Ferdinand stood in line with a crew cut, dressed in the standard prison uniform, quietly waiting for his turn to get food.
A few burly men in front subtly glanced back and exchanged eye signals with those behind, silently encircling Ferdinand, preparing to make their move.
Ferdinand remained calm. He had seen such scenes countless times, and didn't find it surprising. Instead, he saw it as a chance to practice his skills.
When the other threw a punch, Ferdinand deliberately allowed it to come close, then swiftly sidestepped, his elbow bending sharply as he drove it into the man's chest. The tall, muscular man, at least half a head taller than Ferdinand, was struck squarely in the chest, and a spray of blood erupted from his mouth. Without losing momentum, Ferdinand twisted his head to dodge another punch, grabbed the man's collar, and with a swift motion, hurled him towards the few who were charging from behind.
The movement was clean and decisive, with no hesitation. Ferdinand then grabbed a fork from the nearby table, twisted his wrist, and accurately pinned it into the hand of the man who had leapt at him from behind.
The blade flashed briefly, and before the attacker could react, Ferdinand had already seized the leader, holding the fork against his carotid artery.
"Move again, and I'll kill you!"
The air around them froze. Everyone stopped moving; after all, they were here for money, not to risk their lives. The prison warden, who had been watching from the shadows, saw that the fight was over, and quietly called for the guards to step in and resolve the situation.
Although Julius held a position of great power and influence, Ferdinand was no nameless pawn. Julius's plan to have Ferdinand killed in prison would not bode well for the warden. So, he chose to allow them to play their own game. As long as Ferdinand could fend for himself, it would not be his problem, and he could still report back to Julius without issue.
Another chaotic brawl, like a farce, was subdued by the arriving guards. Ferdinand casually grabbed a torn cloth nearby, bit down on one end, and wrapped the other around his injured wrist. Then, he shifted his gaze, fixing a half-smile, half-amused look on the warden hiding in the shadows, before turning on his heel and walking away.
As Ferdinand walked down the prison corridor, he thought of Arabella. He didn't know where she was, but the fact that Julius was so desperate to deal with him clearly meant that Arabella had caused Julius a huge setback. Thinking of Arabella made his heart ache.
He missed Arabella so much, and he both regretted and felt relieved. Regretting that he had been captured and locked up here, unable to stop those petty people outside from bothering her; yet relieved by his decision, having risked everything for her. A woman like Arabella, who was trustworthy and kept her promises, would surely remember him and eventually come to rescue him.
How wonderful it was to have Arabella keep him in her heart.
*
When Nicholas received the information, he was changing the bandages on his wrist. The pain from the healing wound pierced his heart, making his face look grim, but then he couldn't help but smile with joy.
"I knew it—this is great, this is great," Nicholas exclaimed, spinning around in excitement. His private doctor followed closely behind, urgently calling, "Leader, be careful with your injury."
At this moment, Nicholas couldn't care less about the injury on his hand, especially since it had been dealt by Arabella herself. The pain only heightened his excitement, a reminder of the raw, close encounter he had shared with her. The feeling of being face-to-face with her was intoxicating—no longer did he need to hide in the shadows, observing her from afar.
After the excitement passed, Nicholas took the intelligence report and examined it carefully. His previously cheerful expression darkened in an instant.
"George? Who is this guy?"
"Boss, George's information hasn't been updated in our database for two or three years." His trusted aide knew what his boss needed and had already pulled up the information on George, though he was a bit puzzled. After all, the intelligence network of Night Owl reached every corner of the world, and not only was it able to track high-profile figures, even ordinary people's information could be updated every six months thanks to their terrifying intelligence-gathering capabilities.
It was highly unusual that there had been no updates on George's information for two years.
Nicholas furrowed his brow, scrolling through the information on George. His gaze finally settled on a note mentioning his sister, Priscilla: "Pull up the information on a woman named Priscilla. Compare it with this. If I'm not mistaken, there's something suspicious about this brother and sister."
Nicholas looked at the two intelligence reports in his hands, raising an eyebrow. His appearance was refined, elegant, and his eyes were deep-set with sharp contours, his long, narrow eyes often exuding an irresistible charm. He had subtly altered his appearance to resemble Cyrus, though he refused to make it an exact match. This contradiction and obsessive fervor could only be the result of someone like him, who had been chasing after Arabella for so many years.
"Recheck! Find everything about Priscilla! Collect every detail about her, down to the minute!"
Not long after Nicholas received the news, Julius, far away in Pujivang, also received word of Arabella's appearance at Doma. However, after receiving the news, he became unexpectedly calm. Propping his head up with one hand, his gaze was bold and fiery, locking onto the faint, distant figure in the photo with an intensity that could not be denied.
It was definitely Arabella—but her skills were too good. No one dared get close enough to her to take clear photos. All the pictures were blurry or distant, either showing her back or a side profile. No one dared risk a close-up shot of her face.
"Arabella, I really want to fxxck you to death." Julius's eyes burned with desire as he reached out to trace the silhouette in the photo, his words dripping with a ferocity as if he wanted to tear her apart.
"Scorpion!"
"Boss, what's the order?"
"Go contact George. Tell him I want to make a profitable deal with him."
Scorpion was taken aback. He remembered how his boss had been furious not long ago over a setback in his sexual affairs. How was it that now, after Arabella was alive again, his boss was more intent on scheming against her? If they lost Arabella, their boss's sexual satisfaction might be gone for good.
Julius naturally noticed Scorpion's confusion. He snorted but had no intention of explaining.
Arabella's ability to come out of the Mountains range meant she had finally caught her breath, and her reputation had spread even farther. A woman with the power to awe both the underworld and the upper world—she couldn't be swayed by just a few flattering words or some small favors.
If he wanted to get close to Arabella, he now realized that brute force wouldn't work. He had to use both soft and hard tactics. To attract her attention, he needed to have enough value to offer.
While everyone harbored their own secrets, Arabella sat inside the General's Mansion, drinking. She had indulged quite a bit, now leaning lazily against the cushions of her seat, her posture relaxed. Her hand casually swirled the wine in her glass, and the light in her eyes shimmered, reflecting the brilliance of the chandelier above. She smiled softly at George, who stood beside her, holding the wine bottle. His features were deep and sculpted, his expression subtly restrained, as he poured her another drink.
Arabella continued to drink, accepting each glass with apparent ease. She lowered her eyes, smiling as she took the cup from George and drank it in one go. As she swallowed, his gaze fixed on the smooth, delicate curve of her throat, watching as it subtly moved with each motion. A surge of desire rose swiftly from deep within him, too powerful to suppress.
Unable to resist any longer, he closed the distance, pressing his body against Arabella's. The softness of her skin beneath him sent a wave of disbelief through his mind, as if it were something too incredible to fully grasp. This soft and delicate body, what kind of magic does it conceal? It destroys all enemies that stand in her way. The scent of wine wafted between her lips and teeth, fueling the fire within him, making it burn hotter and hotter. He had intended to indulge just a little, but to his surprise, he found himself growing ever more greedy, never satisfied. His kiss spread from her lips, rough and fierce, like a hunting dog, long poised and waiting for the right moment, its breath sweeping across her unhidden.
Arabella was pressed down by George, and she stretched out her limbs very neatly, as if George was riding on top of her and doing whatever they wanted. She smiled and raised her eyebrows, looking particularly wild.
The two were entangled, their clothes half-removed, on the verge of a fierce clash, when suddenly, a servant's respectful voice echoed from outside: "Miss Cardew has arrived."
Arabella felt the man's body stiffen in an instant, though he seemed to do so unconsciously. She watched him rise quickly, hastily putting on his clothes. As for her, she was unbothered, her attire half-draped, raising her wine glass. Through the crystal-clear surface of the cup, she glimpsed a delicate figure entering, stepping with graceful poise.
The true owner had come!
