The argument ended in a mutually destructive manner. Professor Finch left with a frosty demeanor, slamming the door behind him after leaving the chilling remark, "You will ruin yourself, and you will ruin art," his voice as cold as a scalpel. Sally, like an enraged but exhausted bear, punched the doorframe and then silently walked into the adjacent guest room, slamming the door shut with a loud "bang."

The room finally returned to silence, but the air was thick with the scent of aftermath from the "war." Like a puppet drained of all strength, I collapsed onto the sofa, my mind completely blank. Both of them had left, abandoning me in the midst of the chaos. Fine, I thought to myself, at least I no longer had to listen to the words that tore me in half.


The night was like thick ink, slowly seeping through the window. The sound of the waves rose and fell rhythmically in the distance, like heavy sighs. I don't know how long I had been sitting there, until a sudden, overpowering hunger gripped me.

It wasn't ordinary hunger, but a cunning, unreasonable craving. My stomach was screaming wildly, my mouth watered uncontrollably, and my mind was consumed by a single thought—I wanted to eat the tuna sandwich sold at the 24-hour convenience store on the corner, and it had to be loaded with plenty of pickles and sickly sweet strawberry jam.

This thought was so absurd, yet so intense, that it lashed like a whip across my numbed nerves, forcing me to rise from the couch. My reason told me it was the middle of the night, pitch dark outside, and I shouldn’t go out. But the little life within me seemed to have its own will, issuing an irresistible command in this most primal way.


I glanced at Sally’s tightly closed door, then thought of the disappointed look in Professor Finch’s eyes when he left. An overwhelming sense of irritation surged within me. I didn’t want to disturb anyone, nor did I want to see anyone again. I just wanted to be alone, to complete this simple yet urgent little task.

I grabbed a thin coat and draped it over my shoulders, quietly opening the door. The sea breeze at night was much cooler than during the day, carrying a damp, briny scent. The path to the street corner was illuminated by a lone streetlight, which at that moment flickered like an elderly person on their last breath, as if it might go out at any second.


I instinctively tightened my coat around me and quickened my pace. There seemed to be a strange smell lingering in the air, somewhat like engine oil, but it was swiftly carried away by the sea breeze. I didn’t dwell on it, my mind preoccupied only with that absurd yet tempting sandwich.

Just as I reached the flickering streetlight and prepared to turn the corner, it struggled to flash one last time before finally going out.

In an instant, the world was engulfed in pitch-black darkness.

I stopped and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. With the faint light from the distant shops, I could barely make out the path beneath my feet. I took a deep breath and continued walking.

However, the moment I took my first step around the corner, my foot suddenly slipped!

A disgustingly slippery sensation shot up from the sole of my shoe, and I instantly lost my balance, falling uncontrollably backward.

"No—!"

A desperate scream caught in my throat, and time seemed to stretch endlessly in that moment. My mind went blank, with only one thought: protect my belly. I desperately tried to curl up my body, but gravity cruelly pulled me toward the hard, cold ground. My child... my child!

Just as I thought I would crash heavily to the ground and lose the only light in my life, a pair of iron-clad arms swiftly reached out from the shadows behind me. One hand, with absolute strength, gripped my unbalanced waist, while the other firmly supported my back, pulling me into a hard and cold embrace.

Everything happened too quickly—I didn’t even have time to scream. Breathless and shaken, I fell into that embrace, my back pressed tightly against a broad, solid chest, my nose instantly overwhelmed by a familiar, domineering, and icy scent.

It wasn’t the smell of sunshine and sweat that clung to Sally, nor the elegant cologne of Professor Finch. It was a blend of expensive tobacco, leather, and a certain aggressive men’s cologne—a scent I thought I had escaped forever.

It's Damian Blackwood.

My heart was pounding wildly in my chest, not from the relief of surviving a disaster, but from a more primitive, deeper fear. I stiffly tilted my head up, and by the faint light in the distance, I could only make out a sharply defined jawline, as cold and hard as the rocks of the Alps.

He didn't speak, just held me, his arms around my waist tightening even more. I could clearly feel the bulging muscles of his arms, and through the thin fabric, the scorching heat and firm touch made my body tremble involuntarily. He lowered his head slightly, and I could feel his warm breath brushing against my ear, carrying a suffocating sense of oppression.

“Where is my little artist going so late at night?” His voice was deep and calm, without a ripple, but each word felt like an ice-cold needle piercing my ears. “Could it be… a surprise for me?”

My body stiffened like a stone, unable to utter a single word.

Just then, the sound of two hurried footsteps came from the direction I had come from.

“Bella!”

It was Sally’s voice, filled with anxiety and concern. Right after, Professor Finch’s slightly breathless voice rang out: “Are you okay?”

Two blinding flashlight beams simultaneously illuminated the dark corner where we stood. Under the light, everything was exposed.

I saw Sally and Finch standing side by side, their expressions instantly freezing as they took in the scene before them. It was a complex mix of shock, confusion, anger, and extreme vigilance.

Their gazes were firmly fixed on the man who was holding me.

Damian slowly raised his head, not even using his hand to block the dazzling light, letting the beam turn his strikingly handsome, almost inhuman face pale. A faint, almost cruel smile curled at the corners of his lips, while his deep, bottomless black eyes glimmered with a predator-like intensity, sweeping over the two men opposite him with disdain and arrogance.

The way he held me remained unchanged; instead, he pressed me more possessively into his chest, as if declaring his ownership to the entire world.

"It seems my little painter has made two new 'friends,'" he said softly, his voice not loud but like a heavy hammer, crashing fiercely into the quiet night.

Sally's blue eyes instantly filled with bloodshot rage. Like a male lion whose territory had been violated, he let out a low roar from his throat, his clenched fists bulging with veins, as if he were about to charge forward in the next second. Finch, on the other hand, adjusted his glasses, his gaze behind the lenses sharp as a knife. He was calmly assessing the sudden appearance of this man, whose presence was so powerful it was unsettling.

The air seemed to freeze. Three men, three completely different auras, collided intensely in this narrow space, forming an invisible, gunpowder-filled battlefield. And I was the center of this storm.

At this tense moment, a commotion suddenly came from the shadows around the corner. Two sneaky figures tried to flee amidst the chaos.

But they didn't get far.

Two shadowy figures emerged like phantoms from the deeper darkness, moving so swiftly they were almost indistinguishable. Only two short, muffled grunts and the "click" of dislocated bones could be heard before the two thugs were firmly pinned to the ground, unable to even cry for help.

One of the shadows stepped forward in a crisp black suit, bowing slightly to Damian with an expressionless face. "Sir, they've been captured. Preliminary interrogation reveals they were instructed by a woman named Victoria, with the intent to cause an accident and induce a miscarriage for Miss Rossi."

The bodyguard's voice rang clearly in everyone's ears.

Sally's face flickered with fear and fury. He glanced sharply at me, then at the filthy puddle of oil on the ground. Finch's expression turned equally grim as he adjusted his glasses, his eyes filled with disgust and coldness.

As for me, it felt as if all the blood in my body had frozen in that instant. Victoria... miscarriage...

Immense fear and icy hatred overwhelmed me like a tidal wave. I clutched the front of Damian's clothes, my body trembling uncontrollably.

Damian sensed my trembling. He lowered his head, his gaze falling on my face. In that instant, all the arrogance and disdain in his eyes vanished, replaced by a deep, complex storm I had never seen before. His arms, which held me tightly, tightened even more, as if he wanted to meld me into his very bones and blood.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered in my ear, his voice carrying an unshakable soothing power. "I'm here. There won't be a next time."