To be honest, Arabella's appearance wasn't anything particularly striking; she was by no means a beautiful woman.
But her soul was profoundly stirring, and simply gazing upon it was already a feast for the senses.
Arabella's spirit and vitality, though not the result of deliberate cultivation, had been forged through the passage of time, honed to perfection—far beyond what any ordinary woman could hope to match.
At first glance, one might not see the arrogance and defiance deep in her bones. But to those of her kind, everything about her seemed just right. No matter how you looked at it, she was beautiful.
George knelt halfway, his gaze fixed entirely on Arabella.
So it's Arabella!
He had originally been very vague about the name Arabella, after all, from so far away, even though her name rang out, it was just noise to him.
Now, standing face to face with the real person, the once vague and abstract concept had, in this moment, been imprinted in full clarity.
Then, his memory drifted back, and he remembered where Arabella came from—the Mountain Range, a hell on earth. She had come out with her people quietly. If it hadn't been for his accidental and fortunate interest in her, he might not have noticed her in time before she caused a storm in the country.
His heart felt as though it carried a drum, its beat resounding like thunder. He tilted his head, gazing at the unveiled Arabella, and the joy in his chest could not be contained, blooming into a bright, carefree smile.
He had sharp brows and bright, starry eyes, with a strikingly handsome and well-defined profile. When he smiled, his brows and eyes arched, revealing symmetrical dimples on either side, forming a tender, soulful curve.
Arabella watched him with a calm gaze, surprised by his unexpected action. She reached out, lightly brushing her fingers through his hair, which was slightly coarse to the touch. Her lips curved into a soft smile, but hidden within it was a cold, lethal aura.
"You seem pleased that I'm Arabella?"
"I told you, who you are doesn't matter. But you being Arabella makes my blood boil, makes me excited and trembling." He was speaking the truth—strong people are drawn to strong people, a clash and merging of souls. The weak are nothing more than temporary playthings for the strong, discarded once used.
The smile on Arabella's face faded slightly, and the hand she used to stroke George's hair slowly moved downward, gently squeezing the back of his neck.
George did not struggle. He knew very well that his life was hanging by a thread.
But it didn't matter. He had value that could be used by Arabella.
The woman he loved, he was willing to give everything for her.
This crazy and resolute approach, he believed, was especially worthwhile when applied to Arabella. To give all that he had, to offer everything—how long she chose to use him was how long he would remain by her side. If she used him for a lifetime, then he would be with her for a lifetime. His sacrifice would thus hold true meaning.
"I can lend you a helping hand. In this country, I will give you all the power and glory."
Arabella slightly furrowed her brows.
She was cold-hearted and could not understand sacrifices made for love. Her intuition told her that George wasn't lying, but she found his approach laughable and childish, and she looked down on him.
She smiled and slowly withdrew her hand, whispering meaningfully into his ear, "Then how do you intend to prove yourself?"
As the words were spoken, her hand, which had retracted from the back of his neck, slowly traced the contours of his face—his brows, his eyes, the tip of his nose—before sliding down to his moist lips, drawing out his gradually deepening breath.
"Do as you wish, is that okay?" George parted her lips, her gaze beneath her lashes glinting with a fiery desire. Her tongue lightly brushed across Arabella's fingers, carrying a playful, provocative hint.
Arabella was a woman who valued no life, cold and powerful, yet he was deeply infatuated with her.
*
Arabella left on her own.
After leaving, she did not hurry back. Instead, she discreetly hid her tracks and blended into the crowd.
The coup was indeed fully under George's control. The upheaval was so small that even after leaving the palace, it barely caused any reaction among the people.
The streets were crowded with people, bustling with activity as everyone minded their own business.
Everyone had their own way of life, whether they were small or important figures. In the end, they only cared about the living, not the dead.
Arabella circled around the town and, having detected no sign of being followed, became even more suspicious.
She did not trust human nature.
Because she herself had no humanity. Therefore, she judged others by her own cold heart and believed everyone else had malicious intentions.
Yet, the world had always been this harsh. She had endured betrayal, deceit, and abandonment, and long ago, she had declared an inner war. However, it never showed on her face; she met everything with a smile, masking it all beneath a cheerful facade.
Cyrus had taught her to smile, and she used it as a disguise.
After nightfall, Arabella returned to her temporary residence.
The lights blazed brightly. Raven's skill was unmatched, able to distinguish even the faintest sound with clarity. Arabella made no effort to conceal her movements, so it was he who rushed out of the room first. Only when he saw the figure standing at the door did he let out a barely perceptible sigh of relief.
For the first time, his gaze at Arabella under the cover of night was filled with both grievance and intensity, his eyes slightly red, wishing he could just capture her on the spot and never let her leave his side again, not even for a moment.
"I heard you were taken away, I was really worried." He was genuinely anxious, forgetting all about his identity.
He regarded Arabella as the woman he loved, regardless of her feelings. Even if she saw him as a dog or a weapon, he didn't care about those labels. It was precisely because of the bond between the dog and its owner, and the constant presence of the gun, that he could stay by her side day and night—she didn't abandon him, and he would never leave her.
A group of people followed closely, rushing out as soon as they heard the news. When they saw Arabella had returned, there were all kinds of reactions.
Bramwell couldn't hold back any longer. He watched helplessly as Arabella walked away with another man—only those who had experienced it knew the bitterness of such a moment.
"The other party clearly had ill intentions, Master Unknown, why did you follow them? They even set up an ambush to try and kill me. Luckily, I'm good with my skills, so I managed to dodge it."
Arabella caught the key point: "Someone tried to kill you?"
Bramwell, not suspecting anything, quickly added more details: "Yes! It was obviously premeditated. As soon as you left, someone took advantage of the chaos and shot at me. Look—" He rolled up his sleeve to reveal his arm, which was bandaged and wrapped tightly, clearly a serious injury.
Of course, the injury was intentional.
With those people's skills, it was like an egg striking a rock. But without any injury, how could he attract Arabella's attention?
Arabella chuckled softly, thinking back to George's words when she had left: "Arabella, I'm sorry, I was afraid I might accidentally hurt your men. At first, I didn't know your identity and thought you were married, so I ordered someone to secretly kill the men following you."
This was an unexpected coincidence.
Arabella, of course, was reluctant to reveal her thoughts. She simply lifted a finger, gently tracing the bandages wrapped around Bramwell's wound, her eyes gleaming with a faint, starry light.
"It must hurt, right? I'll go to your room later and take a look at your injuries."
Bramwell's eyes lit up, completely flattered. He unconsciously rubbed his hands together, which caused his injury to start bleeding again, but he didn't even notice.
Arabella's words immediately caused the other men to cast cold glances in her direction.
Raven and Caracal remained silent, their years of training keeping them composed.
But Taras didn't have the same reservations. He immediately complained, "Master Unknown, I've been worried about you all afternoon. Don't you think you could at least care a little for me and come visit my room?"
Arabella gave a faint smile. In the darkness of the night, her eyes were completely black, exuding a chilling, eerie coldness. Yet, the words she spoke carried an undertone of lingering affection, woven with a touch of tenderness: "You miss me? Well, wait for me then. After I check on Bramwell, I'll come to your room."
Well, with that one sentence, both the first and second halves of the plan were taken care of.
Taras snorted in his heart, thinking, "Why do I have to be the second half?"
But he couldn't say it out loud—after all, Arabella had only said she would check on Bramwell's injury. What if she was just going to take a look?
