Faceless Ghost returned, weary and dust-laden. Dressed entirely in black, he wore dark sunglasses and a pair of leather gloves. In his hand was a stack of newspapers. His expression was icy and severe as he approached Taras, who was deeply engrossed in studying a map. With a sharp motion, he slammed the documents onto the table. "You've been outplayed by Arabella," he said coldly.
Taras froze, then reached for the scattered newspapers on the table. His face changed instantly as he skimmed through them, disbelief etched into his expression. "Impossible! I secretly tested them."
"The things coming from Arabella's hands—how could it be any good?" the Faceless Ghost retorted.
"Granted, it wasn't from the best source, but it was real baby milk. Why would I joke about something like this?" Taras defended.
The Faceless Ghost let out a cold scoff and countered, "Then tell me, why would Arabella have you smuggle that batch of baby milk for no reason? Has she suddenly developed maternal instincts and started caring about infant growth?"
This was precisely the part that had puzzled Taras all along—Arabella never acted without purpose. Someone like her wouldn't lift a finger unless it was a decisive move. Her casual request for him to smuggle baby formula had been suspicious, but at the time, with her orders and the critical juncture in capturing her, Taras couldn't risk raising her suspicion over something seemingly trivial.
"Tell me how you handled that batch of baby formula," Faceless Ghost pressed. "You see, several infants have already been hospitalized with severe illnesses after consuming formula from unknown manufacturers, their tiny bodies poisoned by the hidden dangers lurking within."
Taras fell silent. There was no point in arguing right or wrong at this juncture. Regardless of his prior tests, the facts were laid bare. For reasons unknown, Arabella had poisoned the infant formula. She spared no one—not even infants. The woman was utterly ruthless.
"Arabella, I'll make sure you pay for every single one of your crimes," Taras muttered, his face void of emotion but his eyes burning with fiery hatred.
For now, Taras had to put the search for Arabella on hold. While Marcellus had temporarily eluded her, Taras knew he would eventually leave a trail. The more pressing matter was locating the tainted infant formula. Smuggled through the black market under Arabella's watchful eye, it hadn't seemed suspicious at the time. But now, tracing its path required significant manpower. Fortunately, the Scalien police had already coordinated with the International Police Organization, dedicating resources to follow Taras's orders.
Every second counted—every can of infant formula could mean another infant's life. Taras worked tirelessly through the night, mobilizing his forces. Meanwhile, the Faceless Ghost changed his appearance yet again and infiltrated the black market to gather intel. Unlike contraband, infant formula was easier to trace. However, its distribution had passed through multiple layers, and having been on the market for so long, tracking it down was proving time-consuming.
What Taras hadn't anticipated was seeing AE—or rather, Julius—on Scalien's television broadcast the very next day. As the newly appointed Governor of Pujivang, he was attending the national summit. The news showed Julius stepping off the plane, dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored suit. His smooth hair was impeccably styled, and his tall frame exuded elegance. With a refined smile, he waved courteously at the Scalien officials who had come to welcome him.
The television was broadcasting a report of Julius disembarking from the plane. He was dressed in a sleek, high-end suit with sharp, flowing lines, his hair styled with precision. His posture was impeccable, and his striking features appeared soft and refined, as he smiled politely, gracefully waving to the officials from Scalien who had come to greet him. Taras clenched his fists tightly. After Arabella, the next person he wanted to capture was AE—a man with a heart of a beast, who excelled in disguising himself and manipulating others. Unfortunately, there was no concrete evidence to prove that Julius was AE. Trying to convict a national leader based on mere speculation was simply a pipe dream. AE had calculated this precisely, which is why, years ago, he had schemed to use Arabella as his tool to murder his own family and seize power for himself.
When it came to ruthlessness, Arabella and AE were truly cut from the same cloth—two sides of the same coin.
He simply couldn't fathom how anyone could admire people like them—those without a moral bottom line. These people were bloodstained, irredeemable, and unforgivable. Only execution in front of the world could serve as a deterrent to such criminals.
Even through the television screen, and despite Julius's refined demeanor, Taras could still sense the cunning and ruthlessness lurking beneath that polished exterior.
While Taras was watching Julius on television, Julius himself was at the state guesthouse, where he encountered Jasper—the very man who had once rejected his proposal for cooperation. Jasper was thriving, having quickly consolidated his power with decisive methods. He had reduced domestic unrest, improved the country's overall strength, and gained significant influence on the international stage.
At that moment, Jasper was dressed in traditional Doma attire. A gold-embroidered sash wrapped around his black silk garments, exuding an air of regal elegance and commanding presence. Unlike Julius's fair and handsome face, Jasper's deep-set eyes and sharp, chiseled features were characteristic of his mixed heritage. The two men crossed paths in the corridor, where Scalien's protocol officer eagerly introduced them to one another.
Julius stopped and met Jasper's gaze. He clearly saw Jasper's lips move silently, forming the name: "AE."
Julius responded with a cold laugh and a disdainful expression, silently mouthing back, "Useless."
The accompanying Scalien official instinctively sensed the tension in the air—a suffocating atmosphere of menace that made his scalp tingle. Fortunately, neither man engaged further, merely brushing past each other without a word.
Arabella was the kind of person who would take what she wanted and immediately turn her back.
Taking advantage of the moment Marcellus reached climax, Arabella suddenly exerted force. The belt binding her wrists snapped instantly as she launched a swift shoulder grab and elbow strike. Fortunately, Marcellus knew her too well. He had anticipated that she would strike the moment she had a chance—probably before even pulling her pants back up. Reacting swiftly, he leaned back and dodged. A second ago, their bodies had been intimately connected; now, water splashed everywhere as they broke apart in an instant. He reacted quickly and leaned back to dodge, and the two of them were still intimately connected just a moment before, but the next moment, water splashed everywhere as they pulled away from each other.
Arabella moved with the speed of lightning, her left and right punches smashing toward Marcellus's head. He countered with a high sweeping kick, but before he could react, Arabella closed in, relentlessly hammering with straight punches. Marcellus could only retreat, adopting a defensive stance, his arms aching as though they were being struck to the core. He understood clearly—every part of Arabella's body had been honed to the absolute limit of human strength. In hand-to-hand combat, she had no regard for anyone standing in her way. Had he not been equally strong, he would have likely had his bones shattered by Arabella's strikes at this very moment.
In less than seven or eight seconds, the two had exchanged blows several times. Arabella, without even catching her breath, pushed off the wall and executed a 360-degree flying kick. Marcellus dared not show any sign of hesitation, immediately attempting to counter with a leg sweep to throw her into the bath and suppress her. However, Arabella used the momentum to kick off and spun around, delivering a sidekick aimed directly at his head. Marcellus swiftly raised his guard to block, but was instead struck by a hook punch to the chest from Arabella. That punch was no ordinary blow—if it had landed on an average person, it would have been fatal. Even though Arabella wasn't at her peak and Marcellus had deflected some of the force, but with that single punch, Marcellus only felt his chest churning, a surge of blood rising, threatening to spill from his mouth with the slightest movement.
He took a deep breath, deciding to change tactics. If he continued engaging Arabella head-on, she would beat him to death. Both of them understood the situation perfectly. Arabella was relying on explosive attacks because her energy reserves wouldn't last long. The combination of sedatives, aphrodisiacs, and her unhealed injuries would have rendered anyone else completely incapacitated. Yet somehow, she was still fighting ferociously. But the same logic applied to Marcellus. He wasn't an ordinary man. If Arabella didn't finish him off quickly, her strength would inevitably wane, leaving her vulnerable to being overpowered.
Before Marcellus could think further, Arabella swiftly stepped forward and delivered a sidekick. Ignoring any sense of pride, Marcellus charged forward, attempting to trap her in a waist-lock, hoping to overpower her from the side. But Arabella reacted with lightning speed, arching her back and flipping out of his grasp, landing on top of him. She unleashed a flurry of ten cross-punches. Marcellus dared not meet her fists head-on. Taking advantage of her momentary unbalance, he swiftly locked her between his legs, assuming a closed-defense position, redirecting the force of her punches.
Neither of them had any clothes on. Their bare bodies pressed against each other as Marcellus resolved to shamelessly cling to her. Refusing to let go, their mingled breaths grew heavier, and their body heat, intensified by the violent struggle, rose further.
For once, Arabella's breath, rarely disturbed, faltered slightly as Marcellus clung to her relentlessly. The strength she had painstakingly gathered was almost entirely drained by his fierce onslaught. The side effects of the drug began to take hold, and the injury to her chest throbbed faintly, causing a sheen of sweat to form on her cheeks.
Marcellus's muscles were tight and filled with raw power, far from the superficial, sculpted lines of a gym-goer. At this moment, his legs gripped Arabella's waist with force, and as he exerted pressure, the sharp contours of his tensed muscles became clearly visible beneath the taut skin.
The bathroom was in shambles, a battlefield ravaged by their earlier clash. Arabella had loosened her fists and refrained from striking further. Instead, she leaned close to Marcellus's ear, her voice dripping with mockery. "Using you for release doesn't mean I see you as a substitute of him. That's a bit too pathetic, don't you think?"
Marcellus's expression darkened, but he refused to back down. Her scornful words only seemed to spur him on. His arousal stiffened further, pressing insistently between Arabella's thighs. Perhaps he truly was as low as she said. How else could he explain years of shouting threats at her while secretly being ensnared by her, longing for her, and tormented by her?
"Coming again?" Arabella smirked that barely masked her amusement, her gaze fixed on Marcellus's face. Through the mist, his lowered eyes, filled with a hint of sorrow, unexpectedly stirred a trace of thought in her. It was the same face, after all. When the annoying arrogance was stripped away, Marcellus appeared, if only slightly, more pleasing to her eyes.
"Again!" Marcellus gritted his teeth, bracing himself. He grasped Arabella's slim waist, arching his body, and thrust into her with unrelenting force, to the depth of her body.
