On the day Khloe Evans was put on trial by her fiance, it was raining heavily.

They had spent four years from falling in love to getting married; she had always believed that he loved her deeply and that their married life would be blissful.

But on their wedding day, he personally put her on trial because of her stepsister's words.

Inside the silent and solemn courtroom, the judge's gavel echoed, signaling the start of a tense moment.

"Khloe Evans, you are suspected of bribing competition judges, academic fraud, and attempted homicide. Do you plead guilty or not?"

Khloe's bloodshot eyes were filled with anger and desperation, staring at Eric Watson, her fiance. She couldn't help but sneer.

The Watson family was one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the country. No one would dare to offend them for a nobody like her.

Khloe said word by word, "I have nothing to say."

All along, she thought Eric was the love of her life. But it turned out he had been having an affair with her stepsister, Sloane Evans. What was more, he had stolen her academic achievements. And now, he falsely accused her of being a murderer. He was ruthless.

What else could she say?

The judge banged his gavel again and gave his verdict.

"The court hereby sentences the defendant, Khloe Evans, to eight years in prison and a fine of three hundred thousand dollars."

The trial concluded, and the prison guards escorted Khloe.

As she walked out of the courtroom, Khloe turned and looked back at Eric, sitting in the plaintiff's seat, her eyes burning with deep hatred and fury.

......

Three years had passed.

"Khloe Evans, someone has bailed you out. You're free to go."

Upon hearing that, Khloe raised her head, her pale face filled with shock.

After suffering from endless torture for three years, she had thought that she was bound to stay there for the full sentence. She didn't expect that she would be released one day.

An hour after she was released from prison, Khloe was taken to a hospital.

She entered a ward, and her heart clenched when she saw her mother through the ICU door, lying motionless in the hospital bed. With a pale face and various apparatus connected to her body, she looked lifeless.

"Mom..." Khloe got all worked up, her voice trembling with emotion. She wanted to open the door and go in.

"Stop it! This ward is specially secured. No one is allowed to enter without my permission." A female voice suddenly rang out behind her.

Khloe turned around and was surprised to see the person who spoke. "Sloane? My mom severed ties with the Evans family long ago. Why are you still doing this to her?"

As she spoke, she glared at Sloane with eyes full of hatred.

Sloane looked at Khloe, a flicker of jealousy and disdain flashing across her eyes.

Then, she sneered, "Khloe, looks like you are mistaken. I'm saving her. Without me, your mother would have died long ago. Perhaps, by the time you come out of prison, you will only see her tomb."

Khloe took a deep breath to calm herself down. "Sloane, stop being so hypocritical. You are saving my mother? Only a fool will believe that. What are you really up to? You're using her to manipulate me, right?"

"Khloe, you're as clever as ever. No wonder they called you the rising star of academia. But it's a pity that you are now a convict for attempted murder. And your fate is in my hands," Sloane taunted. "So, today, all you need to do is spend a night with Karl Russell. Then, I'll arrange for your release and your mother's treatment."

"Karl Russell? That old man is already in his sixties. Are you out of your mind?" Khloe's eyes widened in disbelief.

"So what? Should I care? It's you who are going to sleep with him, not me. As long as you spend one night with him, our family can secure the Russell family's arms deal. It's a very lucrative business. You should feel honored that you are selling out your body to make so much money for us. But if you refuse..."

Sloane pointed to the ICU. "I'll have them remove your mom's life support, and she'll die right in front of you. I'll give you five seconds to decide. Five, four, three..."

"Fine! I'll go," Khloe agreed in despair. This time, she could no longer suppress the tears she had been holding back.

She was left with no choice. For the sake of her mother, she had to do it.

After freshening up, Khloe was put into a car.

Tonight, she was destined to sleep with a sixty-something disgusting man.

And she was still a virgin.

That night, the car glided through the deserted streets, headlights cutting into the night's inky darkness.

Bang!

A gunshot shattered the silence, deafening and ominously close.

Glass sprayed across the seats as the car window exploded, fragments glittering in the dim streetlights.

All hell broke loose. Terrified creams echoed in the street as the few remaining shops hurried to lower their shutters.

The driver, white-faced and trembling, veered in a panic. The car skidded, tires screeching before slamming into the curb. He slumped forward, unconscious.

Beside him, Khloe blinked, disoriented from the impact.

Pressing a hand to her throbbing head, she tried to make sense of what had happened. Through the cracked window, she glimpsed flickering orange flames a short distance away.

"Oh, no!"

She'd stumbled straight into the deadly crossfires of a gunfight.

It was likely a turf war turned ugly by two warring gangs.

Steadying herself, Khloe pushed open the door and crouched low, inching towards the roadside.

But before she could move further, a figure emerged from the darkness. Tall and powerfully built, he was moving fast.

Even though a mask obscured most of his features, she could still see his intense eyes and the proud outline of his nose.

A dark stain spread across his side, seeping through his clothes—blood.

He stumbled towards her, breathing heavily, and collapsed at her feet.

Just then, another group of burly men burst from the shadows, each armed to the teeth. Their faces were etched with vicious determination, each bearing a tattoo on the hand.

"Perfect! He's down. Now, finish him off!"

The leader, bald and snarling, held up his gun and pointed it towards the fallen man. Then, his gaze fell on Khloe.

She was dressed to the nines, as she was meant to be a gift for a man tonight.

A tight red dress hugged her perfect figure, accentuating her curves and complimenting her porcelain skin. Her glossy hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a delicate, doll-like face with wide, innocent eyes.

In a word, she looked like a vision from a dream—or a man's temptation made flesh.

The bald man's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with lecherous intent.

He had never seen such a beautiful woman before, and he wasn't about to let an opportunity like this slide.

"While you're finishing him off, I'll help myself to this beauty."

He lunged, shoving Khloe back against the shattered window, pressing his weight against her.

"No, please!" she pleaded, her voice trembling as she tried to pull away. "Please don't hurt me."

"Why would I hurt a beauty like you?" he taunted, his fingers gripping her shoulder tightly as he leaned closer, his hot breath on her skin. His men jeered behind him, urging him on, enjoying the show.

But Khloe's hand moved, almost imperceptibly, reaching into her purse. In one swift, desperate motion, her fingers closed around a pen, and she drove it up into his neck with a fierce thrust.

The bald man's eyes widened in shock as blood spurted from the wound, his grip loosening.

Gone was the look of a damsel in distress; her eyes, which were so full of fear just a second earlier, now glinted with a cold light.

What was once a delicate, angelic beauty had transformed into a blood-stained rose, dark and dangerous.

"Bitch, you're asking for it!"

The henchmen froze for a split second, then fury overcame them, and they charged at Khloe with murderous intent.

Her voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

"Don't move, or I'll pull the pen out! He'll bleed out on the spot!"

The men abruptly stopped in their tracks. No one dared to move a muscle.

At this moment, the man who'd been lying motionless suddenly sprang to life, gun in hand, and unleashed a hail of bullets on the stunned thugs.

He moved with such agility that it was clear his injury had only been a ruse.

Even the bald man Khloe held hostage collapsed in a bloody heap, a bullet having shattered his skull in an instant.

Khloe spun her head just in time, avoiding the blood splatter. But her clothes and legs weren't so lucky; they were stained with blood, sticky and warm.

"Ugh!"

The sickly, metallic scent hit her, and her stomach churned.

She couldn't stop herself from retching, knees buckling as she collapsed sideways.

But before she hit the ground, an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her upright. The man's grip was firm, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Feisty little thing, weren't you so badass just a second ago? What happened?"

Khloe recoiled, shoving him away, her face twisting in defiance.

"Let go of me!"

Before she could get another word out, black-clad men suddenly emerged from the shadows, their faces hard, eyes cold.

Even the surrounding rooftops showed silhouettes of these men, controlling all sniper points.

Each man moved with such deadly precision, and Khloe could tell at a glance that they were all experienced killers.

They brandished machine guns and rocket launchers with practiced ease, as though these were everyday items.

In a word, they looked like an elite strike force—battle-hardened, lethal.

Unexpectedly, one by one, they all started dropping to their knees, as though bowing before a king.

Thousands of them bowed in unison.

"Awaiting your orders, Mr. Watson," the leader announced reverently.

Khloe's breath hitched. "Are you Henrik Watson?"

Henrik accepted a handkerchief from his trusted aide, Rhett Foster, wiping the blood from his hands with deliberate, almost regal precision.

He then removed his mask slowly, revealing a face that could seize anyone's breath.

His eyes were dark, magnetic pools, deep enough to pull anyone in.

And above his perfectly-shaped lips was a prominent, sculpted nose.

His chiseled features conveyed both power and beauty, almost too flawless to belong to any ordinary man.

It was the kind of face that could eclipse even the brightest stars in the showbiz.

But more than his appearance, it was his aura—commanding, indomitable—that sent shivers down spines. This was a man who held dominion over countless lives.

Henrik smiled, a flash of danger glinting in his eyes. "So what if I am?"

Khloe's eyes went as wide as saucers.

Henrik Watson—that name carried the weight of legend.

Henrik had once been a branch member of the Watson family before vanishing into obscurity for ten long years.

When he resurfaced, he singlehandedly seized control of the nation's underworld, rendering him a king without rival.

In fact, he was so powerful that even the president treaded carefully around him.

Khloe's ex-fiance, Eric, was a member of the Watson family, which had ascended from obscurity to supremacy solely thanks to Henrik.

By blood, Eric was Henrik's nephew.

So, if her marriage to Eric pushed through, Henrik would be her husband's uncle.

Khloe's stepsister, Sloane, had maneuvered her into offering herself to Karl Russell.

Though Karl held sway in the city, he was nothing against Henrik's underworld might. It was like comparing a lion to a mouse.

As the thought struck her, hope flickered within Khloe.

If she could gain Henrik's support, she might escape her forced sacrifice, and her mother could be saved.

Steadying her breath, she asked tentatively, "Since I just helped you, could I ask you a favor?"

Henrik's gaze sharpened, eyes gleaming with intrigue.

It was the first time a woman had faced him with such poise, especially after witnessing him kill so many people.

Interest piqued, Henrik strode towards Khloe with an almost lazy confidence, each step measured and unhurried.

His sculpted fingers pinched her chin, lifting it so she was looking right at him.

He held her gaze as he studied her with a trace of amusement in his eyes.

His voice, low and rich, sent a chill through the air.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to? Aren't you afraid I'll kill you?"

A shiver raced through Khloe's heart.

His presence was overwhelming, like a storm cloud closing in, suffocating in its intensity.

He was dangerous—merely speaking to him was like playing with fire.

But she had nowhere else to turn; Henrik was her only chance.

"I have a Ph.D. in chemistry and medicine, along with patents—highly profitable ones. If you help me, I can make you money," she said, voice steady but with a glint of desperation.

Henrik shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Money?" he murmured, his fingers brushing her cheek. "Do I look like I lack money?"

The scent of blood clung faintly to his skin, chilling her even as he remained outwardly gentle. Khloe's guard went up instinctively, her body tensing beneath his touch.

"What do you want?" she ventured cautiously. "If it's within my power, I'm willing to exchange anything."

A spark flickered in Henrik's dark eyes, something enigmatic and unreadable.

He let his gaze drift over her as if considering her offer. "Anything, you say?" All of a sudden, he let out a chilling laugh. "Then I want this."

In one swift motion, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

And there, before all his men, he kissed her.