The air felt stifling, like it was pressing down on her lungs and squeezing every breath out.
In a hazy, muddled dream, everything was blurry—except for that burning touch that felt all too real.
"Kiss me."
The man's voice was low and rough, its commanding tone leaving no room for argument. A large hand clamped down on the back of her neck, forcing her to look up at him.
Ashley Sullivan jolted awake, chest heaving. Sweat beaded at her forehead, damp strands of hair sticking to her temples.
Outside the window, the early morning light barely seeped through, casting ghostly shadows of the cheap furniture around the room.
That same nightmare again.
She touched her chest, heart thudding wildly. That suffocating weight, that hot, lingering pressure on her lips—it haunted her like a phantom she couldn't shake.
The images from yesterday, scraped from a dingy warehouse and burned into her memory, came rushing back.
She was originally just there to pick up some herbs but had heard something odd and gone to check. Out of nowhere, a burning hot hand had grabbed her ankle.
Eyes wide, she looked down to find a stranger, bloodied and collapsed at her feet. His lips were purple—he was poisoned, no doubt.
She’d quickly knelt, checking his pulse and pulling out the antidote she always carried. But he was too far gone to swallow it himself.
With no other choice, she placed the pill in her mouth, pried open his lips, and fed it to him mouth-to-mouth.
Just as she’d started to undo his shirt to assess the injury, his cold, sharp eyes snapped open.
"Who sent you? Is this your plan to throw yourself at me? Fine. I’ll play along!"
She had tried to explain, but he didn’t give her a chance. He grabbed her neck and kissed her hard—aggressive, almost violent.
If she hadn't jabbed him with a silver needle the moment he barked at her to kiss him, she didn’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened.
The anger came back, fiercely. She slammed her fist into the pillow beside her.
It sank with a muffled thud.
"Asshole... Pray we never cross paths again!"
Just as Ashley grit her teeth in rage—
Bang!
The door flew open, kicked with no hesitation from outside, snapping her from her storming thoughts.
Beatrice Crawford stormed in like a tornado, hands on her hips. Before she'd even stopped moving, her shrill voice already pierced the air.
"You little brat! Are you dead or just deaf? Still lying there like a corpse? Do you even know what time it is? What, you think you're some rich heiress waiting for a royal carriage to pick you up?!"
Spittle practically landed on Ashley’s face.
She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just lay there with a blank stare, detached from it all.
Helena Sullivan followed in behind Beatrice, letting out a snide chuckle as she covered her mouth with one hand.“Mom, why are you wasting your breath arguing with a deaf and dumb loser like her?”
Helena’s sweet voice was dripping with sarcasm, as venomous as a snakebite. “Can she even hear you? You’re basically talking to air.”
She strutted over to the bed and jabbed Ashley’s shoulder with a perfectly manicured finger, glittery polish flashing under the light.
“I mean, seriously, what’s the point of even dressing her up? She’s just a poor bumpkin no matter what she wears. Just toss a sheet over her, tie her up, and ship her straight to the King family. Saves everyone the trouble!”
Beatrice’s eyes lit up like she’d just heard the gospel. With her brows arched sharply, she snapped, “Helena’s right! You should be grateful we’re even bothering! Hurry up! The car from the King family will be here any minute! If we’re late and Edwin gets pissed, I’ll skin you alive, you hear me?”
Spittle flew as she shouted, reaching over to yank Ashley off the bed. “We pulled you out of that backwater out of kindness. Without us, you wouldn’t even get to sniff a place like the King family! Don’t be ungrateful! Think about your half-dead old grandma!”
That last sentence hit Ashley like a punch, forcing her to swallow the rage and icy hostility rising in her chest.
She knew she couldn’t lose her cool.
Just returned to the Sullivan household, alone and barely able to stand her ground. Her grandmother was still bedridden in a care facility, and those bills weren’t cheap—not something she could afford on her own.
And more importantly, she came back here to uncover the truth behind her mother’s disappearance.
The King family might be a swamp, but she had no choice but to wade into it.
With that thought, she let herself be pulled forward by Beatrice, stumbling into the cold wooden bed frame with a dull thud. Her thin shoulders trembled slightly, and her long hair fell like a curtain, covering her face. Only her delicate neck was visible—frail, compliant, a picture of helplessness.
Beatrice and Helena exchanged triumphant, sneering looks.
“Just look at her, needs a beating to learn anything!” Beatrice spat.
Helena waved her hand dramatically in front of her nose, as if Ashley gave off a stench. “Get her out of here fast, seriously. Total buzzkill first thing in the morning.”
The two women stormed out, probably to check whether the pickup car had arrived.
The door was left open, and Ashley could hear them talking just outside—voices full of calculation and schadenfreude, not even bothering to be discreet.
Slowly, Ashley pushed herself upright. She smoothed her hair back behind her ears, revealing a pale but startlingly composed face. There wasn’t a trace of fear or weakness left.
She walked over to the dresser—the mirror was blurry, but it still reflected a soft, delicate face drained of color. Only her eyes stood out—dark and sharp, like frozen lake water at midnight, unreadable and cold.
Edwin King... so he’s the one.
She tugged the corner of her lips into a faint, icy smirk, tinged with sarcasm and danger.
Let’s see what this Edwin is really like.
Is he truly that impressive, for the Sullivan family to be this desperate to offload her—a so-called “deaf and mute burden”—for two hundred million, like they couldn’t wait another second?
…
Meanwhile, on the top floor of an upscale office building across town, the tension in the air was thick enough to freeze someone solid.
Beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glowed under harsh sunlight, but none of that heat made it into the chill inside.
Edwin stood with his back to the room, posture straight as a ruler, wrapped in a stillness that warned people to stay away.
His custom-tailored suit clung perfectly to his broad shoulders and narrow waist, all clean lines and cold power.
“Mr. King...” His assistant’s voice was tight with nerves, eyes locked on the ground, sweat already soaking the collar of his shirt. “After that alley, the woman just vanished. The area’s old, run-down... We checked everywhere, but there’s no surveillance at all.”
A half-burnt cigarette rested between Edwin's fingers, smoke curling around his sharp jawline and framing the cold, dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Expand the search. I want everyone who passed through that area in the 24 hours before and after—every person, every car. Go through them one by one. I don’t care how deep you have to dig—find her.”
He needed to locate that woman.
Not just because she saw things she shouldn't have, but also—she had the audacity to mess with him... and then run.
The assistant swallowed hard and forced out a “Yes, sir!” even as a chill crawled down his spine.
Just then, a secure phone on the desk rang sharply, the sound abrupt in the thick silence.
Edwin glanced at the caller ID and hesitated a beat before picking up.
“Grandma.”
On the other end, Eleanor King’s cheerful voice burst through, “Edwin! Busy, are you? I’ve got the best news! I just spent two hundred million on your bride! The agreement’s inked, and she’s already moved into the estate!”
The air in the office dropped several degrees. Edwin’s face darkened like a storm.
“You did what?”
“I said you’re married!” she replied, as firm as ever. “From now on, you'd better shape up. My only wish before I’m gone is to see my great-grandchild. So, get home. Meet your new wife. And don’t waste time—handle your business!”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
She hung up before he could say a word.
Staring at the silent receiver in his hand, Edwin’s flawlessly handsome face iced over.
Looks like he had to see for himself what kind of woman was worth two hundred million—his “wife,” apparently.
