Chapter 10

The night was dark as ink, cold wind laced with drizzle slicing Silverlight City's neon lights into broken fragments.

Florence pulled into the underground parking garage of Mireille's upscale apartment complex. The garage was dimly lit, a few motion-sensor lights flickering on and off, exuding an eerie, suffocating silence.

She killed the engine, pulled out the keys, and pushed open the door.

Her heels clicked sharply against the quiet concrete, the sound echoing through the empty space.

Florence pulled her trench coat tighter. The scrape on her knee still throbbed, making her gait slightly stiff.

Just as she rounded the corner toward the elevator, a powerful sense of danger shot up her spine.

Two burly men in black wearing baseball caps lunged from the shadows behind her.

Before Florence could scream, a rough hand clamped over her mouth and nose.

A cloth soaked in a pungent chemical pressed hard against her face.

Florence's pupils constricted. She struggled desperately, but the drug was vicious—not just a powerful sedative, but laced with the most despicable aphrodisiac from the black market.

In mere seconds, Florence felt the strength drain from her limbs. Her head spun, and her body went limp, collapsing.

"Damn, this chick's seriously hot. No wonder the client said we could do whatever we want with her." One of them, a man with a scar across his face, stared at Florence's face—still coldly beautiful even unconscious—and swallowed hard, his eyes gleaming with lust.

"Shut up. Do your job. Get her in the van!"

The two men roughly dragged the unconscious Florence into an unmarked van parked in a surveillance blind spot.

The door slammed shut. Inside, the air reeked of cheap tobacco and motor oil.

The van started, slipping quietly out of the complex.

In the jostling vehicle, Florence's consciousness was pulled back by a sharp pain.

Drawing on her formidable willpower and years of medical resistance to drugs, she forced her eyes open just a crack.

The interior was dim. The two thugs sat up front, discussing in vulgar terms how they'd torture her later.

The drug was raging through her body. Her blood felt like it was on fire, an unbearable heat surging from her lower abdomen straight to her brain.

Florence bit down hard on her tongue until the taste of blood flooded her mouth, barely regaining a thread of clarity.

She couldn't die here.

Florence took a deep breath. Concealed by her coat, her fingers fumbled into an inner pocket and found a cold, willow-leaf-shaped surgical blade. It was a habit from her work as a surgeon—always carry one, just in case.

"This woman's waking up." The thug in the passenger seat glanced back, grinning lewdly as he reached out to touch Florence's face.

The instant that filthy hand was about to make contact, Florence's seemingly weak eyes suddenly sharpened, blazing with murderous intent.

She exploded into motion, the blade in her hand flashing like cold silver in the darkness.

A piercing scream tore through the van.

The thug's wrist had been sliced open to the bone. Blood sprayed instantly, splattering half of Florence's face.

"Damn it! This bitch cut me!" 

Upon hearing the commotion, the scarred driver panicked and slammed on the brakes.

The tires screeched against the slick pavement.

Florence didn't give them a chance to react.

Fighting the searing heat and dizziness coursing through her, she summoned every last ounce of strength, kicked open the unlocked sliding door, and tumbled out, rolling into the roadside bushes.

"Go after her! Don't let her get away!" came the thugs' furious roar from behind.

Ignoring the mud and scrapes covering her body, Florence scrambled to her feet and staggered desperately toward any source of light.

This was a back street in an upscale villa district—dim streetlights, virtually deserted.

Cold rain pelted her face, but it couldn't extinguish the savage fire raging inside her. That black-market aphrodisiac was brutal. It didn't just drain her strength—it was devouring her sanity bit by bit.

Florence's breathing turned heavy and labored. Her vision blurred, images doubling and overlapping.

She felt like a dying fish thrown onto a scorching griddle.

So hot.

So unbearable.

She stumbled into a brightly lit apartment lobby and lunged toward an elevator door slowly closing.

At the last second, the door reopened.

Florence's legs gave out. Uncontrollably, she pitched forward, crashing directly into a broad, solid chest.

A crisp, cold cedarwood scent instantly enveloped her.

That scent was too familiar. Familiar enough to be carved into her very bones.

Percival had just finished an emergency international meeting in a neighboring city that had lasted over ten hours, then driven through the night back to his private residence in the city center.

The relentless pressure of nonstop work had left his brow heavy with exhaustion and irritation.

Just as he was about to press the elevator button, a woman—soaking wet, covered in mud—crashed into his arms.

Percival's brow furrowed sharply, a flash of disgust flickering in his eyes. Instinctively, he moved to push her away.

"Get off me," he said, his voice cold as ice.

But when he looked down and saw the flushed face streaked with blood in his arms, he froze completely.

"Florence?"

Percival's pupils contracted. The woman in front of him bore no trace of her usual cold pride. Her hair, normally pinned up, had come completely undone, wet strands clinging to her cheeks.

Her eyes—usually mocking—now shimmered with moisture, the corners tinged an unnatural crimson, hazy and full of need.

Her trench coat was in disarray, the collar wide open, exposing a large expanse of delicate skin. Her entire body burned like a branding iron.

"Are you out of your mind? What the hell happened to—"

Percival's questioning words were cut short as Florence suddenly looked up.

Her rationality shattered completely in that instant. The drug had taken over, and she was acting purely on instinct.

She stared at the man's bobbing Adam's apple like someone dying of thirst in a desert who'd just found an oasis.

Florence rose onto her toes, gripped Percival's neck with both hands, and yanked hard.

As Percival's eyes widened in shock, she kissed his cold lips directly and, using her body weight, slammed the tall, imposing man hard against the cold elevator wall.