Chapter 2

I got with Brandon when I was 19. At that time, Dad had fallen victim to a scheme and owed loan sharks money for construction payments. The debt collectors drove him to jump from a building.

Eventually, Mom abandoned our family to become a wealthy overseas businessman's mistress and fled the country. Only my seriously ill grandmother and I were left to rely on each other.

I worked various part-time jobs during the day and at a nightclub in the evenings to earn money for tuition and Grandma's medical bills.

Once, I encountered a difficult drunk customer who cornered me. He hissed, "You're working at a nightclub and still playing hard to get? I'm going to have you today no matter what."

I broke a glass, cut him with it, and as I fled through the door with bloody hands, I crashed right into Brandon's arms. He was the club's behind-the-scenes owner, and I had heard about him—ruthless, cold-blooded, and with a terrible reputation.

Later, I heard Brandon's associate say, "In all these years, this is the first time I've seen Bran go soft for a woman."

He helped pay Grandma's medical bills and found her the best private hospital. His way of pursuing me was straightforward. He showered me with money, and I could have anything I wanted within his means.

Others described him as cold-blooded, merciless, and decisive. But with me, he was devoted, gentle, and responsible. I fell for him quickly, and on my 20th birthday, he coaxed me into my first time. Once I had a taste, I knew I wanted more, and we completely became one.

Gradually, I began to understand Brandon's business. A significant portion of his enterprises operated in gray areas, with all sorts of people working under him.

His associates had warned him, "Bran, in our line of work, having a weakness is taboo. Your woman is too innocent, she'll hold you back."

What they did was dangerous work, walking on a knife's edge where one misstep could mean disaster. I promised, "Brandon, I won't become your burden, trust me."

The way he looked at me then was so tender it could have drowned me. So, I hardened my resolve. From a delicate girl who got winded just from running, to someone who could take down three men with her bare hands—it only took me two years. Even his associates were amazed that my shooting skills eventually surpassed Brandon's.

Later, for the sake of Brandon's business, I cut my hair short, got tattoos, and collected countless scars. I became Brandon's most reliable support, managing his operations efficiently—I was no longer his burden.

However, Brandon wasn't happy about it. On countless drunken nights, he would gently trace my tattoos and scars, sighing softly. "Cami, I wish we could go back to ten years ago. I still prefer the way you were then."

I knew it was drunk talk, but it was also his true feelings. After everything we'd been through, my heart had hardened. Even so, I couldn't help feeling hurt.

I thought, "Brandon Schmidt, you're such a fucking heartless bastard. The youthful, bright, and pure Carmelia from ten years ago died along the path of fighting alongside you."

...

When Brandon came home, it was already late at night. He habitually pulled me into his arms, but when he tried to kiss the top of my head, he missed. He asked, "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

I didn't answer him, which caught him off guard. He pressed, "What's wrong? Who upset you? I'll take care of them."

He still had traces of orange-scented perfume on him—I never used anything that sweet. I looked up at him and said, "Your little pet crossed the line."

He frowned and let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, Cami. I didn't know she would come looking for you."

I placed the finalized bid documents into a folder and sealed it, casually lighting a cigarette. "You know my methods. If there's a next time, she'll end up dead or crippled—I've never been a patient person. She says she's pregnant. I have no interest in raising a bastard child, so you have one week. If the child still exists after that, I'll handle it myself."

I once suffered a severe injury while saving Brandon. The doctors informed us that I could never have children of my own. Then, Brandon told me he didn't want children, that we would live lovingly together for a lifetime. He said our relationship didn't need children to prove its worth.

I believed him and his words.

When Brandon remained silent for a long time, I let out a soft snort. His eyes met mine, and I noticed that they held hesitation and reluctance.

He said, "Cami, I'll handle the child. Don't touch her."

I found this curious. "What's this? Getting soft?"

He anxiously rubbed his brow, "Cami, you two aren't the same. She's too pure and innocent—she's no match for you."

The word "pure" stung me. Distant yet deeply carved memories came flooding back, making my heart ache. So, it was purity that he liked after all.