The luxury five-star hotel suite was heavy with a drifting, subtle fragrance.
On the king-sized bed, Diana Bell was pinned down by a man whose lean, powerful physique felt like that of a predator. His searing palms moved with an aggressive intent that brook no refusal, gripping her soft thighs with a heat so intense it threatened to incinerate her very sanity.
Their heartbeats synced in that frantic moment, the air around them shattered and tangled by their mingling breath.
"I'm going to kiss you."
The man's voice was low and magnetic, carrying a primal edge etched into his very bones. He leaned down, his scorching breath trailing over the shell of her ear like wildfire, sending a soft, helpless shiver through her body.
The moment their lips met, it felt as if their souls collided with a bruising force.
Diana's long lashes fluttered violently. In a swirl of vertigo, she reached up and surrendered, her arms circling the man's neck.
On the floor, a chaotic tangle of discarded clothes bore witness to the previous frenzy: a bespoke black suit lay ruthlessly atop pink lace lingerie, while a torn hem rested against the floor-to-ceiling window like a silent monument to the night.
"Is this your first time?"
Sensing the sudden tension in the body beneath him, William Knight paused. His deep, hooded eyes swirled with desire in the darkness. He ran a large, steady hand down her spine, soothing her like one would a startled kitten. "Don't be afraid. If it hurts, tell me."
His voice was dropped to a gravelly whisper, laced with a dangerously seductive tenderness.
Caught in the throes of passion, Diana felt like a drowning woman clutching at a lifesaver. She tilted her head back, her teeth sinking sharply into the man's sexy Adam's apple.
It was the most vulnerable, yet most feral spot on his body.
"Use protection," she murmured, her voice soft but laced with an unyielding clarity.
The veins on William's neck pulsed. He let out a low, dark chuckle, his long fingers reaching for the nightstand to tear open a packet.
"As you wish."
That night, he was both the refined gentleman and the ferocious tyrant. Sweat and pheromones fermented in the quiet air, composing a symphony of insatiable hunger.
When Diana finally opened her eyes again, it was 8:00 PM the following evening.
She felt as if her entire skeletal frame had been dismantled and haphazardly reassembled. The man's stamina had been borderline inhuman, tossing her between the clouds and the abyss repeatedly.
As she tried to push herself up on her aching waist, a heavy weight pinned her down.
Glancing sideways, she saw a pale, marble-like arm with tightly defined muscle draped across her. The flashes of last night—bold, scandalous, and utterly transgressive—exploded in her mind, turning her cheeks crimson.
Last night, her stepsister Aurora Stone had drugged her and dumped her in this room. She had expected a living hell, but instead, she encountered "him," who seemed to be in the same predicament.
The lights had stayed off, magnifying every sensation.
Though she couldn't see his face, she remembered the meticulous way he wiped the sweat from her brow and the patient tenderness with which he held her afterward. That unexpected "bedroom etiquette" had miraculously soothed her initial terror.
She toyed with the idea of seeing his face, but the moment she moved to get up, a wave of self-loathing hit her.
Right now, she stood at five-foot-seven but weighed a staggering 180 pounds. She was the laughingstock of the socialite circles, the "Human Tank," or as Aurora called her, the "Piggy Pal."
With the lights off, it was a meeting of souls; with the lights on… it would be a visual catastrophe.
Diana gave a self-deprecating smile and gently eased the man's arm off her. When her bare feet hit the floor, her legs buckled, nearly sending her to her knees.
Looking at her ruined dress—now nothing more than rags—she had no choice but to throw on the man's white dress shirt and blazer. The oversized menswear barely managed to conceal her frame. She cast one last look at the man's lean, muscular back, feeling a pang of guilt.
Since I enjoyed such top-tier service, I should leave something behind.
After rummaging through her bag, all she found at the very bottom was a single coin left over from a claw machine.
Clink.
A silver coin, minted in the year 2000, was placed on the mahogany table, gleaming with a cold, almost mocking luster under the moonlight.
Then, enduring the sharp stabs of pain, she fled through the fire exit.
As she reached the stairwell corner, she heard Aurora's poisonous laughter: "Mom, don't worry! That fat pig Diana is probably being torn apart by that foul-breathed old Brooks' GM right now. Once she either kills herself or her reputation is trashed, the Bell family fortune belongs to us!"
"She probably has no clue that all those 'vitamins' we fed her were actually hormones to keep her blowing up!"
Diana hid in the shadows, her nails digging into her palms until they bled.
So that was it!
She looked down at her swollen hands, a primal fury igniting in her eyes. Since you want me to rot in the mud, I'll crawl out and become the thorniest red rose you've ever seen.
For one whole year, Diana Bell vanished from the face of the earth.
She cut off every high-calorie dependency. When her stomach cramped from hunger, she drowned the pain in water. When her cravings brought her to tears, she slapped herself awake.
Squats, long runs, heavy lifting.
From 180 pounds to 150... then 120... until today—100 pounds.
Weight loss is the world's harshest penance, but it is also the most perfect plastic surgery.
Standing before the mirror now, the woman looking back possessed a face so radiant it was almost ethereal. Her jawline was sharp as a blade, her waist slender enough to be cinched by a pair of hands, and her signature long legs glowed ivory against her red dress.
She wasn't the "Piggy Pal" anymore. She was the Lady in Red, back for blood.
Just then, her stepmother Catherine Archer called. Her voice was as sickeningly sweet as ever: "Diana, dear, I've found a wonderful match for you. He's fifty, divorced with two kids, but he doesn't mind that you're built like a landmine! Get to Table 9 at the Isola Cafe for the blind date. Even if you have to beg on your knees, make sure he takes you, understood?"
Diana let out a cold laugh, her red lips curving into a smirk. "Of course. I'll be there."
Outside the Isola Cafe, a limited-edition Rolls-Royce pulled to a smooth stop.
In the backseat, William Knight sat with his eyes closed, his strikingly handsome face clouded with a dark, brooding intensity.
It had been a year.
He had spent a year searching for that woman.
That night, he had given her his "first time." He thought he'd been gentle, attentive, and more than capable. And yet, that woman had left him a single coin?
A single coin!
It was the ultimate insult to the Knight Family Heir. Every time he thought of that silver coin, he wanted to drag her back and "teach" her a lesson for three days and nights straight.
"Lord Knight, we've arrived," his assistant whispered cautiously.
William opened his eyes, his long lashes casting shadows over his piercing gaze. He was only here today to appease his family's demand for a blind date.
He stepped out of the car, his long legs carrying him into the cafe.
Mere seconds after he entered, a figure in a scorching red dress passed by his car.
Diana walked in her stilettos with a rhythmic, captivating grace. Her beauty was so bold and radiant that it seemed to pull the color out of the surrounding street.
She pushed open the doors of the cafe, heading straight for the battlefield of her "blind date."