Marcellus had just returned from a small-scale border battle when he heard that Ivy had left the Ackerley family on her own.
Since the fall of the Darnley family and the inhumane treatment Ivy endured, she had completely transformed. From the naive young lady, untouched by the world's troubles, to an independent, strong-willed woman with her own convictions. Though the process had been harsh, it could hardly be called bad. Yet, Ivy's relentless pursuit of revenge, her impatience to achieve her goals, often led to self-inflicted harm.
She had become stronger, but her opponent was Arabella. This was probably fate trying to destroy her by first driving her mad. Even he, if he faced Arabella, wouldn't have a three in ten chance of winning, let alone someone like her who had only learned the basics.
Marcellus instinctively furrowed his brows. He had no extra feelings for Ivy. He was only looking out for her because of his old friend Quentin. If Ivy didn't want revenge, he could ensure her safety and comfort for the rest of her life and eventually help her find a good husband to restore the glory of the Darnley family.
But if she sought revenge on Arabella, it was likely to be a one-way trip.
As much as he thought this, Marcellus still made a call to the head of the intelligence agency stationed in Kewa, instructing them to monitor Ivy's movements closely and protect her discreetly if she was ever located.
He had done his best.
After hanging up, Marcellus unknowingly walked into Cyrus's room. It was silent, but the image of the young man, his voice and smile, lingered in his mind.
Decades of life pass in a rush, like a train fading into the distance, stopping to let passengers on and off, coming and going, meeting and parting. In the end, some will never cross paths again, while others, a single parting, will mark the rest of their lives. Arabella will return, but Cyrus will never come back. His fleeting moment of jealousy in the past has led him to regret and to linger on the thought of her, yet, having strayed from his course, he will never find his way back.
Thinking of this, Marcellus's nose tingled, but he suppressed all his emotions and expressionlessly closed the door—he was waiting for Arabella to one day open this door herself.
Unfortunately, Ivy did not return to Kewa as Marcellus had expected, to seek out the elders or uncles of the former organization.
Since the great changes, she had grown and realized deeply that those people were utterly unreliable. If they had been truly loyal, the Darnley family wouldn't have ended up in this situation.
So she bypassed Kewa and went through Island to Pujivang to seek out Julius, a powerful ally who, like her, had experienced the pain of his entire family's destruction.
Before she came to seek him out, she had investigated him—young and handsome, the new governor, beloved by the people. He had dismantled long-standing criminal organizations, implemented many reforms for the public good, and shown great compassion for the poor. He was a great leader who brought hope to the people, more revered than his father had ever been. Most crucially, he had once been a missionary. Had his family not been slaughtered, he would have become a devout follower of peace. Such a person was truly worthy of trust.
Julius, dressed in his governor's uniform, glimmering with gold, stood tall and dignified. As he attended a meeting discussing new disaster relief and poverty alleviation policies, he listened to the officials' eager brainstorming. Without meaning to, he lowered his head, and a cold smile subtly played at the corners of his lips. He had always enjoyed manipulating people's hearts—nothing delighted him more than this.
By day, he allocated funds to help the people, and by night, the drugs he distributed made these fools obediently send their money back to him. He created job opportunities, improved living conditions, stimulated the economy, and controlled the entire country.
What an interesting thing it was—that Arabella had expanded his territory for him, allowing him to accomplish everything so perfectly.
For example, at this moment, it was again because of Arabella that he was given a new toy.
After the meeting, Julius met with Ivy, listening with pity to her cries and pleas, then responding with equal sorrow and indignation, playing the role of the victim to perfection.
"Miss Darnley, please stay here and rest for now. As for Arabella, you should let go of the idea of revenge. Now that the Darnley family is falling apart, as a fragile woman, seeking revenge will only bring danger," Julius spoke gently, his beautiful, sharp eyes sparkling with intelligence, his gaze so captivating that it was almost hypnotic.
Ivy's heart stirred. Such a clean and pure man, when she spoke, her moist lips parted slightly, their color so vivid, like the blossoming of spring, carrying a subtle, tantalizing allure.
But soon, she regained her composure. She was no longer the innocent, pure girl from a respectable family, and no longer worthy of such a fine man.
Ivy replied softly, "My brother naturally left me something good."
Julius quietly absorbed this information, but his expression remained unchanged as he gently advised, "Revenge corrupts the soul. Miss Darnley, you should think carefully before taking any action."
"Why are you so weak? Don't you want to avenge the blood of your family?" Ivy became agitated. The thought of her brother's brutal death and the horrific experiences she endured filled her with rage. But once the aggressive words were out, she immediately regretted them. Such a warm, considerate, and well-mannered young man had surely endured his own share of heart-wrenching pain.
Sure enough, Julius lowered his head, his back to the light, his expression so difficult to read in the shadows that Ivy instinctively thought she had said something wrong and hurt his feelings.
In reality, Julius could barely suppress a sneer. He had orchestrated the deaths of the four members of his family, and now someone was coming to him, talking about revenge.
In this day and age—there were really so many foolish and laughable people.
"Sorry, I was too emotional."
Julius waved his hand, showing a fragile expression as he said, "It's nothing. Miss Darnley, don't take it to heart."
After this incident, Ivy's fondness for this sensible and courteous young man grew immensely. That night, as she lay in the guest room of the governor's residence, her thoughts began to drift. Unbeknownst to her, while she thought she was surrounded by angels, the one she thought to be an angel was, in fact, revealing his fangs and dark wings, shedding his disguise and showing his true demonic form, preparing to strike.
*
Arabella had discussed two meetings in night, and indeed, they were two —though they were merely two quiet relocations.
Sometimes, plans don't keep up with changes. But when the change turns out to be better than the plan, ordinary people can't help but rejoice and embrace the unexpected shift.
However, Arabella was not that kind of person.
She did not take advantage of bargains, especially those offered by fate.
As the saying goes, the free lunch often carry poison.
So, when George handed her this "lunch," Arabella would not take it.
When Bramwell was pinned to the bed by Arabella, whispering sweet words, he felt his mind go dizzy, and all his restraint dissolved in an instant.
A spark could start a blazing fire, and desire spread throughout his entire body, gathering at the swollen area below him.
His gaze lowered, fixated on the lips just inches away, moving with every word. What was being said, Bramwell could no longer make out.
Only seeking to conquer and plunder, following the desires of the heart, lips and teeth inextricably close.
His kiss was domineering, as if driven by a man's innate desire to seize and conquer. Even in his tenderness, there was an unmistakable demand, a forceful claim in the arena of love between the sexes.
Arabella, of course, did not reject him.
Kissing and making love were as natural as eating—simple, normal acts in the flow of life.
However, she had things to attend to today and didn't have time for this indulgence.
The smile on her face concealed the profound calm in her eyes. After the deep kiss, her breath remained steady as she gave a command to the slightly breathless Bramwell: "Take some skilled men and bypass the River, head straight to Jingle."
Just as Bramwell was still savoring the moment, these words from Arabella chilled him to the bone.
Crossing the border river straight into Jingle?
This was a risky move.
Bramwell opened his mouth to speak, but after their eyes met, he saw a fleeting glint in Arabella's eyes. Their silent understanding was mutual.
He nodded. He had no objections to Arabella's arrangements.
But he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. No matter how capable Arabella was, he still couldn't stop worrying.
The feeling of anxious longing, as if his heart and body were both on fire, left him struggling to keep his composure. Instinctively, he lowered his gaze slightly, his voice low as he asked, "Do you trust me?"
She really didn't trust him.
Or perhaps no one was worthy of her trust.
But sometimes, trust or distrust was just a blurred boundary.
Arabella smiled gently at him, casually loosening her clothing, not intending to directly answer his question.
Bramwell received no answer, a faint sense of disappointment rising within him. Yet he knew that Arabella's willingness to use him meant she had already crossed the barrier of distrust. With that thought, he swiftly rolled over, pulling her into his embrace and pressing her onto the bed. The intense motion made the bed creak under their weight. Bramwell's gaze was fiery, almost tender, as he nuzzled his cheek against Arabella's neck, his posture one of complete trust.
"It doesn't matter if you don't trust me. As long as you trust that I can get the job done. We can't take anyone to Jingle; it's too easy to be discovered. I'll go alone."
Arabella didn't respond to his words. After locking eyes with him for a moment, she turned and pushed him back down beneath her.
Only at this moment would Arabella let her guard down slightly and ask a question she had long wanted to ask: "Was your leader tortured before he died?"
In the darkness, Bramwell heard this sudden question. His heart softened like cotton, easily swayed by Arabella above him.
His Arabella was so stunning, so fearsome, yet so heartbreaking.
"He wasn't in much pain. He was very calm before he died. He just—worried about you."
Arabella didn't respond. For once, her thoughts wandered, and she found herself hoping that one day, after returning to her homeland, she might be able to dig the leader up and bring him back.
*
