Shh… He’s The Devil

The luxury cruise ship "Nia" was like a moving steel fortress, cutting through the azure sea as it slowly headed toward the mouth of the Viridis River.

On the top deck.

Jack Carter stood alone, leaning against the railing.

Unlike the well-dressed wealthy elite around him who were drinking and socializing, he tilted his head slightly upward, gazing at the distant horizon. If you looked closely, you'd notice that his deep eyes held a deathly calm.

It was the kind of look that only came from witnessing too much death and being baptized by too much blood.

"Sir, watching the sea all alone—don't you feel lonely?"

A sweet, lazy voice broke the silence.

Jack didn't turn around.

A blonde, blue-eyed beauty had appeared beside him at some point.

She wore a tight, fire-red halter dress with very little fabric, barely covering her proud and curvy figure. The woman boldly moved closer to Jack, and the strong scent of her expensive perfume instantly invaded his space.

"My name is Alice Mitchell," Alice said, extending her manicured fingers to rest lightly on Jack's arm. Her fingertips slowly traced up along his firm forearm as her voice grew more flirtatious. "I've been watching you stand here for a while. Your presence... It's really special. It makes people want to get closer."

Several rich young men nearby cast envious glances. Alice was the acknowledged "first-class queen" of this voyage, and being approached by her was something countless men could only dream of.

Jack finally reacted.

He slowly turned his head, his gaze falling on Alice's delicate face.

His look was flat—no amazement, no desire—as if he were looking at a piece of wood or a cloud of air.

"Move."

Jack's voice was low and magnetic.

Alice's fingers froze in mid-air, and the smile on her face instantly hardened. She looked at Jack in disbelief, as if she couldn't believe her own ears.

"What did you say?" Alice bit her red lips, a flash of embarrassed anger in her eyes.

She had never been rejected by a man like this before, especially with such unreasonable coldness.

"You're blocking my view." Jack turned his head back, continuing to look at the distant horizon, as if the conversation had never happened.

Alice stood there, her chest heaving violently.

She stared at Jack's ramrod-straight back, a strong sense of unwillingness and resentment surging in her heart.

"You'll regret this." Alice gritted her teeth, muttered a curse under her breath, glared hard at Jack, and stormed off in her high heels.

Jack paid no attention.

He just looked down at what he held in his hand.

It was an elegant box containing a fine watch.

This was his gift for William.

William Carter, his adoptive father.

If it weren't for him, Jack would have starved to death on the streets at age ten.

A month ago, William had written to Jack, saying he'd met the love of his life and wanted to marry her. But at the time, Jack was on a mission and couldn't attend his wedding.

So now, having just finished his mission, he rushed back to his hometown without delay.

Perfect timing.

He hadn't seen William in years—this was a good chance to catch up with him.

And also...

"Sophia..."

His fingertips slipped into his shirt collar and pulled out a silver necklace worn close to his chest.

The pendant wasn't valuable, just a roughly polished silver four-leaf clover.

It was what Sophia had bought with six months of saved allowance the year he left home at sixteen.

"Jack, the four-leaf clover represents luck."

In his memory, Sophia wore a purple dress and stood on tiptoe to hang the necklace around his neck. Her eyes, clear as lake water, were filled with reluctance and attachment. "Wear it, and no matter where you are, my luck will be with you."

Sophia.

The girl who always followed behind him, softly calling "Jack."

She was William's biological daughter and Jack's nominal sister.

But in Jack's heart, she had never been just a sister.

In that chaotic childhood filled with violence, hunger, and cold, Sophia was his only light. She was the one who found him nearly frozen to death on the street. She was the only salvation he wanted to grasp in those dark, hopeless days.

His feelings for her had long crossed the boundaries of family affection, becoming a forbidden desire he couldn't speak of—something he could only chew over alone in the dead of night.

Because this desire was too heavy and too dangerous.

So Jack chose to leave.

He exiled himself to the most brutal battlefields, numbing himself with one victory after another.

"Hey."

That annoying perfume smell approached again.

Jack collected his thoughts and turned around indifferently.

Alice had returned, but this time she wasn't alone.

Like a peacock showing off its feathers, she walked over with her arm tightly around a tall young man.

The man wore a well-tailored casual suit, his hair slicked back perfectly, his chin slightly raised with an air of natural superiority.

He looked at Jack with undisguised contempt.

Jack didn't even look at them properly. He just slowly placed the box in his hand into his coat pocket, his movements unhurried, his eyes still calm.

"This is Lancelot Owens," Alice's voice rose considerably, her eyes challenging Jack. "The sole heir of the Owens family, and... a new student about to enter Clayton Military Academy."

"That's the cradle of Marigoldia's army officers, a place so high that ordinary people could only look up to it."

"Which means Mr. Owens here is a future army second lieutenant—something you could never reach in your entire life."

In Alice's view, Clayton Military Academy was a ticket to power, a cloud-high place that ordinary people could only look up to.

By bringing up this name, she was sure this pretentious man in front of her would feel ashamed and regret rejecting her earlier.

She wanted him to understand that she was the best, and that with just a wave of her hand, countless men would flock to her. Rejecting her was Jack's loss.

Jack finally stopped moving.

He slowly raised his head, and for the first time, his deathly calm eyes fell on Lancelot.

Clayton Military Academy?

At sixteen, he had been admitted to Clayton Military Academy with perfect scores in all subjects—the youngest cadet in the academy's history.

At eighteen, he graduated first in his class and went straight into special forces.

Now, he was a three-star general commanding the armed forces, the "Son of War" on Clayton Military Academy's honor roll. And this man in front of him was showing off about "about to enter" as a newcomer?

The corner of Jack's mouth lifted slightly, forming an extremely mocking curve.

There was no anger in that smile, only a condescending pity, as if looking down at two ants who didn't know their place.