The lingering warmth of that kiss, like a branding iron, seared Veronica's senses for a full two days.

The air seemed permeated with something invisible and viscous, entangling her and Casper together.


Veronica's heart felt as if it were placed in warm water, heating up gradually, sinking into this dangerous warmth. His fatigue and loneliness that night, that kiss carrying the scent of whiskey and rain—almost predatory yet concealing a hint of fragility—revealed to her the cracks beneath his cold mask. She began to wonder if, beneath their contract, it was truly possible for something else to grow.

However, illusions are always meant to be shattered.

On the third afternoon, Casper went out to attend an important meeting he couldn't decline.


According to his new instructions, the butler allowed Veronica to "move more freely" within designated areas, including using his private study to access some books and materials he deemed "harmless." This was an unprecedented trust, or rather, an escalation of some sort of test.

The study was quiet, with only the low hum of the climate control system. Veronica's fingertips traced along the leather spines of books, but her gaze involuntarily drifted toward the massive ebony desk.


On the desktop, besides expensive stationery and a computer in sleep mode, there was a rather ancient-looking metal box with a mechanical combination lock.

She remembered how Casper would occasionally stare at this box, his fingers unconsciously caressing its cold metal surface.

A powerful, almost instinctive impulse seized her.

She knew she shouldn't do it, that it would be crossing a line, betraying the trust he had just shown her, even if it was only a hint of trust.

But that box was like a silent summon, tempting her to uncover more secrets about this man, to confirm the growing, ominous premonition in her heart.

She took a deep breath and walked to the desk.

What would the password be? His birthday? The company's founding date? She tried several obvious combinations, but nothing moved. Just as she was about to give up, a fragment flashed in her mind—when researching his family history, she had seen the exact date when the Alpha Technologies scandal broke. That was a day that completely changed his fate.

She hesitated, her fingertips trembling slightly, and entered that sequence of numbers.

"Click."

A soft sound, like a thunderclap in the silent study. The lock opened.

Veronica's heart began to race wildly, almost bursting through her throat. She slowly lifted the lid. Inside there were no jewels, no cash, just a stack of yellowed paper documents, several old photographs, and a separate black folder labeled "Hawthorne."

Her surname was like an ice pick, instantly piercing through all her unrealistic fantasies.

With trembling hands, she picked up the folder and opened it. Inside were detailed financial reports of her father's company, debt structure analysis, and even copies of short-term high-interest loan contracts that her father had signed in desperation to save the company—contracts that teetered on the edge of legality.

The dates on these documents were far before she was sent to the auction block. At the signature line was a familiar cursive signature she had seen on certain documents before—C. Wolfe.

The date was just before her father had run out of options and first made contact with that "mysterious investor" who ultimately led him into the auction trap.

So that was it.

There was no cruel twist of fate, no "luck" in being chosen by him.

From the very beginning, this was a meticulously planned, utterly cold-blooded hunt.

He had long set his sights on the Hawthorne Group as a fat piece of meat, and she, Veronica, was merely an "additional" pawn he could exploit in his plan, a tool to confuse enemies and test capabilities, a plaything he could manipulate at will and threaten with her family's shame.

That kiss? Those occasional glimpses of "tenderness"? They were probably just part of the "test," designed to help her better play the role of someone infatuated, to more effectively serve as his "emotional interference factor" in a game of which she knew nothing.

An overwhelming sense of betrayal engulfed her like a tsunami, ice-cold and piercing, far more suffocating than her previous fear and humiliation. She felt all strength drain from her body and stumbled backward, colliding with the bookshelf with a dull thud.

She recalled his cold gaze, his whiskey-scented kiss, the sensation of his fingertips tracing across her skin... All those moments that once made her heart race now transformed into utterly bitter ironies.

Like a fool, she had searched for a trace of genuine emotion within his cold calculations.

Tears welled up without warning, not from sorrow, but from extreme anger and the humiliation of being manipulated at will. She gripped the memorandum tightly, her nails nearly digging into her palm.

Just then, footsteps sounded outside the study, steady and familiar—Casper had returned.

Veronica abruptly lifted her head, all the confusion and momentary indulgence in her eyes now vanished, replaced by a thoroughly ignited, cold, and resolute flame.

She quickly stuffed the documents back into the box, closed the lid, wiped the moisture from the corner of her eye, and straightened her back.

When Casper pushed open the study door, he saw her standing by the window, looking down at the bustling traffic below, her figure slender yet unusually rigid.

"I'm back." His voice sounded a bit gentler than usual.

Veronica didn't turn around. Her voice was terrifyingly calm, carrying a deliberately distant, ice-cold remoteness.

"Is that so, Mr. Wolf." She paused, then added, each word as if dipped in ice, "How was the meeting? I hope I haven't disrupted your grand plans."

Casper's footsteps halted.

He keenly detected the earth-shattering change in her tone, which was not merely detachment, but something deeper—a hateful severance.

He watched her stiff back, his gray-blue eyes slightly narrowed, a fleeting flash of confusion passing through them before being covered by his customary coldness.

What happened?

He didn't know.

But he could feel that Veronica, whom he had kissed on that rainy night, whose eyes had momentarily shown confusion and response, was now escaping at a speed he couldn't comprehend.