Isabella slid down along the cold wall, her body limp like mud drained of its bones. The fibers of the expensive carpet pricked at the bare skin of her ankles, yet the pain was nothing compared to the dull ache in her chest that was being torn open again and again. Olivia Windsor's sharp, humiliating words still buzzed in her ears like the stingers left by poisonous bees, while Alexander Kane's final, icy declaration of treating her as both possession and amusing plaything had frozen whatever last trace of warmth she had left.
Fiancée? Ha… what a laughable yet terrifying word. She thought she had escaped from being a tool of her family's arranged marriage, only to fall into the hands of another man—stronger, more unfathomable—where even a formal title might only be her own wishful thinking? What exactly was she? Not even worthy of being called a mistress, illegally imprisoned, and merely a prescription drug to satisfy his peculiar physiological needs?
Her stomach ached from its emptiness, her throat dry and rough like sandpaper scraping. The food Kane had forced her to eat had long since been digested, leaving only a cold, hollow exhaustion. Yet she had no appetite, only nausea and revulsion, as though the entire "Silence" suite was saturated with the sickening mixture of Olivia's cloying perfume and Kane's frigid pheromones.
Outside, the false night had already descended. The intelligent lighting system simulated moonlight, casting down a cold, pale glow, illuminating the room's luxurious yet icy furnishings as though they were stage props—while she remained the sole, despairing actor upon the stage.
She did not know how long had passed when the door opened once again, soundlessly.
Isabella did not even lift her head, only buried her face deeper into her knees, as though that could shut out everything.
It was David who entered. He carried no meal cart this time, only a glass of warm water and a small dish of delicate almond cookies that looked easy to digest. His steps were lighter than usual. When he reached Isabella, he crouched down and placed the items on the carpet beside her.
"Miss Isabella," his voice was the same steady, emotionless tone as always, yet it seemed to carry a faint trace of… gentleness? "You need to replenish some water and energy. These cookies were just baked; they won't burden your stomach."
Isabella gave no response.
David remained silent for a few seconds, not leaving right away. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, the gaze behind the lenses falling on her slightly trembling, frail shoulders.
"Miss Olivia Windsor has already been forbidden by Mr. Kane from entering Kane Group headquarters or any associated private areas. The Windsor family will pay the corresponding price for today's reckless behavior." He stated it calmly, as though reporting a matter that had nothing to do with himself, yet the weight in his words was indisputable. "Please be assured, such an incident will not happen again."
Isabella slowly lifted her head. Her turquoise eyes, swollen and reddened from tears, were filled with exhaustion, suspicion, and a trace of mockery. "Price? What kind of price? To be locked away like me? Or just some inconsequential business warning?" Her voice was hoarse, rasping.
David looked at her, not answering the question directly, only saying: "Mr. Kane never tolerates anyone challenging his authority, or touching his possessions. No matter who it is."
Possessions. Again, that word.
The faint ripple that had just surfaced in Isabella's eyes instantly extinguished, turning back into dead stillness. She turned her head away, no longer looking at David, nor at the glass of water and cookies.
David seemed to let out a barely audible sigh. "Please take care of your health. Your well-being is of utmost importance to Mr. Kane." After uttering those words, laden with complex meaning, he rose and left.
The door closed, and once again she was alone in the room.
Isabella's gaze fell upon the glass of water and the few delicate cookies. The hunger and thirst were real, gnawing at her body. She stared at them for a long, long time, waging an intense battle within herself.
In the end, her physical needs triumphed over her psychological resistance. Slowly, she reached out, her fingertips trembling as she picked up a cookie. She cautiously took a small bite. The crisp sweetness melted in her mouth, carrying the rich fragrance of almonds. She ate very slowly, nibbling in tiny bites, washing each down with sips of warm water, until she had finished the small dish of cookies entirely.
This was not compromise, she told herself. This was only to survive. Only by surviving could she wait for… for what? She did not know. Perhaps just a faint, uncertain possibility.
After finishing, she felt her stomach ease a little, and a bit of strength return to her body. Struggling to her feet, she limped toward the bathroom. She needed a shower—to wash away the nauseating scent of Olivia's perfume, the icy trace left by Kane's touch, and the humiliation and chaos of the day.
Warm water cascaded over her body, momentarily dispelling some of the chill and exhaustion. She looked at the blurred figure of herself in the misty mirror—pale, fragile, with that suppressant patch on her neck like an ugly brand.
She had to do something. She couldn't just passively await whatever fate decided.
David… his words today had carried a nuance different from his usual absolute indifference. Could that mean she might try… to communicate? Even if it was only to obtain the slightest fragment of information from the outside world?
Once the thought arose, it became impossible to suppress.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the top floor of Kane Group, the brightly lit conference room.
The atmosphere was as heavy as the sea before a storm. Along the long conference table sat the group's executives and core directors, all sitting stiffly upright, their faces tense, not even daring to breathe too loudly. The air was thick with an invisible, suffocating pressure.
At the head of the table, Alexander Kane leaned lazily against the wide leather chair. One hand rested carelessly on the sleek surface of the table, his fingertips tapping lightly, rhythmically. Unlike the others, he was not watching the Asia-Pacific president—who was sweating profusely as he gave his report—but instead had his head slightly turned, his gray-blue eyes coldly scanning the rolling data and emails on the tablet before him. The cold white glow of the screen lit up his expressionless face—handsome yet sharp-edged and merciless.
The reporting president's voice trembled, his pace growing ever faster as he tried to explain the severe setbacks and massive losses in several major projects in the Asia-Pacific region during the past quarter, blaming the failures on sudden shifts in market conditions and the underhanded tactics of competitors.
"…In summary, Mr. Kane, although the results were less than satisfactory, we have already done our best to implement remedial measures, and we believe that in the next quarter…"
"Believe?" Kane suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, yet like an icy dagger, it instantly cut through the other man's endless rambling.
The temperature in the entire conference room seemed to drop by ten degrees, and everyone held their breath.
Kane slowly lifted his head, those ice-blue eyes like two blades tempered in frost, stabbing straight into the face of the ashen president.
"James," he called the other man by name, his tone as flat as if discussing the weather, "the group pays you an eight-figure annual salary, mobilizes massive resources, not so you can sit in this position and try to fob me off with words like 'did our best' and 'believe.'"
His body leaned slightly forward. Though his cold, powerful pheromones were restrained, they still made every Alpha present feel an instinctive sense of dread and oppression, while the Betas felt short of breath.
"Market environment shift? Norton Group entered the same market three months later than us, yet their profit margin in the same period grew by fifteen percent." His tone was steady, but every word fell like beads of ice. "Competitors' unfair tactics? Reports from the Legal and Intelligence departments show that all of their operations were within permitted rules. Whereas our project—" he paused, fingertip tapping lightly on the tablet, projecting a loss assessment report in red onto the massive main screen in the conference room. The shocking numbers stabbed at everyone's eyes. "—because of your team's errors in early-stage assessment, sluggish decision-making in mid-stage, and stupidity in late-stage response, resulted in the group's largest single-quarter loss in nearly five years."
President James's face had gone from pale to the color of death, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word.
Kane's gaze swept across the face of every executive present, and wherever it passed, no one dared meet his eyes.
"'Did our best'?" He repeated the words, the corner of his mouth curving into an extremely cold arc without the slightest trace of a smile. "In my dictionary, there is no 'did our best,' only 'achieved' and 'not achieved.' And the cost of 'not achieved'…"
He did not finish the sentence, but the meaning revealed in those icy eyes made everyone shudder.
"James, you can go to the HR department right now to process your handover. As for your team—all VP-level and above—every single one is demoted three levels, stripped of all bonuses and stock options for this year, and reassigned to the Westboya branch to inspect mining projects. Without a new transfer order, none of you are permitted to return."
He announced the decision offhandedly, as though brushing away a speck of dust.
The conference room fell into dead silence, the drop of a pin audible. Everyone was so shocked by this thunderous punishment that their souls seemed scattered. Westboya branch? That was practically exile! And inspecting mining projects? That was an area completely unfamiliar to them!
"Mr. Kane! I—" James tried one last desperate struggle.
Kane's cold gaze swept over him.
James instantly felt as though his throat had been clamped shut, all words stuck in his gullet, leaving only endless fear. He slumped into his chair, his face the color of ash.
Kane no longer looked at him, his gaze shifting to the others: "Three hours. I want to see the new person in charge of the Pus District and a reorganization plan on my desk. The plan must specify every responsible party and timeline for each stage. If, in the next quarterly report, the data I see is still this nauseating…"
He didn't finish the sentence, but the icy intent to kill had already spread throughout the entire space.
"Meeting adjourned."
He spat out the two words, stood up first, and strode out of the conference room without a backward glance, leaving behind a room full of executives, silent as cicadas in winter and drenched in cold sweat.
Back in the study, Kane yanked off his tie and tossed it onto the sofa, his face still carrying the lingering hostility. He walked to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass of whiskey, but did not drink. He only stared at the amber liquid swirling in the glass.
On the tablet, David had sent a brief message: \[Miss Isabella has eaten a few cookies and some water. Her emotions seem somewhat stabilized. The incident with Miss Olivia has been resolved.]
His gaze lingered on that message for a moment, and in the depths of his ice-blue eyes, a flicker of something nearly imperceptible stirred. He recalled her pale, despairing expression when he left, like a shattered porcelain doll, and Olivia's venomous words…
He tilted his head back and downed the glass of liquor in one go. The burn of the spirit scorched his throat, but it couldn't suppress that inexplicable, violent irritation inside him.
He needed her pheromones to ease the pain, yet her tears and despair seemed to trigger another kind of unfamiliar, even more unbearable restlessness.
This contradictory feeling filled him with extreme displeasure.
He picked up the internal phone and connected to David.
"Send her a tablet," he ordered coldly. "It can only connect to the internal network. She can read news, e-books, and watch some approved films. You control the permissions strictly."
"Yes, Mr. Kane."
"…Also, tomorrow's inhibitor—adjust the dosage slightly, by five percent. Make her a bit more comfortable."
On the other end, David seemed to pause for half a second before replying: "…Understood."
Hanging up the phone, Kane walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the brilliant yet icy city lights below. He was like a lonely emperor, holding supreme power, able to decide countless fates with ease—yet seemingly unable to control the storm of ice and fire within him, awakened by her.
In the Silent Suite, Isabella had finished bathing, changed into a set of clean loungewear, and was staring blankly out the window.
The door opened again. David returned, holding a brand-new tablet in his hand.
"Miss Isabella, Mr. Kane instructed me to give you this for amusement. The internal network has been connected. You can browse some information and entertainment content." He placed the tablet on the table, his tone as steady as ever—but Isabella seemed to catch the faintest flicker in his eyes.
A tablet? What… does this mean? An upgraded version of "a slap, then a date"?
But no matter what, this was a breakthrough! Even if it was a tightly monitored internal network, it still meant she could access a sliver of outside information!
Her heart, beyond her control, skipped a faster beat. A faint spark called hope quietly flickered to life across the endless frozen wasteland.