After that day, Marcellus left in a hurry, which was hardly surprising. Though it had been a rest day, and the business tower had conveniently been closed for internal renovations, ensuring no casualties, the complete destruction of a high-rise building still dealt a heavy blow to the nation's reputation.
Marcellus not only orchestrated the entire act but also had to play his role to perfection. Upon his return, he convened emergency meetings, mobilized counter-terrorism elites, and even faced questioning from the international tribunal over Arabella's disappearance—delivering a performance nothing short of masterful.
Arabella was held captive for several days. Apart from the two guards she had seen on the first day, she saw no one else. The two were tall and menacing, their fierce gazes betraying their absolute loyalty to Marcellus. Every day, they stuck to a strict routine: administering sedatives and delivering three meals. Beyond that, they spoke no words.
Arabella didn't struggle much. Each time they came, she smiled and said, "Thank you." But once they left, her expression turned venomous as she started moving her limbs. Marcellus, worried about overusing the drugs and harming her, stuck to strict doses—an error bound to cost him.
In this world, only a handful of people knew about her unique constitution—no more than two or three. Now, with Cyrus dead, only one person remained.
On the fifth day, the door to Arabella's room creaked open—
Marcellus entered the room, dressed sharply in formal attire, likely having just left a meeting. However, his shirt collar was undone, and his tie was nowhere to be seen. The smell of alcohol lingered heavily around him.
As he stepped closer, he glanced at Arabella and the leftover food on the table, a cryptic smile playing on his lips. "Arabella, I've shaken off Blade and his team. No one can save you now."
Arabella remained silent. She had always known the police were largely incompetent, though Blade seemed capable enough. If Marcellus had managed to stall him, it likely meant Marcellus had committed all his private forces to the effort. Ironically, this unintentional move could save her significant trouble in the future.
As Marcellus stepped further into the room, he began to undress, the smell of alcohol intensifying. His gaze toward Arabella grew increasingly dangerous.
Arabella frowned. Although she had no intention of escaping at the moment and wasn't confident she could overpower him, the sight of this man's face—so similar to Cyrus's—touching her filled her with immediate disgust. She stepped back until she was nearly pressed against the wall, letting out a derisive snort. "Get lost."
Marcellus remained unfazed. Taking a step closer, he removed his shirt, revealing his muscular physique. His expression carried a cold struggle as he looked at Arabella. "I should have acted back in the bathroom a few days ago," he said flatly. "But no matter—giving you time to recover just means you'll have more strength now."
Arabella didn't think much of sex—hardly a challenge. But this was Marcellus. The very thought of it made her skin crawl, and her fists clenched instinctively as she considered her next move. In terms of skill, Marcellus was far beneath her. But in a fight between experts, even the smallest disadvantage could be fatal. Injured and drugged, she was undeniably at a disadvantage. Killing others was never an issue, but dealing with Marcellus was another matter—there was no guarantee of victory.
As Arabella hesitated, weighing her options, Marcellus made his move to grab her. Without hesitation, Arabella launched into a spinning airborne kick, followed by a throat-piercing strike. Her movements were sharp and efficient. If not for Marcellus's quick reflexes and her own sluggishness from the drugs, her fingers would've gone clean through his throat.
Marcellus halted his advance, a flicker of astonishment crossing his eyes. "Didn't expect you to withstand that much sedative. Should I commend you for being so resilient?"
Arabella flexed her wrist, her eyes glinting with a savage light. Her movements had slowed considerably. Under normal circumstances, Marcellus would already be dead.
Without wasting another word, Arabella moved in an instant, lunging forward with a punch. Marcellus sidestepped, pressing himself against the wall as her fist slammed into it. A deafening crack echoed, and a noticeable dent was left in the surface. Marcellus barely had time to glance at the damage before Arabella followed with a sweeping kick. He instinctively raised his arm to block, but the sheer force behind her strike sent him flying. He staggered several steps before regaining his balance.
Unbelievable!
Marcellus was well aware of Arabella's formidable combat skills—he still remembered how she had once taken down a tiger barehanded. But he hadn't expected her to maintain such terrifying power, even under these adverse conditions.
This realization irritated him deeply. No longer content to merely defend, he shifted his stance and began to counterattack.
The room echoed with the sound of their furious blows. Downstairs, two of Marcellus's subordinates glanced up but made no move to intervene. They followed orders to the letter—if Marcellus didn't call for assistance, they wouldn't act.
Marcellus's counterattack was equally fierce. Seizing an opportunity, he grabbed Arabella by the head and slammed it hard against the wall. Without hesitation, Arabella reacted swiftly, grabbing a chair with one hand and smashing it directly over Marcellus's head.
The two fought viciously, evenly matched. Arabella delivered a flying kick to Marcellus's chest, only for him to immediately respond with a backhand strike to her spine. Their brawl spilled from the room into the hallway, where their kicks and punches shattered the second-floor railing. Both tumbled down together, crashing to the ground floor in a heap.
After falling from the second floor to the first, the two of them seemed utterly unscathed, like invincible warriors. That brief fight was merely a warm-up. Their gazes locked, dangerous and unyielding. Arabella licked the blood from the cut on her lip, then spat it out without a word. She glanced at the two cautious subordinates standing nearby and mocked, "What's the matter? Can't beat me on your own and need backup?"
Marcellus's sharp eyes bore into Arabella as he asked abruptly, "How long has it been since you ate?"
Arabella froze, caught off guard by the sudden, seemingly irrelevant question. She had little guard up against the food delivered to her—there was no need. Marcellus, keeping her confined, could openly inject her with sedatives if he wanted to incapacitate her; there was no reason for underhanded methods. Besides, she needed to conserve her energy—how could she recover her strength without eating? Yet, after five uneventful days, why was there suddenly reason to question it today?
Marcellus chuckled coldly, his tone icy yet composed. "Because I was coming today. How does AE's colorless, tasteless aphrodisiac feel in your stomach?"
Arabella's expression darkened. She had indeed been careless, never imagining Marcellus would stoop this low.
"I'm well aware of your incredible willpower," Marcellus said with a malicious smirk. "So I made sure they used enough for several doses—today should be quite... stimulating."
Not wasting a second, Arabella launched herself into the air, swiftly closing the distance to the two nearby men. Her hands shot out, gripping their throats in a bid to take them hostage. But Marcellus was faster—he spun into a whirlwind kick, breaking her hold and sending her stumbling back.
With just one exchange, Marcellus immediately noticed her movements were slower. The drug was starting to take effect.
Arabella knew it too. Her strikes were sluggish—against anyone else, it might have sufficed, but not against Marcellus. As she dodged his next move, her footing faltered, and she steadied herself against the sofa, barely regaining her balance.
She could feel her strength fading. AE's infamous aphrodisiac was a force to be reckoned with. Years ago, she had witnessed its devastating effects in his stronghold. Even though she gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay calm, it had taken Bramwell's assistance in the car several times to barely regain a shred of clarity.
At her peak, even a single dose of the pill would have such an effect. Now, in her weakened state with residual sedatives still in her system, the multiple doses of aphrodisiac coursing through her would make tonight incredibly difficult to endure.
The two subordinates, freed from her grip, quickly retreated from the room, shutting the door behind them to leave Arabella and Marcellus alone.
With no one else present, Marcellus's composure cracked, his excitement barely contained. He had no intention of dragging things out any longer. Crossing the room in a few strides, he grabbed Arabella by the collar and shoved her into the sofa.
"Go to hell!" Arabella snarled, her rage boiling over as she pulled him into a knee strike aimed for his neck—a killing blow. Marcellus had underestimated her remaining strength and reacted a fraction too late. Pain flared at his neck, and his vision blurred as the impact sent him spinning.
Fortunately, he dodged in time. Arabella, already weakened, landed her blow on Marcellus's neck with less than a tenth of her strength. Even so, it was enough to seriously injure an ordinary person. But Marcellus bit his tongue, forcing clarity back, and swiftly entangled her. Without her strength, Arabella's slender waist felt almost delicate, especially against Marcellus's heated, powerful frame, their contrasting skin tones carrying an unspoken tension.
The heavy dose of the drug, combined with the lingering sedatives in her system, slowed Arabella's breathing. She felt her entire body damp and weakened, her soft, pliant form firmly restrained as Marcellus carried her back to the second-floor room.
The door to her original holding room had been kicked off its hinges during their earlier fight. Without stopping, Marcellus carried her into the adjacent room instead. He then threw her onto the bed and locked the door behind him with a swift motion.
As soon as Arabella hit the bed, she kicked her legs upward, flipping herself into a perfect kip-up before sweeping her leg in a low arc aimed at Marcellus's lower body. The move was both swift and vicious, leaving even the most skilled opponents incapable of countering Arabella's strike. But among the top ten on the single-combat rankings, their skills were practically superhuman. With little disparity between Marcellus and Arabella's abilities, her move was nothing more than a desperate struggle.
Without a word, Marcellus unbuckled his belt with one hand and used it to tie Arabella's hands securely to the headboard. Arabella scoffed inwardly; a belt couldn't possibly restrain her. She attempted to exert force to free herself, but Marcellus pressed down firmly on her pressure point, immobilizing her.
Before she could retaliate, Marcellus grabbed her jaw and pressed his lips onto hers with a fierce and lingering kiss. His tongue invaded, capturing hers with unyielding intensity. The aphrodisiac was in full effect, and Arabella's body couldn't resist the stimulus. Though her body softened like cotton, her eyes remained defiant as she growled through clenched teeth, "Get off—"
Marcellus's breathing grew heavier. The words "Get off" only provoked him further. With one hand, he tore off his shirt, revealing a body rippling with raw power. From a young age, he had never been one for kindness; years of status and restraint had only masked the untamed wildness that still coursed through his veins.
