Damian Blackwood stood in his office at the pinnacle of Manhattan, the floor-to-ceiling windows placing the entire city beneath his feet. Outside, New York resembled a precise, glittering chessboard, and he was the mastermind controlling the game. Today, he wore a charcoal-black custom-tailored suit, the fabric shimmering with a subdued glow under the light, perfectly accentuating his broad shoulders and lean waist. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of his premium shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of bronzed skin and the sharp lines of his collarbone, adding a wild, dangerous allure to his innate aura of dominance.

He had been standing here for a long time, his deep black eyes coldly overlooking the bustling traffic below. His handsome face, like an ancient Roman sculpture, showed no expression, but the surrounding air froze into ice due to his silent fury. Three months,整整三个月, the girl named Isabella Rossi, like a drop of water merging into the ocean, had vanished without a trace. For Damian, who was accustomed to controlling everything, this was an unprecedented, almost humiliating defeat.


The office door was silently pushed open, and his chief assistant, a capable man named Marcus, cautiously entered, holding a tablet in his hand.

“Mr. Blackwood,” Marcus spoke in a very low voice, knowing that his boss was a volcano on the verge of erupting.

Damian didn't turn around; he continued to gaze out the window, his voice as cold as ice. "Speak." A single syllable, yet it carried an undeniable authority.


"We've had a breakthrough," Marcus reported immediately. "Miss Rossi has almost completely severed all electronic traces since leaving New York—no credit card usage, no social media activity. However, we monitored the savings account her father left her, and four days ago, there was a small ATM withdrawal. The amount wasn't much, just two hundred dollars."

Damian's body finally showed a slight movement. He turned slowly, and in his pitch-black eyes, the sharp gleam of a predator spotting its prey instantly ignited. "Location."


"A place called Seabreeze Town, on the coastline of Maine," Marcus immediately handed over the tablet, the screen displaying a map with a small red dot blinking on a remote coastline, "a very small, almost isolated fishing town. The permanent population is less than a thousand. The surveillance system there is outdated, so we can't access the ATM footage, but this is the only lead we have for now."

Damian's gaze locked onto the red dot, a cold and cruel curve forming at the corner of his mouth. Seabreeze Town… Did she think hiding in such a backwater would make him give up? How naive. The more she tried to escape, the more it ignited the primal urge deep within him to utterly crush and possess her.

"You've done well, Marcus." Damian's voice betrayed no emotion, but the determination in his eyes made Marcus quietly breathe a sigh of relief. "From now on, you don't need to do anything else."

“Sir?” Marcus looked up, somewhat puzzled.

“Prepare my plane.” Damian walked past him, casually picking up a black trench coat from the coat rack. The powerful aura of authority and expensive aftershave emanating from him made Marcus instinctively hold his breath. “I’ll personally go and retrieve what’s mine.”

He used the word “thing,” not “her.” In his eyes, Isabella Rossi, the girl who had wept and begged beneath him, the girl who dared to run away with his child, was merely a possession of his whim—a disobedient possession that needed to be punished and disciplined.

As Damian's private jet pierced through the New York night sky, heading towards that remote coastal town, at the top of Sterling Tower on the other end of New York, Victoria Sterling lay lazily on her velvet chaise lounge, swirling the single square ice cube in her glass of whiskey.

Victoria is the undisputed queen of New York's social circles, the sole heir of the Sterling family, and the fiancée of Damian Blackwood—though this engagement is more of an unspoken agreement between the two families than Damian's own consent. She possesses a face overly favored by God, with platinum blonde hair cascading like a waterfall and sea-blue eyes that always carry a trace of aloof, scrutinizing coldness. Today, she is wearing a custom-made silk gown with a deep V-neckline that accentuates her impeccably flawless curves, which she takes immense pride in. Her beauty is aggressive, like a poisonous poppy blooming on the edge of a cliff.

Her private detective, a middle-aged man who always wears a gray suit and maintains an expressionless demeanor, is standing respectfully before her, reporting his findings.

"Damian Blackwood's private jet has just taken off, heading for Augusta Airport in Maine. According to intelligence from my informant, the target of his operation this time is a place called Seabreeze Town."

"Seabreeze Town?" Victoria gently swirled her wine glass, the ice cubes clinking against the sides with a crisp sound. She murmured the name, her delicate brows slightly furrowed. The place sounded like it carried an air of cheap, fishy poverty. What could Damian possibly be doing in such a place?

"We’ve discovered that Damian’s team has been tracking the spending records of a bank account recently, and the last activity of that account was in Seabreeze Town," the detective continued. "The account belongs to someone named Isabella Rossi."

Victoria paused mid-sip of her drink. Isabella Rossi. That name struck a chord. Months ago, she had noticed this girl—a poor student who relied on the Blackwood family's scholarship to attend school, yet was unusually close to Damian. A woman's intuition told her this girl was no ordinary player. Unlike those socialites who flocked to Damian for his wealth and power, Isabella carried a stubborn, primal vitality. That raw, unpolished edge was precisely what a man like Damian, standing at the pinnacle of power, most desired to conquer and destroy.

“He went personally?” Victoria’s voice turned icy, a flicker of menace flashing in her sea-blue eyes.

“Yes, Miss Sterling. He only took Marcus with him.”

Victoria drained the last of the whiskey in her glass. The fiery liquid burned her throat but left her mind sharper than ever. "I need you to beat him to it," she said, standing up. The hem of her silk dress glided across the floor with an elegant yet icy grace. "I want to know what that girl, Isabella Rossi, is up to in that godforsaken place. I want all her information—photos, who she’s with, what she’s doing. Remember, faster than Damian."

"Understood, Miss," the detective nodded and silently retreated.

Victoria walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the city that belonged to her. Damian was hers, and the position of the future lady of the Blackwood family could only be hers. Anyone who dared stand in her way must be removed. A poor girl surviving on charity? She wasn’t even worthy of being her rival.

Two days later, the detective's email arrived in Victoria's encrypted inbox. The email contained no additional text, only a series of photo attachments.

Victoria opened the first photo. It was taken at the entrance of a shabby small courtyard, where a young girl was bending over to water a cluster of wild roses. Despite the photo's modest resolution, Victoria recognized her at a glance. Isabella Rossi. She was wearing a faded old T-shirt and a loose pair of maternity pants, her long hair casually tied in a ponytail. She looked slimmer than she had in New York, but her face carried a calmness, almost a softness, that Victoria had never seen before.

Victoria's gaze locked onto her noticeably rounded belly.

The abrupt curve that disrupted her slender figure felt like a red-hot iron rod, piercing fiercely into Victoria's eyes.

She's pregnant.

She's actually pregnant.

Victoria's fingers turned white from gripping too hard, as if she were about to crush the tablet in her hands. She frantically scrolled down, one photo after another assaulting her eyes. Isabella strolling in the yard, Isabella sitting on the porch painting, Isabella caressing her belly with that gentle, maternal smile that filled Victoria with nausea and envy.

The timing was a perfect match. This child could only be Damian's.

That lowly, conniving wretch. Did she really think she could tie Damian down with a child, dreaming of becoming the lady of the Blackwood family by riding on her child's status?

A wave of nauseating anger and panic gripped Victoria's heart like a venomous serpent. She absolutely, absolutely would not allow such a thing to happen. How could the bloodline of the Blackwood family be tainted by the genes of such lowly people? Damian's heir could only be born by her, Victoria Sterling.

"Bastard..." She hissed the word through clenched teeth, her beautiful sea-blue eyes now filled with malice and ferocity, turning her angelic face into something resembling a demon from hell.

She zoomed in on each photo one by one, scrutinizing every detail in the images. The dilapidated yard, the rickety fence, the cheap clothes on the girl... All of this gave Victoria a sickening sense of superiority and twisted pleasure.

Such a fragile, helpless girl living at the bottom of society, and that little bastard in her belly... making them disappear from this world would be all too easy.

A vicious and meticulous plan took shape rapidly in her mind, which was utterly consumed by jealousy and ambition. She would not take action herself—that would be too unrefined. She wanted everything to look like an accident. A tragic, irreversible accident.

She wanted Damian to find nothing but a cold corpse, or... even better, nothing at all. Let him live forever in the remorse and pain of loss, while she, Victoria, would naturally become the only gentle and steadfast companion he could rely on, seamlessly obtaining everything she desired.

Victoria slowly closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, all traces of madness and venom were perfectly concealed, leaving only a cold, unfathomable calm. She picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"It's me," her voice was sweet yet composed, revealing no emotion. "I have a job for you. It's simple... cleaning up some trash."

A hoarse, submissive voice came from the other end of the line: "Location? Target?"

Victoria gazed at the photo on the screen of Isabella caressing her pregnant belly, her red lips curling into a cruel smile.

"Maine, Sea Breeze Town," she whispered, her voice as soft as a lover's murmur. "A pregnant woman, and the little trouble... in her belly."