7

I tighten my grip on the strap of my bag against my chest. I tilt my head and look at the strange man in front of me with caution, ready to step back at any moment.

The man in the black suit doesn't look anything like one of the employees or security staff from Goldman Therapeutics.

His clothes are too neat, his posture is too straight, and his expression is completely blank. He has the aura of someone used to taking orders from people with power.

Amid the hustle and bustle of the busy morning city, right in front of the gate of the building that silently bears witness to my sacrifice, his presence feels extremely noticeable and intimidating.

The man gives me a slight respectful nod. "I'm Mr. Benedict Ashworth's personal assistant, Dr. Russell."

The cold morning air suddenly feels as if it freezes around me. My heart beats a little faster at the sound of that name.

Benedict Ashworth?

"Mr. Ashworth would like to invite you to lunch today," the man continues.

His tone is calm, but somehow it sounds like an absolute command that doesn't accept refusal.

I frown. Confusion and suspicion immediately blanket my mind like a thick fog.

"Lunch? What does he want to meet me for?"

Instead of answering, the man in the black suit reaches into his inner jacket pocket. He pulls out a phone with the screen already lit—showing an ongoing call.

Without wasting even a second, he holds the phone out directly in front of me.

Reluctantly, with my fingers slightly cold, I take the phone. I take a deep breath before pressing it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Kaitlyn."

That low, deep baritone and incredibly calm voice greets me immediately—it's Benedict's voice.

Just saying my name sends a cold shiver down the tips of my spine.

And the audacity—he calls me by my name just like that!

"Are you okay after what happened at the party last night?" Benedict asks without beating around the bush.

I blink, slightly surprised by his overly direct question.

Out of all the things he could talk to me about, he chooses to ask how I'm doing?

Cynical thoughts immediately run wild in my head. In my previous world, no powerful man cares about someone else's condition without a hidden agenda.

Paul teaches me reality in the most brutal, painful way.

"Yes... I'm fine," I answer briefly, trying hard to keep my tone as normal as possible so I don't sound nervous.

"Good, then," Benedict responds very casually. "I just want to make sure you're okay, Kaitlyn."

I swallow, trying to find a double meaning in his words. "It's just a misunderstanding. Thank you for asking, Mr. Ashworth."

"And what about lunch?" Benedict asks immediately, his voice sounding slightly demanding. "I assume my assistant has already delivered my invitation to you."

I glance toward the towering Goldman Therapeutics building behind his assistant.

That building is the place of my execution, the place where my body once burned to ashes while my husband and best friend laughed behind the glass.

I can't take a step without a very carefully thought-out plan. It's too dangerous to be seen associating with my husband's greatest enemy in broad daylight before I know exactly what I'm dealing with.

"I... I don't know my research schedule today yet," I say, gently avoiding the question. "I'll let you know later."

"I'll wait."

Click.

The call is disconnected unilaterally from the other side.

I lower the phone and return it to the assistant.

The man in the black suit accepts it with a small nod, then takes out a matte black business card with elegant gold lettering.

In case you change your mind, Mrs. Russell."

He holds it out to me. The moment my fingers touch the card, the man turns and walks away, blending into the traffic and disappearing in an instant.

My God, I feel like I'm involved in some kind of secret-agent conspiracy.

I quickly slip the business card away, my heart pounding.

…

Half an hour later, I am already sitting alone inside my laboratory, which feels so cold and sterile.

White fluorescent light glows above my head. I stare at the computer screen displaying rows of codes and data for my drug formula.

The formula that is supposed to be Paul's ticket to success, which, ironically, is also the ticket to my death.

However, my gaze slowly lowers toward the black business card on the desk. Benedict Ashworth.

Just two words, yet they carry the weight of unlimited power.

I reflect in the tense silence, letting the hum of the room's cooling system become my only companion.

Images of the flames licking my skin, the bone-deep pain when my lungs fill with toxic gas, and Monica's victorious smile spin through my mind again.

I squeeze my eyes shut, controlling my breathing as it suddenly grows heavier.

Paul is already starting to panic today. The dozens of apologetic messages and cheap sweet talk he's been sending me since this morning prove it.

But I know my husband's true nature now.

Behind the mask of a remorseful husband is a sociopath who is already devising a new strategy. Paul's panic will only end in even more brutal manipulation.

He won't let me breathe easily until the patent for this formula officially falls into his hands.

I can't fight the Goldman family alone.

I need an unbreakable shield. I need a sword far more deadly than anything Paul has.

Benedict Ashworth is that man. If I want to peel a monster like Paul Goldman down to his bones, I have to be brave enough to ally myself with a monster who is much bigger and more ruthless.

I grab my phone and press the series of exclusive numbers listed on the business card. The call rings briefly before that heavy voice is heard.

"Hello, Kaitlyn."

"Yes, hello, Mr. Ashworth, about your lunch invitation. Let's meet," I say quickly, refusing to make small talk. "Now. Somewhere outside."