I was looking at Aren's phone screen with my picture displayed in the caller ID's place and signed "My Wife" right below the photo. What was his phone doing here? Did someone lure him outside the hotel and then abduct him, making him drop his phone? I knew that Aren knew how to fight, but he wasn't invincible... What if those who attacked Aren were Max and his men?! What if they beat him up and locked him somewhere?! They could have done it before meeting with Haskett!My restless mind quickly became filled with conspiracy theories and the darkest possible scenarios. I placed my hand on my chest and rubbed it, trying to soothe my frantically pounding heart. As I slightly regained composure, I looked around and then up, and noticed that I was standing right under the terrace. Could the phone fall by accident and not crash because it fell on the carpet? It was possible, but what would Aren do on that terrace in the first place? And where the hell was he?!All those questions had only in

Did I know what I was signing for? Most likely, no. Had I imagined a life without Aren? Definitely not. Was it insane? Absolutely, yes. Certainly, it didn't mean that I was willing to forget the way Aren acted in front of me, but I was giving him another chance. No, scratch that—I was giving us a chance. Was it a rational thing to do? No, it surely wasn't. I was painfully aware that it had nothing to do with having a forgiving heart, but more with my current inability to give up on him. Call me foolish and masochistic, but perhaps I wasn't ready to leave him and still hoped that he wouldn't screw up again...The consolidating fact was that he felt guilty as if he was genuinely honest when he claimed that he didn't want me to leave him. Again, was I interpreting his behavior in a way it could ease my mind? Of course, I was, but it didn't mean that I was doing something wrong, right? I was walking on cloud no. 9 whenever he held my hand, and believe me, it's hard to make logical decisio

I knew I should have spent that night being proud of myself, but I had spent it crying. I wanted to be loved, and I wanted to fight for this love, but not at the price of losing myself. I was afraid that one day I would wake up bitter and tired of waiting for something that would never happen. Perhaps I was the one being selfish; I wanted him to have feelings for me just because I was filled with feelings for him, but I grew up learning that I had the right to be loved without needing to beg for it. Right now, I felt as if I was on my knees, begging him, waiting like a dog for a bone. It was pathetic. I told Aren that I would wait until after Lan Jing's birthday, but I couldn't understand why that event had to determine our relationship. Was he going to miraculously open his heart for me then? Would a witch cast a spell upon him, and he would realize that he loved me all along? I couldn't deny that my heart fluttered every time I saw him, that every time he touched me I felt shivers,

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the coffee shop, and Lanfen was sitting in front of me. Did the feeling that it could be a trap cross my mind? Of course, but I wouldn't miss the chance to get to know my enemy. Jack trained me a little about observation, but it didn't look like someone was following us. The people inside the café that Lanfen invited me to seemed normal as well. Nevertheless, I knew that I couldn't lower my guard just because I thought it was safe around. "I'm Cora Lan," I corrected, underlining the last name before I took the first cautious sip from my coffee cup. Her lips curled up gracefully. "Of course, you are, Mrs. Lan," she said, her voice polite and serene. I had to give it to her—she was mesmerizing. From the top of her head to her small feet adorned by Dior black high heels, she was flawless. I couldn't stop staring at her porcelain complexion and her almond eyes with glowing irises in a frame of thick eyelashes, not to mention her ideal jawline and tiny

I tried to put all the pieces together and kept wondering who the hell was Mr. C.? It looked like that guy was involved in killing Aren's mother as well as attempting to kill Aren. Did he hold a grudge against the entire Lan family? Moreover, as soon as I heard that Richardson had been meeting a short Asian assistant, I instantly thought of Max, but that had happened over thirty years ago! If it truly was Max, shouldn't he be in his fifties right now? I know that a lot of Asians look younger than they actually are, but seriously?! Then again, no one would have called "a short Asian guy" a precise description. What if the assistant who had contacted Richardson wasn't Max, but Mr. C.'s other assistant? That also made me wonder if Mr. C. wasn't Chinese, someone who had known the Lan family, and who, for some reason, decided to target Liling and then her son. Still, the only person who could come up with a list of potential suspects was Aren.The thoughts about Mr. C., Haskett, Max, and L