I was married to Damian Thorne, an arms magnate, for seven years. My hands, meant for painting masterpieces, learned to assemble firearms and disarm bombs, walking through hell and back with him. But in the seventh year of our marriage, he became utterly obsessed with a former convent girl, delivered to his bed by his rivals. That girl was pure as freshly fallen snow, and for Damian, who had grown up steeped in blood and violence, she was an addiction he’d never known. He built her a lavish, secluded sanctuary, shielding her from every shadow. Until I unexpectedly discovered the word “divorced” on our official marriage certificate. I confronted him, shattering, but Damian casually polished his gun barrel. “Elara gave up her sheltered life for me. I owe her a proper name, a legitimate place.” He paused, eyes cold. “What compensation do you want? Just name it.” Consumed by bitterness and rage, I slapped Elara across the face at their wedding. That very night, my critically ill mother was tied to the front of an armored vehicle. “Seraphina, you shouldn’t have touched Elara. This is your lesson.” I fell to my knees, begging him to stop, but the engine roared to life, and my mother’s blood and flesh splattered across my face. Clutched my stomach, a searing pain, I screamed until darkness claimed me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day I discovered I’d been divorced. This time, I didn’t confront him. I booked a flight that very night, desperate to take my mother somewhere Damian Thorne would never find us. … “Ms. Vance, our system shows your current marital status as divorced.” The monotone, official voice of the government clerk dragged me back to reality. My eyes widened in horror. I could almost taste the coppery tang of my mother’s blood in my nose. “When was this processed?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “August 29th.” My heart felt like it had been crushed by a blunt instrument. August 29th. Our seventh wedding anniversary. That day, I’d bought fresh flowers and candles, preparing a meticulously cooked dinner. But the candles melted down, the roses wilted, and Damian never showed. He had been busy dissolving our marriage. I clutched the divorce papers in my hand. As I turned to leave, I saw the familiar black Bentley pulling up outside. In that other life, I had stormed out, oblivious, to confront him. Damian, afraid Elara would discover our connection, had smashed the butt of his gun into my jaw, cracking it. Remembering that, I immediately ducked into the shadows of a corner. Moments later, the car door opened. Damian Thorne, usually so arrogant and domineering, acted like a chauffeur, personally opening the passenger door. Then he took off his trench coat and draped it gently over the girl’s shoulders, his movements impossibly soft. Elara Sterling was dressed in a simple white gown, her eyes serene, standing in the morning light like a vision of porcelain purity. Damian took her hand gently and led her inside. Elara’s pale lips tightened, her expression flustered. “Mr. Thorne, are you really going to marry me?” “Of course. I dream of this day. I’m responsible for you leaving your sheltered life, and I must take responsibility.” Elara’s slender fingers brushed against her slightly swollen belly. “But I was just an ordinary convent girl. I’m not worthy of someone as powerful and revered as you, nor am I worthy of carrying your child. Perhaps…” Her unfinished sentence was interrupted by a dominant, possessive kiss. I don’t know how long it lasted, but when it finally ended, Damian cupped her face, his eyes overflowing with doting affection. “Elara, no one in this world is more worthy of me than you. Only you are fit to bear my child.” A sharp, searing stab of pain suddenly ripped through my lower abdomen. I clutched my stomach, a desperate grasp, tears blurring my vision. It wasn’t until I saw them disappear into the marriage registry that I stumbled away, making a resolute decision. *** **【Chapter 2】** I took a cab to the hospital and scheduled an abortion. Lying on the examination table, the doctor sighed as she looked at the ultrasound results. “Ms. Vance, your uterine lining is naturally thinner than most. This might be the only child you’ll ever have.” I stared at the ceiling, my voice as calm as still water. “I’m divorced. This child shouldn’t come into this world.” The cold liquid surged through my veins, and my consciousness slowly blurred. In a daze, I saw Damian once, his ear pressed to my belly, listening to the baby kick, laughing as he talked about teaching our child how to modify guns. I saw him flipping through baby name books, talking about finding a name that brought good fortune. I saw him holding me, promising to distance himself from the bloodshed, to live a peaceful life with me, to be a good father… Finally, all those images froze on his words to Elara: “Only you are fit to bear my child.” Two hours later, my face pale and drained, I walked into my mother’s hospital room. She was still in a coma, on a ventilator, but she was alive. My living, breathing mother. In that other life, I had dragged my mother into ruin. This time, I wouldn’t be so foolish. I went through discreet channels to arrange her transfer to a new hospital. Then I went to the immigration office to process my emigration papers. In just three days, once all the paperwork was complete, I would vanish from Damian Thorne’s world forever. After doing all of this, I stood in the rain, feeling an unprecedented sense of lightness. Just as I was about to walk away, three men, masked and wearing baseball caps, suddenly rushed out from behind me. Before I could react, the iron bars in their hands whistled through the air, smashing into me. A searing pain sent me stumbling to my knees, my back instantly slick with blood. I didn’t need to guess. These were enemies of Damian, coming for revenge. I tried to grab my phone for help, but one of them slammed a bar down, shattering it. Then, countless blows rained down on me like a storm. Just then, that familiar Bentley drove past the intersection. It was Damian’s car! “Damian Thorne!” I screamed with all my might, struggling desperately to get his attention. The car slowed for a split second, and my heart hammered wildly in my chest. He saw me! But the next moment, the Bentley accelerated again, speeding away from the intersection without hesitation. Through the window, I saw Damian raise his hand to shield Elara’s eyes. In that instant, I lost the will to even scream. Of course. Elara was in the car. Damian wouldn’t want his pure, snow-white angel to witness such a bloody scene. Excruciating pain surged through every limb, my vision blurred, and my consciousness faded into the metallic tang of blood. **【Chapter 3】** When I opened my eyes again, I saw the stark white ceiling of a hospital room. The door was ajar, and I heard Damian’s subordinate say, “Boss, what if Ms. Vance discovers Elara? If she starts digging, we won’t be able to hide it.” Damian snuffed out his cigar. His voice was cold. “Don’t worry about that. Your only job is to protect Elara. She’s too pure, not like us. Sera is cunning, always playing dirty. Elara is too innocent, too simple-minded to stand a chance against her. If necessary, we can use Sera’s sick mother. She’s Sera’s only weakness; Sera won’t abandon her.” I clutched the bedsheets, biting down hard on the tender flesh of my lower lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Years ago, when he proposed to me, he had knelt on one knee and said, “My Sera, with me by your side, no one will ever lay a hand on you.” The same protective instinct, the same promise, but the recipient had long since changed. The woman he once guarded was now, in his eyes, a dangerous schemer capable of playing dirty. Footsteps approached. I quickly closed my eyes, reopening them with an expression of icy indifference. “You’re awake? I had my men investigate. It was that Southeast Asian crew.” Damian walked to my bedside and tossed a document onto the blanket. “This is a ceasefire agreement. Sign it, and they’ll agree to abandon the South American arms market.” Our eyes met. I couldn’t utter a single word. I had almost died at the hands of his enemies, only to become a bargaining chip in his business deal. My voice was hoarse. “Damian, when did you decide on this deal?” Was it the moment he saw me being beaten? Or when he knew the Southeast Asian arms dealers were coming for me? Damian frowned, displeased by my probing. I knew better than to push. The answer, to me, was already irrelevant. As if to appease me, he worked from my hospital room for the next two days. But his phone was never out of his hand. Occasionally, he would smile softly at his screen, that gentle smile, once reserved only for me. I suddenly remembered the first time we met, seven years ago. He was being chased by enemies, covered in blood, and collapsed at the entrance of my art studio. He was like a dying lone wolf, his eyes fierce, yet betraying a hint of vulnerability. I should have called the police, but the moment our eyes met, as if by some strange compulsion, I dragged him into my studio. I never imagined that one act would drag me into an endless hell. Later, my family went bankrupt, and my father sold me to the largest underground black market in Southeast Asia. A depraved rich heir, known for torturing women, tormented me until I was a shadow of my former self. It was Damian, passing by, who rescued me. That was our second meeting. It was then that I understood: in this world, kindness was a useless weakness. From then on, I, once a budding artist, became the infamous ‘Gunsmith Queen,’ a name whispered with terror in the underworld. I assembled firearms and disarmed bombs for Damian, my hands stained with indelible blood. I thought we could stand shoulder to shoulder, equals. But he saw me as someone already swallowed by darkness, not as pure as Elara. I looked at my hands, hands that should have been holding a paintbrush, depicting landscapes, but now only knew how to dismantle weapons and engage in brutal skirmishes. Then I thought of Elara’s clear, pure-as-snow eyes, and the irony was crushing. All my profound love and unwavering loyalty had become nothing but a cruel joke. **【Chapter 4】** After I was discharged from the hospital, Damian claimed he needed to handle an arms deal and never showed his face again. It wasn’t until the day before I was due to leave that I went to the local chapel, wanting to pray for my unborn child’s soul. At the chapel gate, I saw Elara. She was bandaging an injured stray cat, her simple white dress making her look even purer. Perhaps her movements were clumsy, for the kitten struggled violently, spilling antiseptic everywhere. I walked over and took the cotton swab from her hand. “There’s still a tiny stone in the wound. Applying medicine will only make it hurt more.” This was the first time we’d been alone together since Damian changed. She didn’t know who I was. She pressed her palms together in a respectful bow. “Thank you.” I forced a faint smile, my heart surprisingly calm. When she learned I was there for my lost child, her eyes instantly welled up. She knelt before the altar, pressing her palms together in prayer. “Oh, Heavenly Father, please bless that unborn child to find peace in the afterlife, and grant this mother peace and health.” Standing there, I suddenly felt a flicker of pity. I wanted to tell her that Damian Thorne’s tenderness was poison, that anyone who got close to him would eventually be dragged into the abyss. But looking at her devout profile, the words caught in my throat. If she knew my true identity, she would surely break ties with Damian, and then all of his wrath would be unleashed entirely upon me. The horrific memory of my mother’s death in that other life/timeline surged into my mind, and a shiver of icy dread ran through me. I used the excuse of offering prayers and slipped into a quiet alcove, opening my phone to check the security camera feed. The caregiver was pushing my mother in her wheelchair for a walk, and only then did I feel a little peace. My mother was my only weakness. This time, I absolutely would not let her get caught in this conflict again. As I calmed my emotions and stepped out of the alcove, a cold gun barrel pressed against the back of my head. **【Chapter 5】** My body froze. I glanced towards Elara. She had already collapsed softly beside the offering altar. I cursed under my breath, ‘Of all the rotten luck!’ The next second, the gun butt smashed into the back of my neck. When I woke again, I was in a derelict warehouse, tied to a pillar with Elara. Her voice was trembling, on the verge of tears. “Who are you? We have no quarrel with you. Why are you holding us?” The next moment, a brutal slap landed across her face. Scar, the scar-faced leader, grabbed her hair. “Why are we holding you? Damian Thorne stole our biggest deal in Europe and America! We’re in this line of work—how could we just let that slide? He cherishes you, doesn’t he? I’m going to torture you to death, slowly, today!” So, they were the arms dealers from Europe and America. That territory wasn’t under my jurisdiction, which explained why they didn’t recognize me. I took a deep breath, discreetly using the small blade hidden in my sleeve to saw at my ropes. I’d been through scenes like this too many times not to have some precautions. Noticing I was awake, Scar rummaged through my wallet. “Ms. Vance, tough luck for you. Tell your family to bring ten million for your ransom, or wait for your corpse.” “Ms. Vance… I’m so sorry. I dragged you into this. But don’t be afraid! My husband will come rescue us soon. He’s incredibly powerful,” Elara said, her eyes full of trust, as if Damian was a divine savior. My hands paused, but I didn’t respond. Suddenly, Scar roared into his phone. “Damn it, Damian Thorne doesn’t believe me? Looks like I need to send him a big present!” He threw a knife at our feet. “Alright, men, cut this convent girl’s bastard child out of her belly and send it to Damian!” My pupils contracted. If Elara died here today, Damian would surely tear me and my mother apart for revenge. Elara was trembling uncontrollably, tears drenching her face. “No… please, don’t hurt my baby…” Her simple white dress was covered in dust, tears streaming down her face, a picture of fragile despair, like a terrified fawn. Her appearance completely ignited the savage instincts of these madmen. “Boss, this girl has such delicate skin. Why don’t we have some fun with her first?” Seeing them reach out to drag Elara away, I, having just cut through my ropes, charged forward, ramming into Scar and shielding Elara with my body. “Damn it! Beat her to death!” Scar roared, clutching his stomach, and the men immediately swarmed me. Two fists against a dozen, I could only protect Elara with my body, enduring countless blows and kicks. “Ms. Vance… don’t hit her… please, let her go…” Elara cried out, trying to block the blows, but I held her down tight. Just then, an SUV smashed through the warehouse door, and gunfire instantly echoed through the space. **【Chapter 6】** All eyes turned to the entrance. Damian Thorne stormed towards us like a madman, pulling Elara into his embrace. “Elara, don’t be scared. I’m here.” Elara sobbed in his arms, almost fainting. The moment she relaxed, she passed out. He carefully lifted her into an ambulance, gently wiping away her tears himself. I struggled to my feet, meeting Damian’s icy, piercing gaze, and my heart plummeted to my gut. “Seraphina.” His voice was low, yet carried a bone-chilling coldness. “Why are you here?” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood, forcing out a broken laugh. “If I told you it wasn’t me, would you believe it?” A hard slap landed across my face, sending me crashing into a pillar, blood immediately welling at the corner of my mouth. “Seraphina, can’t you even come up with a believable lie?” I spat out the blood, ultimately deciding not to say I was there to pray for our child. He placed his foot on my wrist and pressed down, grinding it. The excruciating pain forced a scream from me. “When did you start plotting against Elara?” “I didn’t.” Damian turned and shot Scar in the leg, then pressed the muzzle against his head. “Did she not?” Scar howled in pain, trembling as he pointed at me. “It… it was Ms. Vance who hired us! She said she’d pay us to teach that convent girl a lesson…” “You’re lying!” I retorted fiercely, but his men held my shoulders down tight. Damian sneered, then pulled the trigger, blowing Scar’s brains out with a single shot. “Seraphina.” He crouched down, gripping my chin, his eyes ruthless. “You hurt my Elara. You’ll pay with your most precious possession.” With a sickening crunch, he snapped my wrist clean. “Ah—!” The pain made my vision blur, my body convulsing. “Damian Thorne! How can you do this to me!” He stood up, adjusting his suit, his voice flat as if discussing something trivial. “Sever her hand tendons.” “Do it.” Two words, light as a feather, yet carrying a deathly chill. I was roughly pinned to the ground, my hands forced open. “Damian Thorne!” I cried out in utter despair. “Seven years ago, I should have let you rot in that alley…” His back, as he turned to leave, paused for a fraction of a second. But in the end, he didn’t look back. The second before the searing pain hit, I remembered him kissing my wrist, saying, “My Sera’s hands are meant for painting. If anyone dares to touch them, their entire family will pay with their lives!” Seven years ago, I saved him, stepping deeper into the abyss with each choice. Seven years later, he personally severed every last one of my hopes. Four in the morning. I lay sprawled on the cold warehouse floor, my hands twisted at grotesque angles. My loyal aide rushed in with a medical kit. Behind us, the warehouse blazed with roaring fire. In the car heading to the airport, cold sweat drenched my clothes, yet my voice was resolute. “Once the plane takes off, destroy all traces of me. I want the name Seraphina Vance to completely vanish from this world.” **【Chapter 7】** At the hospital. The moment Elara woke, Damian knelt on one knee to apologize, his palm gently stroking her cheek, his eyes full of self-reproach. “I failed to protect you.” Elara gently shook her head, tears still clinging to her lashes, but her first question was about me. “Ms. Vance? Is she alright?” Damian pulled her into his embrace, his chin resting on her head. “Why are you always so kind-hearted? I just love how pure you are.” Elara’s cheeks flushed at his words, and she forgot to press about me. After Elara fell asleep, Damian walked out of the room and said to his subordinate in a cold voice, “Take the divorce papers to Seraphina. And transfer 30% of Thorne Industries’ shares into her name. Tell her to be out of the mansion before dawn.” But the next day, Damian waited at Thorne Industries all morning, with no news from Seraphina. He stared at his messages, which had vanished without a trace, his fingers unconsciously tapping the desk. Beyond frustration, a strange unease began creeping up his spine – Seraphina had never ignored his calls before. “Where is she? Do I have to go get her myself?” His subordinate hesitated. “Boss, perhaps Ms. Vance is at the hospital.” Damian’s brow furrowed abruptly as he suddenly remembered that he’d ordered her hand tendons severed yesterday. No wonder she wasn’t replying. He tossed the divorce agreement to his subordinate. “Find out which hospital she’s in and give her these. And when you find her,” he called out before the man could turn, “assign two men to watch her. She’s vindictive; don’t let her play any dirty tricks against Elara. If you detect any unusual movements, send her to a private mental asylum. Release her after Elara’s child is born.” Late that night, Damian returned to the mansion. The master bedroom was empty, without a trace of me. That sense of unease surged again. Just as he was about to call his subordinate, a faint rustle of art supplies came from the art studio downstairs. She’s back? Well, where else would she go but to him? Her edges had grown sharper over the years. This was an opportunity to break her spirit, lest she harm Elara in the future. With that thought, he went downstairs and pushed open the art studio door. **【Chapter 8】** Moonlight streamed over the girl’s hair. Her slender fingers held a paintbrush, delicately outlining shapes on the canvas, pure as an untouched painting. Damian’s expression, however, darkened instantly. “Who told you you could touch these art supplies?” This set of custom German paints and brushes, he had personally commissioned for Seraphina. Her hands, besides holding a gun, could also paint gentle landscapes. In those years, after every late-night arms deal, I would always paint a “Starry Night” here. He knew it was her way of self-redemption. The paintbrush suddenly stopped. Elara looked up in a panic, meeting his cold gaze. “The butler said I could use them… I’m sorry.” Seeing her eyes redden, Damian’s expression softened. He pulled her into his embrace. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. These are my late wife’s belongings. If you like them, I’ll order a new set for you.” Elara’s eyes filled with sympathy, her earlier hurt instantly forgotten. So he truly harbored such deep affection for his wife, who had passed away five years ago. Such a man would surely make a good husband and father. At three in the morning, Damian’s phone suddenly rang wildly. His finger hovered over the answer button, hesitant—his intuition, honed by years in the underworld, told him this call would make him lose something very important. “Boss, Ms. Vance is gone! We can’t find her!” his subordinate’s anxious voice came through. “But we found her medical records. You should really see them yourself.” Damian was about to hang up when the subordinate added, “Boss, Ms. Vance knew you had divorced her a long time ago.” When Elara woke, she found Damian sitting on the balcony, smoking, the floor littered with cigarette butts. “Is work not going well?” she asked softly, thinking his job at the District Attorney’s office was indeed very demanding. Yes, afraid of alarming Elara, Damian had always lied, telling her he worked for a federal agency. Damian looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot. He had read the files his subordinate sent last night over and over again—Seraphina was pregnant. The day she terminated the pregnancy was the same day he married Elara, only an hour apart. He understood at a glance: Seraphina must have seen him and Elara going to get married. But she dared to abort his child. Initial anger surged, but then he looked at Elara, standing in the morning light, golden rays illuminating her white dress and dark hair, like an ethereal angel, pure as snow. So utterly different from that blood-stained, manipulative woman. This was for the best, he thought. They were divorced anyway. Her leaving on her own saved him the trouble. He should probably thank Seraphina. “No, it’s nothing. Work matters are handled.” He stood up and closed the window. “I reek of smoke. I’m going to shower.” Elara nodded, relieved. Damian went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He called his subordinate. “Wipe out those scum from Europe and America, every last one of them. Chop off their fingers and feed them to the dogs.” **【Chapter 9】** Elara became the new lady of the mansion. Damian ordered new art supplies for her, and for a while, she believed herself to be the happiest woman in the world. But after Damian took over the affairs Seraphina had left behind, the killing intent radiating from him grew heavier. Every time he came home and faced Elara’s pure face, he felt an overwhelming exhaustion—she was, after all, not like Seraphina; she couldn’t help him deal with his dirty business. And he still had to pretend to be some upstanding federal prosecutor in front of her. One day, after dealing with a traitor in his organization, he was about to follow his routine and bring Elara a small cake when he was suddenly captivated by an international art competition playing on a store screen. The familiar face on the screen was confident, vibrant, and full of life. That day, he went to buy Elara dessert, and in a gallery window, one of my old pieces was displayed. It depicted sunflowers blooming in the sun, painted with bright, spirited brushstrokes. It was like a vibrant red rose, blazing with color, outshining even the purest snow. Damian stood in the store for a long time, his heart still pounding even after the store closed. He walked into Seraphina’s old art studio for the first time in ages, the dusty easel standing quietly in the corner. Memories suddenly broke through the dam— The first time they met, Seraphina stood at the studio door, holding a sketchbook, her white dress splattered with paint, like an angel who had wandered into the darkness. That year, Seraphina had just graduated from college. He had pulled her into his world, utterly reckless. Seraphina was the only light in his bloody life; only by her side could he find a moment of peace. He had once sworn to protect Seraphina his entire life, to love her forever. When did that change? Was it when Seraphina first accepted a deal from his men? Or when she picked up a gun and killed for him? Seraphina gradually became like him, her paintbrush stained with blood, yet he began to crave a different kind of purity. Long-forgotten emotions surged, and Damian had only one thought: he wanted Seraphina back, no matter what it took. “Tear the world apart if you have to, but find Seraphina!” he yelled into the phone at his subordinate, his voice trembling. “Even if she’s dead, she’ll die in my arms!” “Boss, she’s been gone for so long. It’ll be hard to find any trace of her now.” “If you can’t find her, find her mother!” Damian interrupted. “She’s critically ill; she must be in a high-end nursing home. Seraphina wouldn’t skimp on her only family.” As he hung up, Elara stood at the art studio door. “Damian, who are you looking for?” **【Chapter 10】** Damian turned, his tone distant for the first time. “Work matters. You don’t need to worry about them.” Elara’s smile was a little stiff. She sat on the art stool. “What do you want to paint? I’ll paint it for you.” In a daze, he almost saw a familiar figure. “Paint ‘Starry Night’.” Elara froze for a moment—that was a very obscure painting. “Okay.” Days passed without a single lead. They couldn’t even find a trace of Seraphina’s mother. “Worthless! A bunch of useless fools! You can’t find a living, breathing person?!” Damian swept his desk clean, sending papers flying. “Why are you still standing here? Get out there and find her!” He had never been this agitated. Every day without Seraphina felt like his heart hollowed out a little more. In the wine cellar, he drank himself into a stupor. Elara pushed the door open, intending to help him back to his room. Damian had been distraught, and at first, she could convince herself it was truly just about work. But then she’d overheard Damian’s conversation in the art studio. Was his wife really dead? Elara’s hand instinctively went to her noticeably swollen belly. After a moment of hesitation, she knelt down, trying to help Damian up. “Damian, let’s go back to the room. I made you some hangover cure.” Damian said nothing, his eyes hazy as he stared at her face for a long moment. Suddenly, he reached out and cupped her cheeks, pressing a burning kiss to her lips. Elara blushed, her smile barely forming before she heard him murmur, “Sera… I miss you so much.” All the blood in her body instantly froze. The next day, Damian came downstairs to find Elara waiting for him in the living room. Wedding invitations were laid out on the coffee table. Before Damian could speak, Elara tentatively asked, “The doctor says the baby is strong. We can have the wedding now.” Before, Damian would have been ecstatic. Now, only irritation remained. He put his arm around her. “Have I been too busy lately? Is it affecting you?” “I just want to know when the wedding will be, and will it be public?” Elara looked up, her eyes filled with sorrow. “If you don’t like me, I can leave.” Damian stiffened for a moment, then placated her. “Next week. We’ll have the ceremony next week, and it will be public. Don’t overthink things, just rest and take care of yourself, okay?” After he left, Elara went to Thorne Industries, the company he’d mentioned in his files. She waited outside for three days, asking everyone she met, “Do you know Seraphina Vance?” Until one person, hearing Seraphina’s name, stared at her suspiciously. Soon after, Elara was disoriented and shaken, barely remembering how she got home. The basement door was ajar, and screams echoed from inside. **【Chapter 11】** Damian was having a man chained and dragged across broken glass. It was utterly barbaric. “Damian Thorne! I already gave you the South American deal! What more do you want?!” the man screamed. “What’s the South American market compared to my wife?” Damian sneered. “You should have known your fate the moment you laid a hand on her!” The man spat blood, a mocking glint in his eyes. “The day I sent my men to beat her, you were wrapped around your little mistress! Now you’re pretending to be so devoted? Disgusting!” “Cut out his tongue.” Damian’s voice was terrifyingly calm. This was his true face—not a grieving prosecutor mourning his late wife, but a ruthless arms magnate, his hands steeped in blood. Elara fled back to her room, frantically packing her bags. She had to leave. She had to get out of here. When Damian caught up, he saw Elara’s red-rimmed eyes and knew she’d seen everything. “Elara, those were just tactics. He hurt me, but that was the punishment he deserved.” Elara, tears still streaming, stopped packing. “Seraphina saved me. When those men tried to hurt me, she shielded me with her own body. She’s so good. I can’t betray her.” A flicker of panic crossed Damian’s eyes. Elara knew everything. He quickly stepped forward, grabbing her hand, trying to explain. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. I had my reasons…” He tightened his grip. “You have to understand me. You should understand me. Aren’t you the most compassionate person I know?” Elara pushed him away, tears flowing freely. “Do you know why she went to that chapel?” “Why?” Damian’s heart sank. “She was there to pray for your lost child. She truly loved you and your baby.” **【Chapter 12】** Damian’s outstretched hand fell uselessly to his side. A gut-wrenching roar of agony tore through the mansion. What had he done… I spent four months in a rehabilitation center in New York, undergoing nine surgeries on my hands. Every night I woke in pain, I’d go to the rooftop for air. That’s where I met Jaxson Reed. He’d broken his leg in a street race and would sneak up to the roof to drink beer, hiding it from his doctors. I asked him if he’d won. He flashed a wild grin. “Of course, sis. By just 0.01 seconds. I never lose.” On the day I was discharged, he handed me a love letter, blushing, and my dead heart felt like it started beating again. Later, I learned he was the son of a powerful New York crime boss, raised under his family’s protection. When he talked about the family business, his eyes gleamed like a coiled panther, ready to strike. I couldn’t help but be drawn to him, yet because of the shadows of my past, I always kept my distance. I picked up my paintbrush again, finding a job at a gallery. Jaxson would come pick me up every day after work. Today, I waited for half an hour with no sign of him. Just as I was about to call, someone clapped a hand over my mouth and dragged me into a van. When the black cloth was ripped off, I saw Damian Thorne’s face. “Long time no see,” he said. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. “What do you want? You’re not in charge here.” He ran his tongue over his reddened cheek, then leaned the other side closer. “Wifey, how about this side too?” I recoiled, a chill running through me. “We’re divorced. I didn’t stand in your way with Elara. What do you want?” “I’ve looked for you for a long time. I missed you.” A shadow of sorrow crossed his eyes. He was still wearing our wedding ring. “Come home.” “Dream on!” I sneered. “Damian Thorne, I hate you. Forever.” His eyes suddenly reddened. “I know about the baby. Sera, can we start over? This time, I’ll protect you.” I didn’t bother to reply. My smartwatch was already automatically sending a distress signal—Jaxson had given it to me; it would alert him if I left a safe zone. Damian rushed me towards a private airfield when Jaxson’s video call suddenly came through. On the screen, Elara was tied beneath a helicopter, cradling a baby. “Let her go, or I’ll send your wife and child on a one-way flight,” Jaxson’s voice was laced with challenge. I looked at the child, nearly a year old, and my brow furrowed—so he hadn’t split with Elara after all; the child was already quite big. The video ended, and Damian expressionlessly turned off his phone. “Let me go! He’ll really do it!” “She’s not as important as you. Sera, Elara means nothing to me compared to you.” His eyes were filled with a terrifying obsession. “For you, I’d give up everything.” I was stunned by the madness in his eyes. He’d truly lost his mind. The car sped forward. Just as it turned the corner, a motorcycle suddenly cut in front of us, and bullets instantly shattered the window. Suddenly, gunfire erupted everywhere. **【Chapter 13】** Damian’s men and Jaxson’s crew immediately engaged, fighting with murderous intent. He took a bullet to the abdomen, but still clutched my hand. “Don’t be scared, I’m taking you home.”
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