Chapter 2

Morgan stared at the banknotes scattered across the bed with a mocking smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at Camelia, who was still trembling with rage, as though the woman standing before him was nothing more than a minor inconvenience that could be solved with a bundle of cash.

"Oh, so you're refusing my money, Camelia?" Morgan's voice dripped with contempt, echoing through the silent hotel room. He took one step after another toward the bed, closing the distance as his piercing gaze locked onto her. "Very well. If you refuse it, remember this well. I will never offer you any compensation again in the future. Don't ever come knocking on my door in tears, demanding that I take responsibility."

Smack!

The sharp sound of a slap abruptly cut Morgan off. Camelia's palm struck him squarely across the lips, leaving a vivid red mark against his skin. The force of the blow snapped his head slightly to the side. Camelia's breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly as the fury inside her consumed every last shred of patience she had left. She hated every word, every tone, and every condescending glance that came from the man standing before her.

"I wouldn't accept your filthy compensation either!" Camelia hissed through clenched teeth. Her fingers gripped the bedsheet tightly as hatred blazed in her eyes. "As for what happened last night... I'll just consider myself unlucky for having slept with a wild boar!"

Morgan's jaw tightened instantly. The veins along his neck bulged, and his eyes darkened at the comparison. Morgan—the sole heir who had always been admired—had just been likened to a wild animal. But before he could retaliate or seize her arm again, Camelia moved with lightning speed. Throwing aside the blanket, she snatched her dress from where it lay pitifully on the floor and hurried into the bathroom.

It took Camelia less than three minutes to put on her wrinkled clothes again. Without sparing Morgan—who still stood frozen in the middle of the room, barely restraining his anger—a single glance, she grabbed her handbag, strode toward the exit, and slammed the hotel room door shut with all her strength, the loud bang echoing down the hallway.

Camelia's footsteps pounded against the carpeted hotel corridor. A sharp headache suddenly throbbed through her skull, not only because the effects of the drug were beginning to wear off, but also because the memories of the previous night were slowly returning, piecing themselves together like the fragments of a horrifying puzzle.

Last night had been her best friend Devia's birthday party. Camelia clearly remembered walking into the lively ballroom with a warm smile, intending to celebrate her return home after spending years abroad. But everything changed after a glass of pink-colored liquid was placed in her hand.

"Devia... why does my head suddenly hurt so much?" Camelia remembered clutching her temples as the room began to spin and her vision blurred.

Devia, wearing a smile that now felt painfully fake in Camelia's memory, gently rubbed her shoulder.

"Camelia, I think you're just suffering from jet lag. You only arrived in this country after a flight that lasted more than ten hours. It's only natural that your body hasn't adjusted yet."

At the time, Camelia had already lost most of her awareness and control over her body. She could only nod weakly, allowing Devia to support her as she led her unsteady steps out of the ballroom, into the elevator, and finally to a pair of wooden doors with golden numbers: Room 404. Devia laid her down on the bed before whispering that she was going to get her some water. Little did Camelia know that in that dark room, fate would bring her face-to-face with Morgan—the man from her past whom she hated and had spent her entire life trying to avoid.

Damn it. Everything had been planned.

Remembering Devia's sweet smile from that night made Camelia's stomach churn with nausea. She could not let this pass in silence. She refused to bear this humiliation and destruction alone. Fueled by a burning desire for revenge, Camelia quickened her pace toward the hotel lobby, hailed a taxi, and headed straight for Devia's private apartment, whose address she still remembered by heart.

Bang!

The door to the luxurious apartment flew open after Camelia entered the access code Devia had once given her—at least it had not been changed. Inside the brightly lit living room, Devia was sitting comfortably on the sofa, leisurely sipping a cup of hot coffee while still dressed in a silk bathrobe.

Devia flinched in shock, nearly dropping her cup when she saw Camelia standing in the doorway, breathing heavily, her hair disheveled and her clothes hopelessly wrinkled.

"Camelia? You're already—"

Before Devia could finish her sentence, Camelia had already crossed the distance between them. Her right arm shot into the air and swung forward.

Smack!

The second slap of the morning—far harder and filled with even greater force—landed squarely across Devia's left cheek. The impact snapped Devia's head to the side, sending the coffee cup flying from her hand. It crashed onto the floor, scattering dark liquid and shattered ceramic in every direction. Clutching her burning cheek, Devia stared at Camelia with eyes wide in utter disbelief.

"Damn you, Devia!" Camelia shouted as the tears of fury she had been holding back finally streamed down her cheeks. Her voice trembled violently, yet every word was filled with venom. "You poisoned me on purpose last night, didn't you?! You set me up in that room!"