"Wow, look! There's a beauty over there—a total knockout, the kind that could topple empires!"
As the Rolls-Royce glided around the street corner, the driver acted as if he'd discovered a new continent, hurriedly gesturing to the assistant in the passenger seat.
The assistant followed his gaze. His usually stoic eyes instantly lit up, and his heart actually skipped a beat.
"She is... truly breathtaking."
As William Knight's personal assistant, he had seen all the luxury the world had to offer. Whether it was the delicate daughters of prestigious families or cold, haughty supermodels, they were usually nothing more than "priced skins" in his eyes. But the woman outside the window was different. She stood in the scorching sun, yet she was more radiant than the sunlight itself.
Her red dress was like a flickering flame. The bold color didn't look gaudy on her at all; instead, it accentuated her skin, making it look as pale and cool as white porcelain. She tilted her head slightly, her dark hair curling in a lazy arc. What flowed between her brows wasn't frivolity, but a vibrant sense of aggression—much like a Lycoris flower blooming alone in the wilderness, dangerous yet impossible to look away from.
The driver chuckled. "With looks like that, surely our Lord Knight will finally see the light?"
The assistant withdrew his gaze and adjusted his glasses, his tone returning to a cold, almost clinical professionality. "Lord Knight's aesthetic is minimalist. He has always preferred gentle, elegant, quiet, and intellectual women. Most importantly, Lord Knight utterly detests bright red; he believes it represents a loss of control and noisy chaos."
The driver, a self-proclaimed man of the world, was unimpressed. "An 'ideal type' is just something you tell outsiders. If the person meant to be his 'kryptonite' actually shows up, he won't care if she's wearing red or green—she'll be the treasure of his heart. Want to bet?"
"Bet what?"
"Ten thousand. I bet this lady in red can make Lord Knight 'break his rules'."
The assistant offered a practiced, professional smile. "Deal. I bet this blind date will be all bark and no bite. Lord Knight will leave within ten minutes."
Through the car window, both men kept their eyes glued to the entrance of the cafe.
Inside the cafe, light and shadow mottled the floor.
William Knight sat at Booth No. 6. His impeccably tailored white shirt was buttoned to the very top, exuding an aura of unapproachable asceticism. He was looking down, flipping through an original English copy of Wuthering Heights. His cold, handsome profile looked deep and ethereal under the halo of light.
His gaze lingered on a corner of a page where an old coin, minted in the year 2000, was tucked.
That was his only "evidence of the crime."
A year ago, on that absurd night, that woman had not only slept with him but had left this single coin behind as "payment." To this day, he remembered the sensation of her skin—like top-tier silk—her trembling breath in the dark, and... the seductive small black mole in the center of her right buttock.
The mole was placed with exquisite precision, like a drop of ink falling into the snow. Because it was in such a private and awkward spot, he had no way to search for her. He couldn't exactly go around asking every woman he met to drop their pants for an inspection.
As his thoughts drifted, the table suddenly let out a dull thud.
A woman in a white dress had stumbled and fallen, her forehead hitting the corner of the table. In the process, she accidentally knocked the acrylic table number, spinning it 180 degrees.
The "6" became a "9".
The woman used the table to push herself up. Upon seeing William's face—a face handsome enough to turn the world upside down—her voice immediately became sweet and soft. "Sir, I'm so sorry for bumping into you. Could I add you on WeChat? I'd love a chance to make it up to you."
William didn't even lift his eyes. His finger turned a page of the book, his voice like crushed ice hitting the floor. "I do not accept late apologies, nor do I have a need for useless socializing."
The woman's face turned pale. She left dejectedly, deliberately neglecting to fix the crooked table number.
Just then, the wind chimes on the sliding door chimed clearly.
Diana Bell stepped into the shop. A dry summer breeze followed her, fluttering the pages of the book in William's hand and disrupting the stagnant, cold fragrance in the air.
William instinctively looked up. His gaze crossed several booths and crashed straight into a pair of "fox eyes" that were full of charm yet laced with provocation.
In that instant, the noisy cafe seemed to have its mute button pressed.
In Diana's eyes, this man was as handsome as a deity, radiating a sense of overwhelming control. In William's eyes, this piercing splash of red unexpectedly calmed the restlessness in his heart, like a wildfire sweeping across a frozen tundra.
Diana caught sight of the "9" on the table.
The corners of her lips curled slightly. She had expected Catherine Archer to arrange a date with some old geezer, but she hadn't expected such a "top-tier specimen." Since fate had delivered this choice cut of meat to her doorstep, she had no intention of spitting it out.
Swaying her hips slightly on thin high heels, her long legs were visible beneath the red dress, dazzlingly white. She walked straight to the seat opposite William and sat down with natural grace.
"I'm here for a blind date," she said, getting straight to the point. Her voice was clear and pleasant.
William closed his book, tucking the coin securely back into the spine. His tone was flat. "So am I."
"Diana Bell." "William Knight."
The moment she heard the name, Diana sneered inwardly. William Knight, the one and only "living god" of the capital's elite circle. It seemed Catherine originally intended for her own daughter, Aurora Stone, to climb this high branch, but by a stroke of luck, the opportunity had fallen to her instead.
She took a slow sip of her coffee, her gaze roaming shamelessly over his broad shoulders and powerful chest. This physique, this aura—he was built exactly to her tastes.
Meanwhile, William was scrutinizing her.
The woman before him was beautiful in a highly aggressive way, yet deep within those eyes was a sense of familiarity that made his heart throb strangely. Specifically, the faint scent lingering around her seemed to instantly trigger a chaotic, long-buried memory in the depths of his brain.
William's eyes darkened. He suddenly leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them. His voice was low and magnetic:
"Haven't we met somewhere before?"