Chapter 2

"Hurry up and put it on! Stop dawdling like you're dead or something!"

Beatrice yanked Ashley over to the vanity with zero patience, shoving a flashy, rhinestone-covered wedding dress into her hands.

"The King family's car won't wait around forever!"

Ashley lowered her gaze, hiding the brief flicker of coldness in her eyes. She went limp like a lifeless doll, letting Beatrice and the maids push and pull her around however they pleased.

The dress was stiff and itchy, full of scratchy rhinestones. The design screamed tacky—clearly one of Isobel's castoffs.

Meanwhile, Isobel leaned casually against the doorframe with her arms folded, her smug expression oozing condescension as she said in a mock sweet tone, "Mom, don't be so harsh. If someone hears you, they might think we're abusing our newly found daughter."

The maids wasted no time slipping the dress on Ashley, then started messing with her hair.

Long-term malnutrition had left Ashley's hair dry and brittle, though it was still impressively thick and wavy. The maid yanked through the knots with zero care, pulling hard enough to sting—but Ashley didn't even flinch.

Beatrice shot a look at Ashley's bare face with clear disgust, then carelessly grabbed some ancient makeup from the vanity and began smearing it on her.

"You're such a burden. Look at me, doing your makeup like you're royalty or something!"

The foundation was way too pale, making her look like she was wearing a mask. The eyeshadow was a messy splash of color, and the fluorescent lipstick was just blinding.

But when the awful makeup was finally done and her whole face showed in the mirror—

The room, full of snide whispers and complaints moments ago, fell into an odd silence.

Even under cheap, caked-on makeup, the face staring back from the mirror was stunning.

An elegant oval-shaped face with flawless bone structure and breathtaking delicate features. Like something sculpted straight from a dream.

Beatrice's hand, still holding the lipstick, froze mid-air. Her eyes were wide, stunned.

She'd always known that this girl didn't have bad genes, but who would've thought that with just a bit of clean-up, she'd turn out this drop-dead gorgeous?

A wave of anxiety and jealousy gripped Beatrice's chest out of nowhere.

And Isobel's mood tanked instantly.

She'd always prided herself as the prettiest one in the Sullivan family. But now, facing Ashley's almost otherworldly beauty, all her carefully crafted looks felt cheap and forced.

"Ugh!" Isobel snapped her head away, her voice sharp with venom. "So what if she looks like a tease? She can't even speak or hear, for god's sake!

"Mom, hurry—the Kings are here!"

Like she was trying to convince herself, her tone turned even nastier. "Once she gets to the King house, she's screwed. That fourth son of the King family's got a nasty temper and the worst luck with women. She won't last three days!"

Beatrice snapped out of it. Right! What did looks matter?

She was being sent there to die anyway.

That thought was oddly comforting—and all that unsettled feeling turned into renewed disgust and haste."Alright, alright! Move it!" Beatrice yanked Ashley up roughly, practically dragging her out of the room. "Don't screw up the timing and piss off the Kings!"

Sure enough, outside the Sullivan villa, a line of black cars was waiting quietly.

At the front was a stretch Lincoln, imposing but oddly deserted—it felt more like a warning than a welcome.

Apart from the driver, only one middle-aged man in a black suit stood next to the car. Judging by his demeanor, that had to be Felix Mitchell, the Kings' butler.

There were no gifts, no ceremony, not even a polite greeting.

Ashley was practically shoved into the car by Beatrice and Isobel.

"Mr. Mitchell, we're handing her over to you!" Beatrice flashed a fake, overly sweet smile at the butler. "Ashley marrying into the King family, that's a blessing beyond words. Please take good care of her."

Felix didn't even blink. He dipped his head slightly and said flatly, "Mrs. Sullivan, rest assured."

With a loud thud, the door shut, and the vehicle rolled away smoothly, heading out of the city.

Ashley sat quietly in the back seat, watching the scenery rush by—tall buildings giving way to green, dense forests. Her mind, however, remained cold and steady.

An hour later, they pulled into a massive private estate and stopped in front of a grand villa that felt more cold than welcoming, wrapped in an unsettling quiet.

Felix opened the door for her, his tone as bland as ever. "Ms. Sullivan, this way, please."

The inside of the villa was huge, done in understated luxury, but felt strangely empty and lifeless.

Instead of taking her into the main house, Felix led her around it, through a carefully trimmed yet soulless garden, stopping finally at an old wooden cabin tucked deep in the garden.

The cabin was tiny. A faint, dim light seeped through its window, making it look even gloomier compared to the majestic manor not far behind.

"Ms. Sullivan," Felix said as he pushed open the creaky wooden door and stepped aside, his voice giving no room for argument, "Mr. Edwin said for you to wait here."

Ashley paused at the doorway, her eyes narrowing as she glanced into the near pitch-black room. Instinct screamed at her—something was wrong.

She instinctively took a step back, but it was too late.

Felix moved fast. The moment she stepped back, the door slammed shut with a bang.

Ashley's stomach dropped. She lunged forward, banging on the door.

But outside, Felix's footsteps faded away—without a single pause.

Her hand slowly dropped from the door. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stay calm.

Eyes gradually adjusting to the dimness, she groped for her phone, lighting up the screen.

The faint glow sliced into the dark like a blade.

And in that very moment—deep in the corner of the cabin—two eerie green glints lit up.

Then came the rustling of something massive rising slowly to its feet.

Her shaky light swept across—

A huge white tiger, towering and terrifying.Its fur wasn't pure white—it had faint dark stripes running through, sleek and striking. Its muscles rippled under the pattern, limbs built like columns, claws half-extended. Those green eyes, cold like emerald shards, were locked menacingly on Ashley, the unexpected guest.

Ashley was totally caught off guard. Her knees buckled and she fell back onto the floor, her phone slipping from her hands and skittering away, the light spinning chaotically.

"Pfft—" Clarence Reed cracked up watching the footage, unable to hold back his laughter.

"Damn, Edwin, your grandma dropped two hundred million for this? Your new wife's scared stiff before Rusty even moves. If that tiger ever gets hangry or in a bad mood and lashes out, she might actually die of fright right there."

Edwin stood in the shadows, tall and imposing in a flawlessly tailored black suit. His sharp features were expressionless as he watched the screen, like he was just tuning into some boring late-night rerun.

"If she dies, then she dies. Saves me the effort of dealing with her later."

Some random woman with a mysterious background—having her taken out by Rusty would be the cleanest solution.

The words had barely left his mouth when Clarence suddenly gasped, "Holy crap?! Edwin! Look! What is she doing?!"

Edwin's brow twitched ever so slightly as he shifted his gaze to where Clarence pointed.

The same girl who was just trembling in a heap now stood upright, posture straight as a board, step by deliberate step closing in on the growling white tiger.

She stopped just a step away. Then, slowly, reached out her hand—

And rested it gently on Rusty's enormous, deadly head, giving it a light stroke.

"She nuts?!" Clarence all but shouted, eyes wide as dinner plates.

What happened next was nuts.

Rusty, who'd looked ready to strike seconds ago, froze the moment her hand met his fur.

In those wild, savage green eyes—was that a flicker of confusion?

Then, shockingly, the giant beast didn't snap or dodge. Instead, it leaned slightly into her hand, rubbing its head like... like a spoiled house cat enjoying attention.

"What the hell?" Clarence's jaw hit the floor, his voice gone sharp with disbelief. "He doesn't even let his handler touch him! Last time I tried, he nearly took my arm off! Edwin, your two-hundred-million-dollar wife has some serious tricks!"

Edwin kept his eyes fixed on the woman petting the beast. A flash of memory—last night in the warehouse, a woman whose face he didn't catch, lips soft as clouds—ran through his mind, and an unfamiliar irritation stirred in his chest.

He turned coldly away, his voice like ice. "So what if she calmed Rusty. If she can walk out of there alive, then—maybe—she's worthy of being mine."