In the lowest-class cabin of the ferry, it was damp, dark, and sunlight never reached.
Ivy bit her lip hard, struggling to stop herself from bursting into sobs.
Inside, she screamed silently, tears streaming down as she numbly stared at the coastline fading from view.
When she awoke, all she saw were corpses scattered around, with a tall man in a hood dressing her wounds.
"Your brother is dead. If you want revenge, go find your fiancé."
Ivy turned her head to look at him, feeling dazed as if she were trapped in a nightmare, yet the tears flowed uncontrollably.
She didn't know who he was or why he had saved her, and even when thrown onto the ship, she clung to a tiny gap, trying desperately to catch a glimpse.
In just a few days, she had fallen from heaven into hell.
Tears welling in her eyes, she recalled the mysterious man's raspy, eerie voice as he left: "Remember, your enemy is named Arabella."
Arabella!
With gritted teeth, Ivy desperately chewed on the stale, moldy rations, cursing through her clenched jaw—One day, one day she would take revenge on that woman.
At night, Taras was busy leading his team to clear the remaining forces of the Destiny. Though it was called "clearing," it was far from something that could be accomplished in an instant.
However, the fruits of victory had to be consolidated. While the Kewa police loathed the influence of the gangs, they were powerless to remove the Abyss from the scene.
Although the Destiny had lost its leader, there were still others in charge. At this moment, they had no time to avenge Quentin, focusing instead on solidifying their control and negotiating favorable terms with the soon-to-take-over Abyss.
Outside, chaos reigned, but Arabella lazily reclined on her bed, her eyes half-closed as she savored the brief moment of calm after the slaughter.
She wasn't in a hurry to return, nor was she afraid of Taras turning on her. She knew her own abilities and value, which made her indispensable.
As long as she was useful, holding high ground, no one dared to offend her.
After leisurely finishing a bottle of wine, Arabella nimbly hopped onto the bed.
She could dance, and her repertoire was impressively diverse.
Back then, the young man held her hand, his fingers elegant, with even his silhouette exuding a pristine clarity.
Around his neck hung a necklace made from a piece of aromatic jade, processed to emit a faint, lingering fragrance.
"Arabella, dance is the crystallization of self-worth. Look at those movements—whether graceful or powerful, they're expressing our own stories."
As he spoke, the young man's brows and eyes were strikingly handsome, every feature pleasing to the eye. The light filtered through the glass, fragmented into pieces, dazzling like gilded fragments.
With a cold expression, she let the young man lead her in spins and jumps across the dance floor.
Now—
Arabella, now alone, extended her limbs, slowly turning in a circle on the bed, finally calming herself.
Killing Quentin was merely taking down someone associated with Marcellus, yet she felt elated, as if she had cut away a piece of Marcellus, an arm of his.
Her dark, fathomless eyes collected all her emotions once more. Sitting cross-legged on the bed with a hand to her forehead, her mind was filled with calculations.
She needed to move faster; every step taken sooner was better.
That young man was still hanging on the stage from those days, waiting for her to return and claim his body.
As she lay back with a bottle of wine, Arabella switched off all the lights in the room, revealing a silent, fierce cruelty in the darkness.
Five days later, Raven and his group entered Island openly through the airport.
Many of them were fierce criminals, wanted in multiple countries.
But this didn't include the four countries across the vast ocean, nor did it affect Abyss's dominant position.
Both Raven and Albatross had arrived, bringing Nicholas along as Arabella instructed.
Arabella initially planned a quiet job to move some goods, but before that could happen, she had already acquired quite a few properties.
Taras knew Arabella had no interest in ruling here, so after seizing many of Destiny's private assets, he generously transferred them to her.
Arabella scoffed at the long list of real estate.
Luxury homes, sports cars, shops, restaurants—none of it interested her. She wanted to turn around and auction it all but didn't want to offend Taras in the process.
Taras was now on top of the world, having risen from a low-level thug to wielding immense power.
But his pride didn't last two days before he reined it all in.
Compared to Arabella, he increasingly realized how terrifyingly low-key she was.
After spending more time with Arabella, Taras felt that his entire perspective on women would likely undergo a dramatic shift for the rest of his life.
One day, he came to Arabella's temporary residence in a luxury home on the hillside of Island. Her people lounged around the courtyard in groups, not diligently on guard.
Some noticed him enter yet didn't even greet him.
Inside the main hall, Arabella sat upright at the central table, with two people around her engaged in quiet conversation. Raven, as usual, stood in the corner like a silent, breathless wooden post.
"Arabella, take a look at this financial summary," one of them said casually, holding a document and speaking over his shoulder.
Arabella?
Who would dare address her so directly?
Taras's gaze fixed on the other person, puzzled, only to find that they had a pair of beautiful eyes—clear and bright, with a smile that curved like a crescent moon, gentle as water. Perhaps this person's eyes were so captivating that even flowers and grass would seem full of charm when seen through them, radiating an expression full of tender affection.
Arabella looked up, seeing Taras enter, and greeted him with a smile, "Oh, you're here. Sit wherever you like."
After saying this, Arabella buried herself back into a pile of documents, saying nothing more.
Instead, it was Nicholas who stood up. His upbringing had instilled good manners, even in adversity.
He extended his hand and introduced himself, "Hello. I'm Nicholas."
The other man introduced himself so calmly and confidently that Taras was startled; he hadn't expected such an upstanding person by Arabella's side.
"Taras. Mr. Nicholas, may I ask what you do?"
Taras's probing look and tone made his curiosity evident.
Nicholas hesitated, not wanting to admit he was a slave who had been bought by Arabella.
Looking down at the list in his hand, he lifted it slightly and said, "Just here to keep the books."
Taras paused, thinking Nicholas was being modest and gave him a title of his own, "Oh—so you're the investment consultant Master Unknown invited?"
Albatross, who had been watching quietly, was amused by Taras's choice of title and stifled his laughter behind his hand.
At this, Arabella looked up, gave Taras a bright smile, and added, "I bought him."
Taras stood there for a long moment, then muttered a silent curse.
So Arabella bought a person on the black market and brought him out openly?
And he was here to keep the books?
Typically, people bought in such black-market deals were women kept as sex slaves, used to serve in bed. Occasionally, men were bought as breeding stock or as playthings for rich women.
But Arabella bought him, not for the bed or for pleasure, but to keep the books?
Was it because there were already too many lining up to warm Arabella's bed?
Thinking along these lines, Taras realized he had come here today hoping to invite Arabella to bed.
Actually, Taras misunderstood half of it. When Arabella first bought Nicholas, she intended to use him for a few nights and then get rid of him.
Unexpectedly, after a few conversations with Arabella due to his injury, his role shifted to someone useful outside of bed.
Nicholas, bound by others, had lost his freedom in the war-torn land, forced to lower himself and endure humiliation. Arabella had no intention of using him in bed, which instead relieved him greatly. As a result, he devoted himself wholeheartedly to applying his skills beneath the sheets, giving his utmost effort.
