That phrase "As you wish, miss" seemed like an activation spell, and Isabella's consciousness briefly disconnected in the wake of that deep male voice. She couldn't remember how she walked out of that noisy area, only recalling a warm and strong hand that gently yet irresistibly supported the small of her back. That hand seemed to carry an electric current; wherever it touched, her body stiffened and obediently moved along with it. He didn't hold her hand, nor did he put his arm around her shoulders. It was an extremely subtle guiding method belonging to someone in control, maintaining distance while simultaneously declaring absolute ownership.

As they moved through the crowded mass of people, a strange scene unfolded. Those who had previously cast scrutinizing or disdainful glances at her now parted like the Red Sea before Moses, consciously and even with a hint of reverence stepping aside. Their gazes no longer fell on her, but instead clung tightly, fearfully to him, as if he were a deity or demon walking among mortals.


The heavy black iron door closed behind her once more, but this time, she was being escorted out. The cool midnight air of New York hit her face, slightly clearing her alcohol-heated mind. A completely black sedan silently glided to a stop before them, its sleek yet massive body resembling a crouching beast in the darkness. Isabella wasn't particularly knowledgeable about cars, but even she recognized the prestigious double M emblem on the hood—Maybach.

The car door was pulled open from the outside by a man in a black suit with an expressionless face. Alessandro did not get in first; instead, he gently guided her with his hand, indicating that she should enter first. Isabella bent down and slipped into the car, immediately enveloped by the luxurious interior. The seats were premium off-white leather, as soft as clouds, and the air was filled with the scent of high-end leather and a crisp woody fragrance.

The moment the car door closed, all the noise from the outside world was completely shut out. The car was terrifyingly quiet, so quiet that she could only hear her own pounding heartbeat and her breathing that had grown heavy from nervousness.


And it was in this absolute silence that the belated fear finally gripped her heart like a cold hand.

What had she just done? Use her meager savings to "purchase" a man who owned a Maybach and could silence the entire "Nightshade" bar? The absurdity and recklessness of this idea now overwhelmed her like a tidal wave. This wasn't a romantic adventure; it was a completely irrational gamble, and she didn't even know what kind of existence sat on the other side of the gambling table.


She unconsciously clutched the hem of her oatmeal-colored dress, her fingertips cold. She stole a glance at the man beside her. Alessandro was leaning back in his seat, eyes closed, seemingly resting. His sharply defined profile, illuminated by the colorful lights outside the car window, appeared increasingly cold and mysterious. He was no longer that solitary, cold shadow in the corner of the bar, but a silent volcano accumulating unknown energy.

The car ran so smoothly that she couldn't feel any bumps. Isabella noticed that the window glass was unusually thick. Bulletproof. The word popped into her mind without basis, making her shudder. An ordinary "male escort" wouldn't require this level of transportation.

The car didn't stop in the bustling downtown area but drove straight toward the suburbs. The neon lights outside the window gradually became sparse, replaced by vast stretches of darkness, with only occasional passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows on Alessandro's handsome yet cold face. Isabella's heart sank. She realized that wherever this car was heading, it would be a place from which she couldn't easily turn back.

About half an hour later, the car slowed down. Isabella looked out through the window and saw an exaggeratedly high wall built of black stone, covered with visible surveillance cameras and sensors flashing with infrared light. A massive wrought iron gate blocked the road ahead, with armed guards standing on either side of the entrance. They wore uniform black attire, stood tall with straight posture, and had sharp gazes—completely military-grade security.

This wasn't a mansion—this was a fortress.

The car stopped at the gate, but the guards did not approach to question them. They merely saluted in perfect unison after seeing the license plate, and then the heavy iron gates silently slid open on both sides.

Isabella finally understood completely. What she had provoked tonight was not some business elite or wealthy second-generation heir. She had trespassed into a dark kingdom built upon absolute power and violence that she had never imagined before. And the man beside her was undoubtedly the monarch of this kingdom.

The car finally stopped in front of a modern-style skyscraper. This seemed to be the center of the estate. Alessandro finally opened his eyes, those deep eyes frighteningly clear in the darkness. He didn't speak, but simply got out of the car first, then walked around and personally opened the car door for her.

Isabella stepped out of the car on slightly shaky legs, and was once again guided by him into a private elevator reserved exclusively for them. The interior of the elevator was equally luxurious, with smooth mirrored walls reflecting her pale and helpless face, alongside the calm and composed figure of the man beside her. He pressed the top floor button "PH." In the weightless sensation of rapid ascent, Isabella felt as if her soul, along with this metal box, was rising together toward an unknown and unpredictable fate.

The moment the elevator doors opened, Isabella's breath stopped.

What presented itself before her eyes was a space that couldn't be simply described as "luxurious." This was the top floor of the entire building, a duplex penthouse that occupied the whole floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows formed three walls, beyond which lay the brilliant night view of New York, like a galaxy of stars trampled beneath one's feet. The ceiling was extremely high, the space astonishingly vast yet extraordinarily empty. There was little furniture, but each piece was like a work of art, with clean lines full of power and presence. On the walls hung several modern paintings she couldn't understand but could sense were priceless. The entire space was dominated by black, white, and gray tones—calm, precise, perfect—yet because of this, it seemed devoid of human warmth, like an elaborately crafted, magnificent cage.

"Welcome to my home." Alessandro's voice sounded behind her, breaking the awe-inspiring silence. His tone was as casual as if he were introducing an ordinary apartment.

He took off his suit jacket, casually tossing it onto the sofa, then unfastened his cuffs and rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, revealing his well-defined forearms. He strolled to a massive wine cabinet that occupied nearly an entire wall, and without asking her opinion, directly selected a bottle from a row of treasures and poured two glasses. The amber liquid rippled with captivating luster in the crystal glasses.

He handed one of the glasses to her. Isabella took it mechanically, the cold surface of the glass somewhat stabilizing her trembling fingers.

"Yamazaki 25 Year," he remarked casually, holding his own glass as he walked to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the city lights below, like a king surveying his domain. "Not top-shelf, but authentic at least."

Isabella lowered her head to look at the whiskey in her glass. She knew this name; it was an expensive Japanese whiskey that could only be found at auctions. Yet he mentioned it with such casualness, saying it was "not top-shelf." The stack of cash she had slammed on the table earlier now seemed so ridiculous—probably not even enough to buy this bottle.

"You look nervous," Alessandro said without turning around, his voice carrying clearly to her.

"I..." Isabella didn't know what to say. Should she admit she was afraid? Or continue pretending to be calm?

"No need to pretend," he turned around, his deep gaze locking onto her, "the moment you stepped in here, pretense lost all meaning." He took a sip of his drink and slowly walked toward her, each step carrying an invisible pressure. "Let me make one thing clear," he stopped in front of her, looking down at her from his height, "here with me, everything follows rules. My rules."

His voice was calm, yet carried an unquestionable authority. Isabella felt like a gazelle caught in a lion's gaze, having lost even her instinct to flee.

"What... what do you want?" Her voice was barely audible.

Alessandro's lips curled into an extremely faint, almost negligible arc. "Me?" he seemed to find her question amusing. "Miss, it was you who bought my entire evening with a stack of cash. And now, you're asking me what I want?"

Humiliation made her face flush red. She gripped her glass tightly and summoned the courage to look directly at him: "I thought you were... someone who could be hired."

"I am." He admitted frankly, which made Isabella even more confused. "I'm just interested in how you 'hired' me. It's very... creative." He paused, his gaze wandering over her face, which was a mixture of fear, stubbornness, and bewilderment. "But you must understand that the game I play has different rules."

He didn't give her a chance to ask more questions, but instead made a "follow me" gesture and turned to walk deeper into the mansion. Isabella hesitated for a moment, but ultimately chose to follow. She had no way back now.

Like a tour guide, he led her through this empty palace. They passed by the study, which housed enough books to form a small library; they passed by the gym, with equipment more professional than the most high-end fitness clubs; they also passed by an indoor temperature-controlled swimming pool, where the water gleamed with a deep blue light. Everything here was impeccably perfect, and also impeccably cold.

Finally, he stopped at the end of a corridor.

At the end of the corridor was a door.

A deep red door that was completely at odds with the black, white, and gray minimalist style of the entire mansion. The red was so intense it resembled congealed blood, appearing particularly jarring and eerie in the cool-toned environment, like a crack leading to another world.

"You long to break the rules, don't you?" Alessandro turned around, leaning against the red door, his gaze piercing deep into her soul. There was no longer any playfulness in his manner, but an unprecedented seriousness.

Isabella's heart suddenly contracted. He had seen through her. He had seen through the rebellious heart that screamed beneath her quiet exterior.

"You're tired of your plain, safe, boring world," he continued, each word precisely striking at her most hidden fears. "You came to 'Nightshade' not for fun, but to seek an ultimate experience that would make you feel 'alive.' An experience that could either completely ignite you or utterly destroy you."

Isabella couldn't refute him, because every word he said was true. She felt completely transparent before him, all her pretenses and self-protection having collapsed.

"Behind this door," his voice dropped even lower, filled with seductive power, "is a world that can satisfy all your desires. A world about absolute trust and exchange of power. It's not about money, not even entirely about sex. It's about rules, submission, release, and... finding your most authentic self."

He stretched out his hand, palm just inches away from the doorknob, yet didn't immediately open it. He looked at her, deep eyes seeming to contain swirling vortices.

"But this is a world of no return. Once you step in, you will no longer be that quiet Isabella Thorne in the oatmeal-colored dress." He issued his final invitation, or rather, his final judgment. "Do you dare to enter?"

Isabella stood there, completely rigid. Fear, like countless cold fingers, grabbed her from all directions, rendering her immobile. Her rationality was screaming at her to run away, to escape this dangerous man, to flee from this ominous red door.

But... what then? Escape back to her beige apartment and continue living that predictable, deadly boring life? Return to being the self that her ex-boyfriend had described as "dull"? To spend her entire life in mediocrity and regret until she grew old, never having truly lived even once?

No.

The extreme disgust for mediocrity, at this moment, overcame the immense fear of the unknown. That soul within her deepest self, suppressed for too long and yearning for adventure, let out a deafening cry at this moment.

She raised her head, meeting Alessandro's eyes that seemed capable of seeing through everything. Her body was still trembling slightly, but her gaze had become incredibly resolute.

Using all her strength, slowly yet unmistakably clear, she nodded.

Alessandro's lips finally curled into an undisguised smile of approval and anticipation. That smile was like a match struck in darkness, instantly igniting all the dangerous and captivating elements in the air.

"Very good," he said.

Then, he turned around, grasped the cold doorknob, and slowly pushed open that deep red door.