Six o'clock in the morning.

Julian's biological clock jolted him from a chaotic slumber.


His first awareness was the emptiness and coldness beside him.

The body that had trembled softly in his arms was gone. Only a trace of her sweet fragrance remained, mixed with alcohol and tears—like a mocking dream already ended.

Cold, unprecedented panic seized his heart like a venomous snake.


He sat up abruptly as memories of last night's wild, uncontrolled passion surged into his mind like a tsunami. He remembered tearing her dress, thrusting recklessly inside her, listening to her broken cries mixing pain with ultimate pleasure…

What had he done?


He'd been a complete beast. A beast caged for ten years that, once released, had torn apart his most treasured prey, leaving her wounded all over.

I frightened her.

This thought sent a chill through his entire body.

She ran away. She'll never come back.

Julian's face drained of color. He grabbed his phone and dialed the hotel security manager, his voice carrying a subtle tremor he failed to notice: "Check the surveillance footage for the presidential suite. From 4 AM until now. I need to know when the lady left, and how."

During those few minutes waiting for news, time stretched into a century. He paced restlessly, his eyes falling on traces of last night's frenzy—the torn champagne-colored silk by the bed, the disheveled sheets, the lingering scent of passion… Each item stabbed mercilessly at his nerves.

The phone rang.

"Sir, we've checked. Miss Carter left the room alone at 4:37 AM. She took the elevator to the lobby, then left through the main entrance and got into a taxi. No one followed or coerced her."

"Alone… safely left…" Julian murmured, repeating the words. The heart suspended in his throat slowly returned to its place.

Thank God. At least she was safe.

He collapsed onto the sofa with a long sigh.

He raised his hand and tiredly rubbed his brow. Now for the next step. With Chloe's personality, after such a night, she'd probably hide away and never see him again.

He wouldn't allow that.

Just then, his gaze caught something small gleaming on the carpet.

He walked over, bent down, and picked it up.

It was a pearl earring.

He recognized it immediately—the coming-of-age gift from Chloe's mother on her eighteenth birthday. He remembered that day when she wore these earrings with a white dress, appearing for the first time as a woman, not just a little girl who needed his care.

That was the beginning of his sin.

And now this earring, her cherished token symbolizing her pure past, had been left behind at their "crime scene" of passion.

Julian stared at the small pearl in his palm, his gaze shifting from fear and loss back to the cold, resolute look of an apex predator with everything under control.

You want to run away?

Chloe, it's too late.

You've left a part of yourself, forever, with me.

Now, I have my way back to you.

The next time he saw Chloe was three days later at the family dinner.

This was a carefully planned "chance encounter." He'd invited Alan Carter under the pretext of business, casually mentioning he hoped the family would attend as well.

When she walked into the restaurant behind her father in an elegant black dress, Julian's gaze never left her.

She'd lost weight and looked haggard. That face which once carried a gentle smile now resembled a frost-bitten flower—still beautiful, but with a fragile, heart-wrenching vulnerability. She kept her head down, silently cutting food on her plate like a beautiful, soulless puppet.

His gaze fell upon her earlobe. She wasn't wearing the earring.

Just then, he heard Alan Carter's untimely question.

"…And Daniel, why has he been so busy lately that we never see him around?"

Julian noticed Chloe's hand suddenly trembling. Her face instantly turned whiter than the napkin on the table.

Fool. Julian inwardly cursed. He meant both Alan and Daniel—the man he'd investigated for months who thought himself "safe and harmless."

He hesitated no more. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he leaned slightly forward—this simple action instantly drawing everyone's attention.

"Alan," he began steadily, cutting to a topic the other man couldn't refuse, "about that new energy project—I just received some fascinating data from Europe you might want to see."

The crisis defused without showing any sign of concern.

He felt Chloe's gaze—shock, confusion, and a trace of faint gratitude—lingering for seconds before darting away like a startled butterfly.

Julian's lips curved into an almost imperceptible, self-mocking smile.

Using the pretext of "taking her home," he'd brought her back to his apartment.

When he opened the velvet box revealing the pearl earring, he clearly saw the shock in her eyes.

This was part of his plan. He wanted her to know he remembered everything about her, especially what mattered most.

"The coming-of-age gift from your mother," he said calmly. "Take it back."

He saw her reach out, fingertips trembling slightly. Her caution was that of someone handling a priceless treasure.

Good.

Her fingertips finally touched the cool, smooth surface of the pearl. Her hand hovered less than a millimeter from his palm.

Now was the moment.

He abruptly closed his hand.

With a snap.

Her hand, along with the earring, was completely and firmly enclosed in his palm.

He felt it. That ultimate softness, that skin turning instantly cold from panic, that violent heartbeat from her wrist—like a startled bird flapping its wings.

He also felt her futile struggle to withdraw.

He slightly increased his grip, and that feeble resistance immediately disappeared.

He didn't look at her face; all his attention focused on her hand in his grip, completely under his control. Her hand was so small—a butterfly with captured wings in his palm.

Seven years. This was the first time he'd held her hand so genuinely while fully conscious.

A scalding flood of guilt, satisfaction, and boundless possessiveness instantly demolished his composure.

Enough.

The waiting game ends here.

He slowly raised his eyes to meet hers, filled with confusion and uncertainty.

Then, in his mind, with absolute clarity, he uttered the word he'd repeated for five years but never spoken aloud.

Mine.