Inside the study, the air was thick and stagnant, like the frozen surface of a lake. Alexander Kane stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the room, gazing down at the eternally dazzling lights of Asgaria below. Yet his gray-blue eyes were not focused on any particular point of illumination; instead, they were deeply immersed in the cold data of internal reports and the rapidly escalating assessment of external threats.
Dr. Thorne had just left, leaving behind an evaluation of Isabella's physical condition that weighed on his heart like a block of solid ice.
Hormonal imbalance, reproductive system overload with potential damage, low conception probability, high risk of miscarriage and complications.
Each medical term coldly stated a single, undeniable fact: the forced marking he had imposed out of absolute possession and uncontrollable instinct had caused near-catastrophic physiological effects on the object he intended to completely dominate. This not only meant that she might be unable to fulfill the "function" of bearing an heir for the Kane family, but also placed her life and health on an extremely fragile precipice.
A rare mixture of irritation, frustration, and a trace of regret—one he was reluctant to admit even to himself—stirred faint ripples across the icy surface of his mind. He despised this feeling of losing control, especially when it was caused by his own hand.
Almost simultaneously, the urgent report from the special task force tracking the "deep space network anomaly" further escalated the level of external threat.
Preliminary trace analysis indicated that the weak signal's emission source, its disguise pattern, and its jump paths bore a striking resemblance to the remnants of an international information trafficker and tech theft organization called "Phantom," which had been eradicated years ago. This group had once coveted multiple cutting-edge technologies of the Kane Group, including partially abandoned concepts of the long-sealed "Stardust" project.
Although the "Stardust" project itself had long been terminated and all core data destroyed, some of its foundational theoretical directions and early experimental remnants still possessed extremely high potential value—enough to make lurking opportunists salivate.
His mother's misstep, it seemed, might not have been entirely unfounded.
The entity near Mars' orbit, attempting contact with Asgaria via old communication protocols, was very likely a remnant of "Phantom." They may have been unaware of Isabella's existence; their target could simply be any trace left within the Kane Group's internal network, related to "Stardust" or other high-level projects.
Isabella's tablet, with its installed deep-space simulation software containing fragments of Kane Group technology, had inadvertently become a platform or probe target for their attempted infiltration. Her attempts to respond to signals, seemingly trivial to her, might have been interpreted by them as… active feedback.
A cascade of clues and deductions quickly formed in Kane's precise mind. The contours of the external threat sharpened, dangerous and unmistakable.
Internal and external pressures pressed down simultaneously.
At that moment, the study's internal communicator rang, and David's calm, emotionless voice came through: "Sir, Mrs. Lydia is highly agitated and insists on seeing you. It concerns… Miss Isabella's reproductive assessment."
Kane's brow immediately furrowed, and a flash of extreme, barely contained fury passed through his eyes. His mother's tired, obsession-driven rhetoric about bloodline inheritance and her cold proposal to "replace" someone if necessary sounded particularly grating and absurd right now.
"Silence her. Tell her if she makes another peep, I'll have her sent back to the family estate's cellar to meditate on her behavior." His voice was icy, devoid of any emotion.
"Yes, sir." David responded without a flicker of expression.
The communicator went silent.
Kane returned his gaze to the window. The glass reflected his cold, rigid, and slightly weary face. At this moment, he needed absolute calm and clarity of judgment, not meaningless family noise and distractions.
Isabella.
The Omega he had brought back on a whim, yet who had repeatedly caused accidents and loss of control.
Her value needed to be reassessed.
She was no longer simply a satisfying "possession," nor merely a "trigger" for his loss-of-control risks.
She was now a potential weak point, connected—however unintentionally—to external threats.
A body damaged by him, an asset whose value had consequently plummeted.
A piece being pulled simultaneously by his possessiveness and his mother's bloodline obsession.
How to handle her had become a problem requiring cold calculation.
Eliminate her outright, once and for all, cutting off all potential risks?—The thought flashed across his mind, and his emotions rippled almost imperceptibly. A subtle resistance arose, not only from lingering possessiveness but seemingly something else as well. Yet he quickly convinced himself—her pheromones could soothe him.
Continue confinement, but tighten control, completely isolating her from the outside world, using her solely as an object to satisfy his possessiveness and physical needs?—But that would not solve her physical deterioration, could not fully eliminate the slight external connection risk, and would endlessly provoke his mother's interference.
Or… there was a more complex, riskier option.
A faint but deeply calculating light flickered in his eyes.
He turned, walked back to his desk, and pulled up Isabella's full dossier, including all recent monitoring records and physiological reports. His gaze, like the most precise instrument, scanned, analyzed, and weighed everything.
Her fragility, her fear, her clever but futile small actions, the physiological crisis she now faced… and the possible, extremely faint, unnoticed connection to the remnants of "Phantom"…
A cold, daring plan began to take shape in his mind.
Perhaps… she could be made a little more useful.
Master bedroom.
Isabella still huddled on the carpet by the door, but her posture had subtly shifted. The complete limpness and despair of before had given way to a tense, wary stance, like a wounded young animal on alert.
The faint arguments from outside, Mrs. Lydia's sharp words about "reproductive ability," "dispose of her," and "replace her," stabbed repeatedly at her nerves like icy needles—but paradoxically, they also pulled her from the brink of total collapse.
Her survival instinct, stubborn and resilient, had begun to stir amidst the frozen ruins of hopelessness.
She could not die—not like discarded trash to be "disposed of"!
Slowly, she shifted her body, leaning against the cold wall, drawing what little support she could from it. The mark on the back of her neck still throbbed painfully; Dr. Thorne's words echoed in her mind, reminding her of the internal trauma and potential danger to her body.
Yet, at this moment, more than physical pain, a stark clarity occupied her mind: in the eyes of these cold, top-tier figures, her value was so utilitarian and laughable—either a tool for reproduction or a toy to be discarded at any time.
And Alexander Kane, the man who had forcibly branded her—how would he decide? Would he heed his mother's advice and "replace" her, or…?
At that instant, the bedroom door's lock emitted a faint electronic beep.
Isabella froze, her heart leaping to her throat, eyes darting warily toward the door.
The door opened. This time, it was Alexander Kane himself standing there.
He had changed clothes—an immaculate deep black suit—and restored the flawless, icy-authoritative demeanor of a man fully in control. His face betrayed no emotion, only a deep, inscrutable calm, and his pheromones were restrained to perfection. Gone was the previous frenzy and agitation, leaving only a heavy, storm-laden pressure.
He stepped into the bedroom. Each footfall sounded sharp and deliberate in the silent space. He did not turn on the light; relying only on the city's faint glow filtering through the window, he stopped a few steps from Isabella, looking down at her from above.
Isabella hugged her knees tightly, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Her emerald eyes brimmed with unmasked fear, alertness, and a faint, barely perceptible curiosity she hadn't realized herself.
What would he say? Would he pronounce her fate?
Kane studied her silently for several seconds, his gaze like an icy probe, seemingly trying to pierce her skin and reach the deepest tremors of her soul. Then he spoke slowly, his voice frighteningly steady, devoid of any detectable emotion:
"I've read Dr. Thorne's report."
Isabella's heart sank violently, her nails digging deep into her palms.
"The forced marking has caused irreversible damage to your body," he stated, his tone icy, as if discussing the weather. "The possibility of bearing offspring is extremely low, and the risks are extremely high."
Each word hit Isabella's heart like hailstones, turning her face even paler. He knew everything… indeed, he knew.
"As for what my mother mentioned—the 'Stardust' project…" Kane paused slightly, carefully observing Isabella's reaction. Seeing only pure confusion and fear in her eyes, with no hint of guilt or concealment, the last trace of his suspicion of her being a spy vanished. Yet he remained fully aware that this did not rule out the possibility of her being inadvertently used.
"That was a misunderstanding," he brushed it off lightly, as if the accusation that had caused a storm was trivial. "But that does not mean you are without problems."
His voice suddenly turned colder: "I know everything about your attempts to communicate with the outside."
Isabella's breath caught in her throat! He had known all along! Like a transparent being, she had been performing a ridiculous silent play right under his gaze!
"Foolish and meaningless," he remarked, his tone dripping with undisguised contempt. "Do you really think your pitiful attempts could shake anything?"
Shame forced Isabella to lower her head, humiliation washing over her once again.
"But," Kane's tone shifted again, carrying a strange, unsettling calculation, "perhaps your little 'foolishness' could become… somewhat valuable."
Isabella's eyes shot up, filled with confusion and caution.
Kane stepped forward slightly, shortening the distance between them. The pressure emanating from him surged. He leaned in slightly, his icy gaze locking onto her:
"Some reckless insects outside are trying to pry into things that do not belong to them, and you—by sheer accident—may have become one of their… test points."
Isabella's heart pounded wildly! What was he saying? Insects outside? Test points?
"I am giving you two choices now," Kane's voice was low, imbued with authority that brooked no dissent, like a divine decree. "Choice one: continue as you are, like a terrified mouse, hiding in the dark, trembling, waiting for an unknown judgment to fall. Or, be 'disposed of' by my mother's arrangements and replaced with someone healthier, more obedient."
Isabella's face turned as pale as paper, her body trembling uncontrollably.
"Choice two," a cold and strange gleam flickered in Kane's eyes, "cooperate with me."
Isabella froze, almost convinced she had misheard. Cooperate with him?
"Cooperate with me, and perform a role," Kane's lips curved into a faint, emotionless arc. "Use your previous futile attempts as bait, continue your 'little actions,' but this time follow my instructions. Draw out those insects hiding in the dark and help them… walk straight into the trap."
He extended his hand, his icy fingertips gently lifting Isabella's chin, forcing her to look into his unfathomable, calculating eyes:
"Use your 'value' to earn your right to stay here, and… the chance to survive."
"This is a transaction, Isabella," his voice seeped into her ears like a cold spell. "Trade your obedience and performance for your survival. You have no other leverage."
Isabella was utterly stunned, her mind in complete chaos.
Not only did he intend to imprison her body, but he also planned to use her as bait to lure those unknown, dangerous "insects"? What did he take her for? A tool to be used at will?!
A surge of fear and resistance swept over her!
But… the words "dispose of" and Lady Lydia's cold, merciless face flashed before her eyes like a nightmare.
The chance to live…
These two options: one led to immediate destruction or replacement, the other to an unknown, dangerous, humiliating… yet possibly living path.
Cold despair and the faint spark of survival battled furiously within her heart.
Kane waited patiently, like a predator observing a moth trapped in a web during its final struggles. He knew how she would choose—faced with absolute power and the threat of annihilation, she had no real choice.
After a long moment, Isabella slowly, painstakingly closed her eyes. A single, icy tear slid from the corner of her eye, vanishing into the dark carpet.
When she opened them again, her cerulean eyes still held fear, but now also a resigned, deathly calm.
She nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly.
"…I… will cooperate," she whispered, her voice hoarse, like sandpaper scraping across wood.
A trace of cold, expected satisfaction flickered in Kane's eyes.