After Alexander Kane left, the suite was plunged into a deathlike silence. The air was thick with the cloying, decadent mix of pheromones, lingering like the smoldering ashes of a malevolent ritual, silently recounting the brief yet violently intense violation that had just occurred. Isabella lay limp on the cold leather sofa, utterly motionless.
Waves of searing pain radiated from the back of her neck, as if branded repeatedly with a red-hot iron. Each heartbeat tugged at the delicate skin forcibly torn and marked, and more excruciating than the physical pain was the deep chill and numbness infiltrating her very marrow and soul. She could distinctly feel the "presence" now within her—the Alpha pheromone imprint of Alexander Kane, wrapping like invisible shackles through her bloodstream, violently fused with her own Omega essence. It created a twisted, physiological connection, an unsettling seed of shameful dependency.
Her tears had long since dried, leaving only a hollow despair. Her aquamarine eyes stared blankly at the ornate, icy crystal chandelier above; its cold light refracted into her pupils, illuminating not a trace of warmth. She felt like a ship violently pierced, slowly sinking, the icy water flooding in through her branded wound, devouring the remnants of her self.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the suite door was gently knocked upon, then pushed open. David entered first, followed by a doctor carrying a medical kit, his face grave. The doctor clearly already knew what had happened; without a word, he walked straight to the sofa.
Seeing the devastation on Isabella's neck—the clear bite marks, the red, torn skin, the trickling blood, and the lingering pheromone traces—the doctor's brow furrowed tightly. Yet his professionalism prevented him from asking any questions. He silently opened his kit and removed disinfectant and specialized gland repair gel.
The instant the cold cotton touched her wound, Isabella's body trembled violently, a suppressed, almost animalistic whimper escaping her throat. She did not struggle; she bit down hard on her already chapped lower lip, closing her eyes again, allowing the doctor to work as if her body no longer belonged to her, her perceptions filtered through a thick layer of glass.
David stood silently by, a shadow among shadows. The golden lenses of his glasses reflected the light, concealing the emotions in his eyes. He moved with precise efficiency, passing the doctor instruments as if they were handling the delicate restoration of a valuable, damaged object.
The process was quiet and oppressive. The doctor cleaned the wound with practiced hands, applied the healing gel, and affixed a special breathable patch. The new patch brought a brief, soothing chill that dulled the burning pain temporarily, but it could not erase the indelible fact of the mark.
"The wound must be kept infection-free. Replace the patch daily. Pheromone levels may fluctuate; this is normal in the initial marking phase. Report any severe discomfort immediately," the doctor instructed in a flat tone. He packed up and, following David's signal, quickly departed.
David did not leave immediately. He glanced at Isabella, still lying as though soulless, then silently walked to the window. He cracked it open slightly, allowing the cold outside air to flow in and dissipate some of the suffocating pheromone-laden atmosphere. Afterward, he quietly began clearing the shards of broken glass from the floor.
In this stifling silence, pierced only by the faint sound of cleaning—
Ding-dong—
The suite doorbell rang abruptly.
The crisp chime struck like a thunderclap, shattering the frozen air inside the suite.
David froze mid-motion, eyes snapping to the door. Even his normally calm and imperturbable face betrayed a rare flicker of shock and caution. At this hour, without an appointment, who could possibly have bypassed the multiple layers of security and gained direct access to the penthouse?
Isabella, startled by the sudden sound, flinched. Her long lashes trembled, a faint ripple passing through her vacant eyes, though it was quickly overtaken by deeper fear. She curled further into the sofa, instinctively raising her collar to conceal the patch at the back of her neck.
David swiftly approached the intercom. The screen flickered to life, revealing the visitor outside.
Standing there, at the threshold of the penthouse, was Lydia Kane.
She was dressed today in an even more formal and expensive champagne-colored suit, complemented by matching jewelry and flawless makeup. Yet the usual, practiced social smile was absent, replaced by an expression of tightly restrained anger and icy accusation. Behind her, two Alpha attendants in the Kane family's internal security uniforms followed, their faces stern and unyielding.
"Open the door, David," Lydia's voice came through the intercom, commanding and laced with barely concealed fury. "I know Alexander isn't here. I'm here for that little wretch!"
David's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. His tone remained respectful, yet firm, clearly intending to block her: "Lady Lydia, Mr. Kane has issued strict orders that no one disturb Miss Isabella during her recovery. Please do not force me into a difficult position."
"Recovery?" Lydia's voice sharpened, disbelief and scorn mixing into anger. "Recovery to the point that the family must use top-level permissions to lock medical records? Recovery to the point that the entire penthouse reeks of the disgusting stench of a freshly completed forced marking?! David, step aside! I'm going to see for myself what kind of creature could captivate Alexander to the point of disregarding the family's reputation and using force!"
Her words struck Isabella's heart like poisoned blades. The mention of the forced marking, the family reputation—each phrase sent her already shattered body into fresh, violent tremors. Shame and humiliation surged over her like a tidal wave.
David's expression shifted slightly as well; he hadn't expected Lady Lydia to detect the abnormal activity at the penthouse so quickly, or apparently access partially encrypted information through some internal family channel. The warning from last time clearly hadn't stopped her determination.
"Please calm yourself, Lady Lydia. There must be some misunderstanding," David attempted to reason, positioning himself firmly in front of the door.
"Misunderstanding?!" Lydia's patience snapped. Her voice cut sharply through the room. "Break the door down!"
The two Alpha attendants behind her immediately stepped forward, producing specialized breaching devices to forcibly override the penthouse door's security system.
Piercing alarms blared instantly.
David's eyes narrowed. No longer hesitating, he pressed the internal emergency communication button. "Security center, the top-floor 'Silence' suite is under forced intrusion! Immediate support required!"
Almost simultaneously, the reinforced alloy door groaned under the strain, the lock indicator lights flickering wildly. Lady Lydia had clearly come prepared, deploying a high-level permission disruptor.
Bang!
The door was forcibly breached.
Lydia, flanked by her two attendants, stormed in, radiating authority and menace.
The thick, lingering scent of the recent marking hit her instantly. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, covering it with a handkerchief. Her sharp eyes immediately locked on Isabella, curled on the sofa, pale as paper and trembling violently.
"Just as I thought!" Lydia sneered, striding forward. Her gaze swept over Isabella with the precision of a cold blade, lingering over her attempt to conceal the back of her neck and her swollen, tear-streaked eyes. Contempt and disgust colored every movement. "So this is the little thing? A pathetic, worthless creature! Using that pitiful act to lure Alexander, to make him lose his mind, even forcing him to…! You've embarrassed the Kane family beyond measure!"
Isabella could do nothing but bow her head, shrinking further into the sofa's crevice. Fear and humiliation stole her breath.
"Lady Lydia!" David stepped forward swiftly, placing himself between Isabella and her, his voice sharper and colder than ever. "You must leave immediately! Otherwise, I will be forced to take action!"
"You dare touch me, David? You're nothing more than a dog raised by our family!" Lydia barked, but her two attendants faltered under the icy, unyielding aura David now exuded. They hesitated, unwilling to act rashly. The top-floor security system had also been activated, and the sound of the Kane family's elite guards racing toward the scene echoed outside.
At that moment, Lady Lydia's gaze suddenly fell on the new tablet Isabella had accidentally knocked into the corner of the sofa. The screen had lit up from the impact, frozen on the interface of that deep-space simulation software.
The intricate star maps and orbital formulas should have been incomprehensible to a socialite like Lydia, someone whose world revolved around jewelry salons and family gossip. Yet, in one corner of the interface, a tiny icon indicating some sort of connection caught her eye—a symbol that bore a striking resemblance to one she had glimpsed years ago in an abandoned file of her husband's, labeled as a "dangerous project."
Lydia's pupils contracted sharply, her face draining of color as if she had glimpsed something profoundly terrifying. She abruptly pointed at the tablet, her voice piercing and twisted with shock, anger, and fear:
"Not only seduction! You… you've been snooping into the family's secrets?! Snooping into that forbidden, damned project?! Who's behind you?! The Norton family? Or some other despicable rival?! Speak!"
Her fury found a pretext to unleash fully, giving her a reason to thrust Isabella into a living nightmare. She surged forward, intent on seizing her personally.
Chaos erupted.
"Madam!" David's face turned deadly serious. He forcefully blocked Lydia's outstretched hand, pushing her back several steps with enough strength to stagger her, only prevented from falling by her attendants.
Isabella was utterly paralyzed, unable to comprehend these sudden, baseless accusations. Family secrets? Forbidden projects? She had no idea what Lydia was talking about—it was just a star-gazing program!
"No… I didn't…" she stammered, shaking her head weakly, her voice tiny and frail, dripping with helplessness and fear.
Then, an ice-cold voice, sharp enough to freeze the air itself, cut through the chaos like the hammer of judgment:
"What is all this racket?!"
Alexander Kane had returned.
Apparently triggered by the emergency alarm, he reappeared, standing at the breached doorway. His face was dark and fearsome, the low-pressure aura and his Alpha pheromones spreading like tangible ice, instantly silencing all noise and chaos.
His gaze swept across the shattered doorway and the alert security personnel, then landed on Lady Lydia, whose face was pale with rage and near madness, and finally settled on Isabella, curled into herself on the sofa, pale, tear-streaked, the repair patch still visible on her neck.
Seeing Isabella's utterly traumatized and terror-stricken state, along with the thick, pungent marking scent and the aftermath of the intrusion, Kane's inner storm instantly coalesced into a devastating hurricane of wrath.
He stepped forward, each stride landing as if directly upon the hearts of those present.
"Mother," his voice was low, yet every syllable carried a bone-chilling blend of ice and fury. "Explain yourself, or I cannot guarantee that you and your people will leave this room intact."