Chapter 1

"I have a girlfriend," the cold, untouchable billionaire warned, his voice like ice.

"Just a girlfriend, not a wife," Catherine whispered, leaning in until her curves brushed his arm. "Besides, I don’t want your heart. I just want your body... Uncle."

Three hours earlier, Catherine Levin strutted into the Brightonfield airport VIP lounge like she owned it.

She wore an impeccable, backless red dress that clung to her every curve, her slender waist swaying with a hypnotic grace. The moment she stepped inside, every eye in the room locked onto her.

She seemed completely oblivious to the heated stares, pretending to chat on her phone. But as she ended the call, her gaze locked onto her real target with deadly precision.

Sitting directly across the room was a man with a tall, imposing frame and flawlessly chiseled features. He exuded an inherently cold and dignified aura that commanded the space, making him impossible to ignore.

Philip Foster. The billionaire heir to the Foster family fortune, current CEO of Nova Pharmaceuticals, and most importantly—the uncle of her boyfriend, James.

Catherine’s red lips curved into a wicked smile as she walked straight toward him.

Her undisguised, predatory gaze made her intentions clear. Before she could reach him, a young assistant sprang up, blocking her path. "I'm sorry, Miss. My boss is working."

"Is that so?" Catherine lowered her eyelashes, playing the innocent doe. She leaned into the assistant, her warm breath caressing his cheek, her floral perfume intoxicating him. "But I'm not here for your boss. I'm here for you."

The young assistant, usually skilled at deflecting women, blushed furiously. "I... I don't know you."

Catherine laughed softly. She slipped a slender finger over his hand, effortlessly taking his phone, and unlocked it with his own thumb. She quickly added her number to his contacts. "If your boss fires you over this, call me. I'll put in a good word for you," she purred, her eyes darting challengingly to Philip.

The commotion finally made Philip look up. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of surprise crossed his icy features, but he quickly masked it, coldly shifting his gaze away.

Catherine wasn't deterred. She stepped around the flustered assistant, leaned over Philip—giving him a perfect view of her plunging neckline—and slipped a business card into his suit pocket.

"Care to get acquainted?" she asked, her voice dripping with honey.

"Not interested," Philip replied without missing a beat.

"My interest is enough for both of us," Catherine purred, her gaze locked on his, sensuality radiating from her every move.

Sitting across the lounge moments later, Catherine studied his sharp profile, her throat suddenly dry.

Memories clawed at her mind. Seven years ago, Philip had been her strict, untouchable home tutor. Back then, she was a foolish seventeen-year-old with a massive crush. When she finally gathered the courage to ask what kind of girl he liked, he had looked at her with absolute disdain and said, "Certainly not someone like you."

Well, she wasn't that pathetic girl anymore. Time and sheer willpower had transformed her into a weapon. A man at his level, surrounded by endless beauties, didn't even recognize the girl he once rejected.

A bitter, cold smile touched her lips. She hadn't wanted to cross paths with Philip again, but the blood debt demanded it.

Charlotte Wilson had stolen her family's pharmaceutical formula, orchestrated her father's brutal murder, and forced her mother’s car into a freezing river. Her mother had died so Catherine could live.

Originally, she planned to use her boyfriend James—Charlotte’s fiancé—for revenge. But James was a useless coward. To crush Charlotte and the Wilson family, Catherine needed a bigger monster.

She needed the Foster family's patriarch. She needed Philip.

Fate, it seemed, was on her side. They were boarding the same flight.

On the plane, Philip was seated next to an elderly gentleman. Catherine immediately flipped a switch, approaching the old man with wide, innocent eyes.

"Sir, could I possibly switch seats with you?" she asked, her voice trembling perfectly. "My husband and I had a terrible fight, and he's ignoring me. I just want to sit next to him and make up."

The old man glanced at Philip's stone-cold expression and chuckled sympathetically. "Of course, dear." He patted Philip’s shoulder as he stood. "Young man, don't be so stubborn. It’d be a fool's mistake to lose such a gorgeous wife!"

As Catherine slid into the seat next to Philip, her triumphant smile returned.

Philip slowly turned his head, his dark eyes glaring at her. "I told you, I'm not interested."

"And I told you, my interest is enough," Catherine replied, unbothered.

"I have a girlfriend."

"Just a girlfriend, not a wife," Catherine countered smoothly. She leaned in, the tight red fabric of her dress stretching as she closed the distance. Her warm breath brushed against his neck, sending a dangerous thrill through the air.

Her gaze dropped to his lips as she whispered her final strike. "Besides, I'm not trying to steal you from her. After all... I'm only interested in your body, Uncle."