New York City—the presidential suite on the top floor of the Imperial Group's five-star hotel.
The warm orange lights cast a hazy, ambiguous glow over the room. Perhaps the waiter had mixed up the candles, or maybe it was intentional. Supposedly a honeymoon suite, yet a pair of white candles flickered in the dim space.
A stifling heat lingered in the air, making it hard to tell the season. It should still be chilly on an early spring night—was the air conditioner set too high?
On the pristine white sofa sat a young woman, enveloped in the suite’s extravagant luxury. Her makeup was thick, almost exaggerated, concealing her natural complexion. Beneath it, her face burned. Her breath quickened. A flush of heat surged through her, leaving behind a restless emptiness that made her throat unbearably dry.
She reached for the kettle on the coffee table, poured another glass of water, and downed it in one go. It was her third already, yet the heat inside her only intensified.
What was going on?
Was even the air conditioning in this five-star hotel malfunctioning? The unbearable heat continued to rise within her, fueling her growing irritation.
Uneasy, she reached under the pillow, fingers brushing against the cold steel of the dagger she had hidden there. Still there. A breath of relief escaped her lips as she sank back onto the sofa.
Then—
The door burst open without warning. She jolted, fists clenching instinctively.
Was it him?
The president of Holt Corporation. The rumored Dragon Gate Lord of the underworld. A man feared by many—Master Holt.
Her delicate fingers tightened, her heart pounding.
A chilling voice drifted from the adjacent room.
"Enjoy yourself."
Her mind went blank. What did he mean by that?
"Yes, Master Holt!"
Two voices responded—uneven in tone, laced with both excitement and fear.
Dread curled in her stomach. This was supposed to be their "new home." Why had he brought others? What was he planning?
Before she could react, footsteps approached. She barely had time to lift her head when—
A nauseating stench hit her.
Her breath caught.
Then, before she could resist, she was shoved onto the couch.
Two hands pinned down her struggling arms, another restrained her kicking legs, while a fourth tore at her clothing with rough urgency.
Terror gripped her. In an instant, she understood.
Her once-pale face flushed with anger, humiliation crashing over her like a tidal wave.
She didn’t know where the strength came from, but with a desperate burst of force, she shoved the man off her. Gasping, she scrambled up from the couch, staggering unsteadily, barely keeping herself from collapsing.
The commotion caught Dante Holt’s attention. He frowned, curiosity piqued, and stepped into the room—
Only to be met with a face right before him, ghostly pale beneath layers of makeup.
His eyes narrowed dangerously as he closed the distance between them.
Suddenly, his hand clamped onto her slender chin, his voice low and menacing. “Who are you? How did you get into this room?”
Pain shot through her jaw, but her expression remained eerily blank.
Yet her dark eyes—clear as glass—held no trace of fear. Instead, she met his gaze and replied with quiet defiance, “Your Excellency, you’re hurting me.”
