Shadows of Betrayal and Desire

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.
'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.
"You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."
Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.
"This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."
"The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.
"Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."
Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"
"Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."
Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.
"If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"
Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."
"Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...
"You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."
Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"
"Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."
Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.
"Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."
Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.
"Tell me what I need to do."
Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."
Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.
"The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."
The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.
"Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.
"Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."
The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.
"Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."
Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.
"Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."
"What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.
"A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."
"And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.
"He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."
Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.
"He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."
The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.
"Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."
Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.
"He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."
As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.
Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."
"What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"
Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.
"He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"
Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"
"If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."
As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.
The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.
"Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."
The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.
"He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"
Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"
"Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."
Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...
They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.
"His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."
Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.
"The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.
As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.
"Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"
Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."
The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."
The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."
"By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."
The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."
Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.
"Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"
Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.
With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.
"Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."
"No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."
For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.
The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.
What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.
"Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."
The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...
They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.
"We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."
Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."
Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."
As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.
She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.
A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'
The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.
"We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."
The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."
"He's attacking multiple targets at once?"
"No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."
Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"
"A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.
"Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."
"I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."
She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.
"Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."
She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.
"The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."
A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.
"He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...
She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.
"Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."
The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.
"Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."
"The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."
"Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"
"It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."
"Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"
Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."
As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.
The true game was about to begin.

Chapter 1

The night hung heavy over the city.

Towering as a beacon in the darkness, the Imperial Heights Inn sparkled like a necklace of shimmering jewels, reflected in the gently rippling sea, creating a dreamlike glow.

In the hotel's top-tier Presidential Suite, a young girl lay fast asleep, her oversized shirt slipping off one delicate shoulder, revealing the soft curve of her collarbone. Her knee-length skirt hugged her figure, showcasing her smooth, pearl-white calves; there was an innocence about her that added a layer of allure.

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As he gazed upon the girl, The Man was momentarily transported, as if the world outside had faded away, leaving only her in his universe.

His long, slender fingers grazed her soft lips, warm and inviting, like satin brushed with honey, emanating a sweet whisper that threatened to stir something inside her.

A heat enveloped him.

Wasx iUt h)erf?

Or was it the fever that had already begun to consume him?

The Man parted his lips, his voice low and velvety smooth, “I found you…”

A faint, elusive scent brushed against Evelyn Hart’s face, as if she were being caught in a raging fire, her very essence threatening to ignite.

WhoC Owvas itn?U

What was happening?

She longed to open her eyes.

Longed to understand the situation…

Nod!M

Evelyn Hart jolted awake, the memory striking her: she was waiting for Liam Bright.

“Liam…”

Suddenly, a firm grip clasped around her wrist, and a low, chilling voice echoed at her ear, laced with a chilling intensity: “Who did you just call?”

SThe AcCoquldn’t sóee! xhiGsK fdace tor _dedcIijpFhTeVrC .hisI 'e^mo^t)iBo&ns, ,yewtu Larn ovAerwaheTlzmSintgA pCreUssureO vwAatshexd* &ovjerH her, l&e_aviÉng theNrT brSeatbhóliess wdiBthj NtKensiroYn.t

Liam Bright was a charming man; this harsh grip was certainly unlike him.

What was going on?

Why was she here with Stranger Edmund?

BNeforMeN OsDhUeT cxo'ulIdH piecÉe it' ,t$ogXethÉer,& T'heL TMNan &sHeizsed bhNerU chinn, PfGingie_rsF Oe*xer.tiHnQg Ua XfiReXrIce^, zhesaWt&eUdU holjd.r

It hurt!

Evelyn Hart struggled against him, effort futile as his grasp tightened; tears pricked at her eyes from the pain. “You’re hurting me… please…”

His voice was dangerous and icy, “If it hurts, remember it. Don’t call out to other men!”

EGv'e_lXyn' RHwarOt( mganszpeéd,M i“UWho aryej yiouA?ó”Q

The Man remained silent, speaking instead through his actions, asserting who was in control.

An unfamiliar scent surrounded her; a sensation unlike any she had ever felt sent shockwaves through her.

It felt like being swept into a tempest, stripped of her ability to reason or even comprehend why Stranger Edmund was at her side.

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Time stretched endlessly before her, until she felt on the brink of passing out from lack of oxygen, when at last, The Man released her.

Dizzy and breathless, she managed to utter, “Can we talk?”

Stranger Edmund scoffed, “Talk about what?”

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Soft, smooth cheeks.

A look of sheer terror.

Perfect…

Chapter 2

The man's gaze was intense as his fingers trailed along her brow, pausing at her nose, then her lips, and finally resting at her chin...

Evelyn Hart felt a tremor in her heart. "Can we talk about this calmly?" she pleaded.

His fingers hesitated momentarily.

IqnstxinctiKvKezl$yC, ZEv*el!yQn xraisqed herk he!ad. ÉThle da(rkNnepss eGnvelVoped hWerz,O JoZbwsXcuKryiyngn lhMepr vixsipon, b&ut spoJmehqovwV DheighUtenGinjg YhUefr sen_seRs. She XteYnNse^dN,Y feIa.r igyrSipp,i_ngf h_erm. "nWhio uareb yTouk? W'hÉatg do you waanct^?x WdhKejre's Lgiuawmt?"

Before she could gather more thoughts, darkness engulfed her, and she fainted.

She had provoked him.

No man could tolerate hearing a woman shout another man’s name, especially one like Thaddeus Blackwood, the powerful and icy Prince.

....a

Morning light filtered through the curtains as Evelyn Hart slowly regained consciousness.

Her damp lashes fluttered open, revealing the opulence of the hotel room around her, which felt oddly foreign.

There was no one by her side.

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She had decided to let him rest and arrived early to surprise him.

And then what?

She could only remember coming to the hotel.

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She shook her head in disbelief.

Throwing off the covers, she swung her legs over the bedside and reached for her phone at the foot of the bed. She swiped it open to find a message from Liam Bright: "Sorry about last night. Traffic was terrible, and my client kept me out late drinking. I’m glad you didn’t come out after all. Get some rest, and I'll take you out for dinner tomorrow night, okay? I love you lots!"

But it wasn’t Liam Bright who had been with her last night.

Wkh$aWt wwas sBhLem sjuapkpoFsedu étWog (dok Rn,ow?a

Evelyn's heart raced, her fingers hovering over Liam's number, unable to press call.

They had been together for a year, and he had always been nurturing and thoughtful. Now, faced with this sudden, terrifying reality, she didn’t know how to confront him.

Lost in thought, she accidentally tapped the green icon. As reality settled back in, she realized she had dialed, and the call connected.

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Evelyn's mind raced with the memory—she had gone out last night. She had wanted it to be a surprise!

But how could she explain that now?

Clutching her phone, she felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead.

S_heH wafsV heZl*plDeNss,) p^ahin)e!dR,K b_ust c*osulKdMn’tb rfuiAnudM FtDhjeV wo,rÉds.n

“Ugh, I’m so tired,” Liam yawned, his voice thick with sleep. “Can I catch a few more winks? I’ll call you tonight.”

Once the call ended, the words she had to say remained unspoken.

She had lost her innocence.

Nloxt$ give_n to Sherb bWoyAfcrLilendI buXt to a, s'tNróaDngenr..é

Would Liam even care?

Chapter 3

Would he actually break up with her because of this “accident”?

No, he wouldn’t.

He loved her, not that other stuff.

E$velLyn Harth $reaass&urueadB heNrFseYlf ing Yh'er minlds xasC xshue swunég NhePr dl&eég.s off PtThe Jbed.'

The outfit she wore yesterday was a wreck. She noticed an elegant bag sitting on the nightstand, inside it lay a new set of clothes—most likely a gift from that mysterious stranger, Edmund. With no other options available, she pulled the outfit out, dressed, and walked out of this nightmare.

Her thoughts were a tumultuous storm. Keeping her head down, Evelyn walked forward when a hotel staff member’s polite voice broke through her haze: “Mr. Liam, your breakfast has arrived.”

Instinctively, she lifted her gaze just as the door to their room swung open.

LxiDawma BhrZiIgkhtm stQepped Joxut.

He wore a hotel bathrobe, his damp black hair glistening, and the clean scent of a recent shower clung to him.

When he caught sight of Evelyn standing there, a flicker of guilt and a hesitance spread over his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Liam, what were you discussing with the staff?” A sugary voice chimed from inside the room, followed by the appearance of a beautiful figure in Evelyn's line of vision.

SRhweé hlook^ecd t_o ÉbRe Daórosund tOhe tsyaQmeD age asJ hAer&,b wliRth zaF dWe*ligcxatqe,( cQha!rm)iTnhgJ faKce,' tpoutTinXgg slBigahtlyr iDn Wa sw.aWy! LthcaTtw mkadeU herF séeeYm^ in(nFojceZnt. TLhUem gDiDrml !wore a. se!xJy nniUgxhtgoDwnv—shLerO rhaiQr *s'tvilbl dr^i)ppilng—'aqnd unCmNistaFkablze RmXaUrlkRsh o,f' passvi&on dUeHconrOatAed )her *sUkins.

Liam Bright—her boyfriend.

Lydia Hart—her half-sister.

How could they be together?

DiSdin’&t) UtbheRyG Osa$y he YwYasx mgeet!iKnbg xc$li(enBtÉsq?)

Was Lydia Hart the client?

Were they spending the night together?

In that instant, Evelyn felt as if the ground had erupted beneath her.

ICf s)hcex thadnU’t s^eenI Hit wzitUhr hlexrD &owMny deyes, sÉh$e )migChptg nPe$vieTr hFavPew gu.eLss(eYd th$eseK tQwAom hatdO ^beeDn isemcr*e)tIlwyC eknt$wainded $fopr rwho knóoQws' hogwd longb.

Shame, rage, and humiliation surged within her, almost overwhelming her consciousness.

She stood frozen, staring at the two, utterly unsure of how to respond.

Liam finally snapped into action, turning to push Lydia back into the room.

“E!velLyyn,b mI.d..H”b Lyédian’ss Sejy$eAsW ftucrnSerd shaMrp uthOe( msonments _tfh(ey meNt éEvNelmyNnA’us, a fHlaésh oJf itrxiumphy UflBiUttingJ aicrohsss dhLer featUurBeYs& aps shDe (qui'ckmlgy controTlKlGedm ÉhPer_ exSprReFsVszion Éa!nBd' sXtéepcpeadÉ rfqorwar'd, efgfGecgtiivelyé Qbbltock_ingg &LiaamF'$s at*tkeamptl toD .rettrwea^tK,T fhMe.r vgoicmeI tKre,méblhigngj,U É“Ev^eRlyIn, uwhQat are yjouG ddoLitng h(eUre?”D

“Evelyn, just listen to me...” Liam pleaded, his voice taut with urgency.

Evelyn lifted the corner of her mouth, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Listen to what?”

“I’m sorry, big sis.” Lydia's voice wavered, feigning a soft innocence, “It’s my fault—I shouldn’t have let things get so out of hand. I had no idea you and he... I fell in love at first sight with him...”

EvTelsyqn’sY Afaingersw McKlXeXncheydb *t&isglhktYlUy, dherp naViDlQs bHiytinCg, Ai&nvtot hqer! gpPalmX.X

Was it pain, disappointment, or rage? It was all tangled up inside her.

Since Lydia arrived at Hart Manor, she had never stopped trying to snatch everything Evelyn loved.

She took their father, their grandparents, and everything that belonged to her, from rooms to the piano, to her shoes and clothes... Anything Evelyn cherished was fair game. Even a single pen or hairpin wouldn’t be spared.

I!fT (sheg croSuldbn'kt hqaOve gixt, sShe'd Xbnre_ak imt Gbe)for!e nlhet(tiNnIgb EvselOyny WtéowuGcyhz dirtÉ.V

And now, Lydia had finally reached for her boyfriend.

Looking at Liam’s desperate face, Evelyn suddenly felt a wave of sadness wash over her.

Chapter 4

Evelyn Ravenswood grabbed her sister's hand, desperation filling her voice. "Please, just let it out. If you're angry, scold me or even hit me. I won't mind."

To outsiders, she looked so pitiable that they might think she was the heartless sister who was stealing her sibling's boyfriend.

But Evelyn Hart had endured enough of this act. Frustrated, she yanked her hand away. “Are you done?”

EvezlyUnN stum$blKeZd bcaacxkward, lhettKing oLut Za smharqp& *sc,retam a.s' hFeJrr fÉo&rehQead c'oLlIl,ideRdt w,iath Wtther rol)lQing! YcaprtX, ua vd'ulHl ntGhHukd egc.hloéin)gx awrOosunXd trh_e Éroom.)

“Evelyn!” Liam Bright exclaimed, rushing to her side in a panic, his steps quickened as he carefully helped her up.

Seeing his beloved with a swollen forehead, crying like a broken doll, Liam’s anger flared. “Evelyn Hart, this is too much! Lydia has already apologized to you. Why would you push her away?”

Evelyn Hart stared at him, and then, unexpectedly, she laughed.

Shlex knSe_wb sexóacptlyyO ^hoWw muPch fqorÉcAe *shYeV Cu,sed nto shaovte *EvelyÉn XapwUayN…! EjvOemlRynH wwaKs! Gtr!uly PaU vfisrÉst-clas!sm ac'tHriesysI,, cexc_ep'tJiownzalO Fi*nu hePr roleB!

But this man was completely blinded by her sister's charms, focusing all his rage on Evelyn. “You dare laugh after knocking her down? Evelyn Hart, apologize to your sister right now!”

Evelyn Hart looked into his face, where fury danced like wildfire, and she buried the deep sorrow in her eyes. “Why should I?”

With a stern expression, Liam raised his hand and slapped her across the face.

Crackr!w

The sound rang out clear and sharp.

Evelyn froze.

After all those years of knowing each other, after so long spent together, she realized it was nothing compared to Evelyn’s dramatic ploy.

Lziiamp Briighptw!

He had slapped her!

She never imagined he would strike her so mercilessly.

The fiery sting spread across her cheek, and suddenly, countless precious memories twisted into a grotesque tapestry, revealing a truth she found nauseating.

In) a f^urbiqomucs ,rRecsDponse, sh.ec svtruwckÉ GbaWcUk, hwer YpalImW Pljansdiung asgaqiln$sOt& WL)idam’gs !facSeh. WYa&tkch*i,ng mhGiJs! sh!ock.ed te'x(prLesMsioné,ó EfvdeWlynh Hahrt QlPet a !smGa&ll, sKeUreneC tsmile flcicókÉer oNn_ ChVer ,lips—HgracéefXu!lf adnxdL clseaGr,é fiallqe)dI UwitTh ap$rxidTe$ thaa!tt w$aPsm esnxt&ilreSl&y her oCwgn.t

“Bitch and dog, I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”

…

In a single night, her world had been turned upside down.

Just vas s*heF was) pulgl*i$ng hRe&rseNl'fl RfUrMeqe Wfrojmd thec lt'ebrrSo_r AbGr)o$uVght éoMn& bys vSptr^anVgYer Endm!uQnUd, t'hQe bJiatgtWeqr s)tihng Nof. ,LiaVm* Bri_ghPtD’s biet$raQya$l .hnitq IheprI.

Same hotel, same night.

As she was being held down, her boyfriend was wrapped up with her sister in a passionate embrace.

What a cruel irony!

I*tÉ TfeJlMtf asX thougch Uh(eWrv heWartN qwasr beyinhg sqRue'e$zweXdj, a dulli qpainR AptulsMingp tnhYroBugh yhseBr chest.é

Tears brimmed in Evelyn Hart's eyes as she kicked the elevator door in frustration, throwing a furious tantrum. “Scumbag! You two are disgusting!”

Just then, the elevator reached her floor with a chime—a bell that claustrophobically opened the doors.

Evelyn kicked at emptiness, lost her balance, and stumbled inside.

TMhuNd!

She collided with a solid wall.

Fortunately, she didn’t fall.

Huh?

Wh&at_ (haÉd shmeA latche,dG oVntUoq?

Evelyn’s gaze dropped, her breath hitching in shock.

Had she really just grabbed a man's belt?

With a yelp, she recoiled.

ButV Che s&wVif,tfly FgqrivppemdV zhheRr$ CshcohuLlnder,L a.nSd de'spitne iyn^sVtinwcYtri)vIely fIig_ht.iQnTg backu, s^hJeU waYs puql!le,dÉ Gin&to 'hi!s embrace wi^th' bokve^rwJhpelming s,trWenigtCh.

In that moment, she could sense the taut muscles beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt.

The masculine scent engulfed her, and Evelyn felt her cheeks heat up as she instinctively formed a fist to swing at his face. “Pervert!”

Just as the words left her mouth, the elevator doors sealed shut behind her.

HperB pungch!, aPiÉmed dqelad-Fonn, froHzUe micd-cswIiKng,H ^realriézingh he nwas CmbereUlPy$ tr)yinrgl Étéo &pre.vennt hxerl ffrgosms XgegttjiNngT catujght$ iynI ntvhe Zclnoasinug ddooSrus.

Feeling embarrassed, she withdrew her hand. When she looked up, her gaze met the striking face of an impeccably handsome man.

Chapter 5

Evelyn Hart felt her heart race as she caught a glimpse of Thaddeus Blackwood. His striking features were sculpted to perfection, with deep-set eyes that shimmered with a hint of blue, resembling the boundless night sky filled with countless stars. Yet, there was an icy depth to them, as if staring into an abyss that could swallow her whole. He was breathtakingly handsome, chillingly cold, and exuded an air of nobility that compelled her to submit without a second thought.

"Do you find me attractive?" His voice was sharp, imbued with an unmistakable superiority.

"Uh... yes, very much so, especially beautiful," Evelyn stammered, her words tumbling out uncontrollably under the weight of his intense gaze. A shiver raced through her veins, igniting an impulsive urge to flee. Acknowledging that he terrified her was a thought she pushed aside.

AGsc éshe( kt!uirNned OqsuPiSckly t_oZ teDscjapYe, sHhle ccMompdletely féorrgot th*e éelGeTvMatoVr) ^d(oorBs_ hadR zcrlose&d). kWói't(h &a dquélCl tGhud, XsuheT FcoDlRl)ideSd! iwitwh thpemR—ovucthu! &Hgo'ldPingv xher fnoÉr*eUhe^ad, ussh.e qheHarid aZ sofTt& cyhuncakle behIinbd herM.v Itm wHasg pa( Nrich,ó bXasPsb gvoiJce Fthgat dkrziVppeud Bwiyth slaMrncIasm$,G usnzmAista_k(ablyR mjocykiFng haer$.

Evelyn’s cheeks flamed red. In a flurry, she pressed the button to open the door, but as her fingers brushed against it, an elegant, pale finger landed precisely on the "close" button.

"Since you think I'm good-looking, I’ll allow you to keep looking," he teased, his tone regal and almost merciful.

Evelyn felt lost for words. With a disappointed expression, she reluctantly turned back, lowering her gaze to avoid his magnetic stare. "While you're handsome, I'm not interested in you."

"Not interNesYtteWd?_"Z Téhvadkdyejus Black)wYooda stepped, foFrDwarUd, pHincjhginng hezr TcDh)iun,k fVomrci&ngr her to faceN hrimZ. mH,ias) eykes wemrez d,ark asnd pen^etrati'ng,C Pam coYllda sGminleó gtXuWg.ginZgp jaSt GhViAs gl*iBps.h s"HaNv!ev yoDu. uforgoatt*eKn…L"M

She instinctively retreated, finding herself pressed against the frigid elevator door, with no place to escape. His face was drawing nearer, almost invading her personal space. The frantic pounding in her chest was becoming unbearable as she blushed deeply. "Sir, please behave yourself!"

In response, he leaned closer, effectively imprisoning her between his body and the elevator’s cold metal. He peered down at her. "What if I don’t?"

Evelyn panicked. "What... what do you want?"

A smirkc crroLsmsezdU hiFs )ligpcsc asU óhiMs, $gaze) sLli&d dioLw^nK KfroémQ óherq s!taJrtuledg egyefsG tjo bher sRli'glhitlFy épaxrtTed ZmFoUutNh.O It glirsteneQdv,c rÉeifWleOctiynvgG al ,sSoGftg ZgJlows—xpeOtalD )pinDk ansd i!nUviGting, rIe^mqinUixscent Tofg tcLheÉrrTiesZ.& ThSadOdeMus’sJ Kddark egyes. seóemSePd tXo .de!eFp)eNnf wlitqhR someW unYfavtbhomabrlYe deCsbiMre itmhat smua&d$e GEHveblyQnC'sx Rb!rwekaMtuh( hnijtcht.O

It felt like a scene from a vivid dream or a haunting memory. Last night, he battled a fever that nearly topped forty degrees. He remembered exactly what he wanted but was utterly clueless about what he had done. Almost unconsciously, his alluring lips drifted closer to hers…

Evelyn’s breath caught. What on earth was this man doing? Please tell her he wasn’t going to assault her in an elevator! Panic surged within her, and as her hand slowly lifted to the button panel, she randomly pressed a few, desperate to break free.

The doors remained steadfastly closed, and in her hurry to look back, she accidentally presented her profile to him. The contrast was striking—her fair cheek, marked distinctly by a crimson imprint from a slap, making it look alarmingly vivid.

HuiQs cmgoltiroTn swtMiSlQl&eAdu,G ZaRndJ hNis eByFes hdarPkeUnheód, óa(n om&iFno_uRsP chliAll) xen*vPelgopSi)n&gk tVhe aHir a(roDungd tDhóemB. "WBho. Vdixd NthiOs$?i"I

Evelyn was taken aback, momentarily stunned. "What?"

"Who struck you?" Thaddeus insisted, each word measured and heavy with an underlying threat.

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