexy women."

Julian ignored her shock. He took something from a velvet box on the table and walked toward her.

"A coming-of-age gift from your mother," his voice low and calm. "Take it back."

He opened his palm. The pearl earring she'd lost lay quietly in his hand, emitting a gentle, cool light.

Chloe reached out, fingertips trembling slightly. Her heartbeat instantly intensified. She carefully, cautiously reached for the small earring, as if performing some sacred ritual.

Her fingertips finally touched the cool, smooth surface of the pearl.

At this very moment—

With a light snap, Julian suddenly closed his palm.

Chloe's hand, along with the cold pearl, was firmly trapped within his burning hot palm.

Chloe's mind went blank with a deafening boom.

Panic.

Her first reaction was panic—like being electrocuted. She tried desperately to pull away, but his palm was a red-hot iron clamp, locking her in place. Her struggles were stones sinking into the sea, not stirring even the slightest ripple. His strength was absolute, indisputable, instantly reminding her of that night in the hotel when she'd felt the same terrifying powerlessness.

"You…" she looked up in alarm, wanting to question his intentions.

Confusion.

When her gaze met his unfathomably deep eyes, all questions died in her throat.

His gaze was too complicated. No mockery or flirtation—just a mixture of emotions she couldn't comprehend. There was the possessiveness she'd seen that night, ready to devour her whole; a sense of satisfaction, like achieving something long desired; and even… deeper in those ocean depths, something ineffable that resembled pain.

What did he want?

Why had he rescued her at dinner like the most reliable gentleman, yet now imprisoned her hand like the most dangerous tyrant?

These two images violently collided in her confused mind, crashing her thoughts into a blank void.

All she could feel was her hand enclosed in his, gradually weakening under the heat of his palm.

All she could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding like a drum from confusion and panic.

One beat after another.

Deafening.