In the state guesthouse banquet hall, bright lights illuminated the room as attendees sat around the long table, engaging in hushed conversations and lighthearted exchanges.
Since it was an unofficial banquet, Marcellus had removed his suit jacket. Beneath, he wore a finely tailored, silver-gray striped shirt. The sleeves were unbuttoned and casually rolled up, revealing prominent wrist bones and the faint, powerful contours of his forearms. Seated upright, his posture was impeccable, exuding an air of elegance and vigor.
Seated beside him were the Prime Minister, his wife, and their daughter. They had faithfully supported Marcellus for years and had risen as one of Scalien's prominent new elite families. The daughter, aged twenty-three, had graduated from a top domestic university and recently joined the Department of Defense. At this moment, with her long hair flowing freely and clad in a moon-white silk gown, she appeared especially graceful and captivating.
News of Marcellus's annulled engagement wasn't publicly announced but had quietly spread among government officials. Even if the Darnley family hadn't fallen from grace, the match no longer suited Marcellus, considering the Ackerley family' rapid ascent over the past few years. After all, Marcellus now held both military and political power in his hands. Though he wasn't yet the official head of state, his father, stricken by grief after his wife's passing two years ago, had long ceased to involve himself in governance, entrusting the full management of the nation to Marcellus.
At today's banquet, several members of parliament brought their families, with those who had daughters going to great lengths to impress. It wasn't just Marcellus's status that attracted them; his striking looks, impeccable character, and undeniable competence made him the ideal marriage prospect—an opportunity no family could afford to miss.
At the banquet, Marcellus exuded charm and poise. He was well aware of the schemes brewing in the minds of those officials. In the past, to him, an arranged marriage was nothing more than a transaction between families —whether it was with Ivy or any other woman. They would live a life of polite distance, as mere companions. But now, that was impossible. Arabella had circled back into his life, and both the Ackerley family and all of Scalien were under his command.
His feelings for Arabella—whether too much love or too much hatred—tormented him endlessly. When he found out back then that she and his brother planned to leave, it felt as though his world had collapsed. The two people he loved most were about to abandon him. In that moment, hatred outweighed love, and he wanted nothing more than to drag them all down together. If they were to live or die, they would do so bound to him, inseparable for eternity.
The banquet ended flawlessly, with hosts and guests alike delighted. Sitting in his private car, Marcellus yanked off his tie and ordered, "Turn around. Take me to the hospital."
The security chief in the passenger seat was surprised. "General, it's almost midnight. Aren't you going to rest?"
"Just go. Turn around now."
Marcellus rubbed his temples. It had been days since he'd last seen Arabella. Although Taras and the others were guarding her, and he received constant updates, he still felt unbearably restless. In the years when she wasn't around, he hadn't felt this way, but now that she was back, he found himself utterly unable to control his emotions.
That night, when he saw her wake up and refuse to spare him even a glance, he felt a sharp ache at the top of his head, as if his skull was about to split. He was consumed with a furious desire to tear the woman apart, to devour her flesh and strip her skin. Yet, after several slaps, Arabella still wouldn't look at him, while his own mind boiled, teetering on the brink of madness.
Outside the hospital room stood a row of tall, strong special forces soldiers, fully armed. The VIP ward of the military hospital had been completely cleared out for Arabella. The entire corridor was empty, guarded only by meticulously selected medical staff and soldiers at every entrance.
The doctor, holding a medical report, walked to the door. The two soldiers standing on either side saluted him, and he returned the salute. "The patient's test results today were fine, but I wanted to check on her nighttime condition just to be sure," he said.
The soldiers didn't question him. As a globally renowned authority and a figure of compassion, the doctor was known for treating even the most heinous criminals with the same clinical professionalism.
After entering and closing the door, the doctor noticed a new face among the guards lounging on the luxurious sofa near the window. He wasn't surprised by the rotation. The two exchanged a brief glance before mutually averting their eyes in tacit understanding.
Bramwell was dressed in Scalien's traditional attire—a black short-collared jacket paired with matching trousers. His tall and lean figure carried the outfit with a touch of refined elegance and casual charm. There was no trace of the ruthless terrorist who once killed without hesitation.
The doctor quietly walked to the bedside. Arabella lay with her eyes closed, her body hooked up to various medical instruments. Already thin, she looked even more fragile from her recent lack of nourishment. To a casual observer, she might appear to be an ordinary young woman, not the fearsome Master Unknown who struck terror into so many.
Earlier, during a routine check, the blanket had been left slightly askew. The doctor noticed it and instinctively reached out to cover Arabella properly. But in the next moment, he was met with a pair of deep eyes—sharp, piercing, and utterly devoid of any confusion. In the next second, the doctor turned his head toward Bramwell, who was seated on the sofa. To his surprise, Bramwell was even faster—leaping up and closing the distance to the bedside in just a few strides.
Before Bramwell could speak, the doctor quietly asked, "Master Unknown, do you have any instructions for us?"
Arabella responded calmly, then met Bramwell's reddened eyes and asked with a faint smile, "Why do you look so upset?"
"Arabella, do you think I'm just feeling wronged? I was scared half to death!" Bramwell exclaimed.
Now that Bramwell saw Arabella's eyes open, the weight on his heart from the past few days finally lifted. Though her injuries had been part of her original plan, the sight of her teetering on the edge of death had nearly pushed him past his limit. Seeing her on the brink of death a few days ago had nearly shattered his rationality. Were it not for Caracal, disguised as a safehouse guard, passing him updates, he might not have been able to control himself and would've refused to leave her side for even a moment.
Arabella clutched her chest, her expression cold and deadly, but a faint smile lingered on her lips. "Don't worry. I won't die."
Caracal, disguised as the doctor, saw Bramwell still caught up in his emotions and quickly interjected. "Master Unknown, what's the plan now? Although the doctor exaggerated your condition a bit, your cardiopulmonary function is indeed deteriorating, and the chest bleeding requires long-term rest."
Arabella waved her hand dismissively. "It's not a problem. I recover quickly. Just tell him to keep quiet when he notices my improvement."
Caracal couldn't fathom how such severe injuries—broken bones and internal bleeding—could heal so quickly. But seeing Arabella's confidence, he trusted she wasn't exaggerating.
He nodded respectfully and asked, "When does Master Unknown plan to make a move?"
Arabella turned to Bramwell. "AE has gotten involved?"
Bramwell nodded. "The specifics of what he and Nicholas are doing are unclear."
Arabella let out a soft snort; she knew exactly what those two would do. She had deliberately asked AE to produce a large batch of specialized drugs. Once he worked overnight to complete them, she instead had Taras smuggle powdered milk. For AE, those drugs couldn't simply go to waste. Someone like him would demand an equal price if she sought his help, and she would still have to guard against the possibility of him stabbing her in the back at any moment.
Now, AE was using the guise of helping her to secure Nicholas's assistance, effortlessly breaking into the Scalien drug market. Meanwhile, as the Governor of Pujivang, he was capitalizing on Scalien's rising geopolitical importance to incite further chaos for his own gain.
It wasn't so much that Nicholas had drawn him into the game, but rather that AE had seized the opportunity, gaining double benefits from one move. He could even win favor with her later.
"No rush. Let them tire themselves out first." "Caracal, don't come here for now. Today, the Faceless Ghost already sensed something. The doctor is a professional, and repeated impersonations increase the risk of exposure."
Caracal bristled slightly. "Master Unknown, don't underestimate me. I prepare thoroughly for every disguise. Aside from my master, no one can see through me—not even the Faceless Ghost."
Arabella made no rebuttal upon hearing this—it was simply her way. She spoke softly but acted with ruthless precision; she disliked being in the spotlight and avoided arguments. Yet, when she made a move, it was always calculated to be both lethal and utterly decisive.
Her silence sent a chill down Caracal's spine. Realizing he had crossed a line, he immediately bowed his head in apology. "Master Unknown, I was arrogant."
Arabella never dwelled on trivial matters. She was about to speak when her gaze suddenly sharpened, her browlines cutting like blades as she fixed her eyes on the doorway.
Seeing her reaction, Bramwell instantly darted back to the sofa, while Caracal quickly masked his expression. He calmly pulled the bed curtain around Arabella and turned to pretend to check the nearby equipment.
Within minutes, the door to the hospital room opened, and the guard outside was interrupted mid-report: "The doctor is inside." The soundproofing of the VIP suite was top-notch, but the commotion outside couldn't escape Arabella's keen hearing.
Disguised as the doctor, Caracal feigned surprise as he turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Marcellus entering the ward. "General, what brings you here so late at night?" he asked with a hint of astonishment.
Marcellus nodded slightly and asked in a soft tone, "Why are you here so late as well, Sir?"
Caracal replied with a convincing air, "The patient's condition wasn't great during the daytime check-up. I was a bit uneasy, so I decided to take one last look tonight."
Not suspecting anything, Marcellus responded courteously, "Thank you for your care, Sir. You should get some rest."
After Caracal departed, only Marcellus and Bramwell remained in the room. Marcellus glanced toward the bed, noticing the drawn curtains. Through the slight gap, he could faintly see Arabella lying there quietly, her figure inexplicably appearing fragile. His heart softened. It was rare for Marcellus to have such a quiet moment with Arabella. Unable to resist, he stepped forward, intending to approach her.
"General Ackerley, have you been drinking?" Bramwell suddenly asked, stopping Marcellus in his tracks. Marcellus had indeed drunk quite a bit at the banquet. While he wasn't intoxicated, he likely carried a noticeable scent of alcohol. Arabella was gravely injured, and with the scent of alcohol lingering on him, he knew better than to get too close.
Marcellus paused for a moment before changing direction, heading toward the sofa where Bramwell was seated. Sitting down beside him, he finally spoke, "I didn't think it through."
Bramwell shook his head nonchalantly. "Arabella's condition doesn't matter much to me. But the sooner she recovers, the sooner we can begin her trial."
Marcellus didn't respond. He had no intention of revealing his lack of interest in a public trial for Arabella. Instead, he asked out of curiosity, "Why are you on guard duty tonight?"
"Taras had something urgent come up and asked me to cover for him. I wasn't busy at the safe house, so I came," Bramwell replied.
