This time, with hate and vengeance set aside, desire surged like a violent storm. The two moved in perfect harmony, wild in their frenzy. But what of the future? Was there one? Clearly, Marcellus had wanted to have her, but he could never obtain what he desired from Arabella. Could he control her for a lifetime? With danger lurking from all sides, he couldn't bear to see her die, yet he also couldn't keep her alive. Arabella had always been selfish and ruthless; without Cyrus's corpse in his hands, he would never have been able to catch even a fleeting glance from her in this lifetime.
Arabella sat cross-legged on Marcellus's waist, her hands pressed against the mirror's surface. Through its reflection, Marcellus's broad waist and shoulders were visible, his masculine presence overwhelming. As he arched his back, his movements grew increasingly erratic and uncontrolled.
Arabella could endure it, and Marcellus could provide it. Their clash, like a storm, had been wild and untamed, neither of them gaining the upper hand as their hormones had surged between them.
The tip of her nipple was being gently rubbed by his thumb, the delicate pink skin beneath was sensitive, and the hands of Marcellus. Marcellus's hands, large and calloused from the weight of firearms, now gently caressed the her clitoris, the rough texture of his palms evident as he touched the smooth skin, the movement was full of aggression, as if love and desire also needed to be in the dominant position in order to truly receive a response from Arabella.
Arabella hummed softly, her tone tinged with indulgence. In matters of the bed, she was always unrestrained, for the concept of gender held no meaning for her, nor was there any need for it to exist. Her arms looked delicate, but they were actually filled with terrifying strength. At this moment, she was squeezing the muscles on Marcellus's chest and abdomen. And the harder he thrust, the more she squeezed, feeling the incredible impact on her waist.
Marcellus lifted up Arabella's hips, held her hands behind her back, and pressed her firmly against the sink, with her legs spread wide open. Her vagina, which was being penetrated and withdrawn, was exposed to the air without any hiding. Marcellus pulled out his penis and leaned over to carefully peel away the layers that hid the inner walls. Arabella's skin was as fair as porcelain, even the private place, untouched by the wind or sun, yet she possessed a body so exquisite it seemed like a rare treasure—truly a wonder to behold.
The vagina suddenly felt empty, Arabella frowned and twisted her waist, swayed her hips, tightened her inner vagina, but her face remained calm: "You can't do it anymore?"
Marcellus despised Arabella's cunning nature, her every move seemingly driven by a hidden agenda. What he truly longed for was to see her lose control, something he had rarely witnessed in his life, all thanks to his brother's influence. His feelings were a mixture of envy and resentment, wishing desperately for Arabella to unleash a storm of emotion upon him. He knew it—he was being utterly foolish, but there was no denying it.
She said he couldn't go on any longer. How could he possibly endure that?
At the moment, Marcellus was pressing down on Arabella's waist, thrusting him deeply and unceremoniously, which was really satisfying and pleasurable. The benefits of the rear-entry position were too many to count. He could knead and grab her breasts, and those nipples were so erect that he teased the hard little bead, finding great amusement in it. Or he could seize the back of her neck with a firm grip, pulling her into a deep, lingering kiss—intense and consuming, leaving no room for resistance. Or he could pin her waist and slap her fair, tender ass, thrusting into her with force, with his genitals tightly wrapped around hers, as the flesh touched flesh —the water sound made a loud noise, decadent and arousing.
Arabella tilted her head back, a soft moan escaping her lips, indulgent and unrestrained, as a torrent of overwhelming pleasure poured through her. It seemed like a one-sided suppression, a forceful, unilateral act of love. Arabella lay limp, utterly devoid of resistance, yet in the depths of her eyes, there was a striking clarity.
In the evenly matched struggle, Arabella's heart was like a fog, elusive and impenetrable. No matter how deeply one sought through her body, they could never truly see her.
After their intimacy, Marcellus lingered, tenderly caressing Arabella's legs—slender and well-formed, with not a trace of excess flesh. It was hard to imagine that such limbs could unleash such astounding power.
Most experts, even with years of rigorous training to strengthen their muscles and bones, would find it difficult to achieve the kind of indomitable strength Arabella possessed—her body as tough as bronze and iron. The key lay in the years she spent in the deep mountains, where her pursuits were not mere sparring matches, but the relentless chase and slaughter of fierce wild beasts. The difference between battling a wild animal and training with a sparring partner was worlds apart.
Wild beasts possess no human nature; each encounter for Arabella was a fight between life and death, a stark contrast to the seasoned experts who, win or lose, faced no real consequence, knowing there would always be another chance. Moreover, after years of carving a path through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, Arabella had forged a fragile thread of survival. Marcellus knew this truth all too well—if Arabella were at her peak, he would stand no chance against her.
The Night Owl ranking left no room for doubt—Nicholas had been entirely objective about Arabella's capabilities. She truly deserved her place.
A faint knock sounded at the door, followed by a subordinate's voice: "Young Master, tonight there's a banquet for heads of state." The Ackerley family's private army answered solely to their leader, and their manner of address reflected this loyalty.
Marcellus's hand paused as he caressed Arabella's. He glanced at her serene, resting form and suppressed all tender emotions. "Bring the tranquilizers and the equipment I prepared yesterday," he ordered.
The equipment Marcellus had prepared was a custom-forged iron shackle, its chains as thick as a grown man's thigh. The lock was intricately designed with built-in sensors—any attempt to tamper with it would trigger an alert on Marcellus's device, allowing him to activate an electric current strong enough to incapacitate but not kill.
The chain was long enough for Arabella to move around the room and access the bathroom. However, the entire contraption weighed over 200 pounds, coiled around her wrists and ankles, a stark contrast to her delicate joints—an unsettling sight. However, Marcellus knew all too well that, for Arabella, that weight was scarcely enough to break her.
Even with such precautions, Marcellus didn't feel at ease and administered two injections to leave Arabella weak and powerless. The summit for national leaders would last five days, with Julius and Jasper also attending. Two dangerous wolves were on their way, forcing Marcellus to heighten his vigilance. He wouldn't be able to return during this time, leaving him no choice but to resort to these measures.
After everything was set, Marcellus calmly gazed at Arabella, lying still on the bed. She seemed to have fallen asleep, just as she had in the hospital room before—quiet and serene. Unable to resist, he leaned down and gently placed a kiss on her forehead, whispering, "Don't leave. I'll protect you. With me and my brother here, you don't need to go anywhere, okay?"
Arabella ignored him, and Marcellus naturally didn't expect her to respond. He got up, walked to the door, and before leaving, he solemnly promised, "If you stay, I'll let you see Cyrus."
As he left, he anxiously reminded his two subordinates, "Under no circumstances should you enter the room. The anesthetic could be mixed into the ventilation system or food. She's too strong, and you might not be able to hold out for five days. If anything feels off, notify me immediately."
Long after Marcellus had left, Arabella slowly opened her eyes. With a flick of her hand, the heavy sound of iron chains echoed through the air. She let out a soft laugh, a mocking smile crossing her face. Five days had been more than enough to rest and regain her strength. The anesthetics had long since ceased to have any effect on her. As the final day approached, it was time for her to pay a visit to some old acquaintances.
That evening, Marcellus arrived at the State Guesthouse. He had already changed into his formal evening attire at his office—an elegant navy-blue suit, with a luxury watch on his wrist, exuding understated sophistication. A group of officials greeted him with respect as he strode down the central red carpet, poised and confident. There was no trace of exhaustion or distraction, though only hours earlier he had been caught up in a storm of passion with Arabella.
As he entered the banquet hall, the heads of state and their accompanying officials from various countries had already arrived. Marcellus looked around but couldn't spot Julius. He raised an eyebrow, and his secretary immediately approached, reading the situation, and asked softly, "What's wrong with the Governor?"
"Where is Governor Pujivang?"
"He—" The secretary paused, using his eyes to signal Marcellus to look towards the corridor outside the banquet hall. Due to the distance, Marcellus could only faintly see a few figures standing there, seemingly engaged in light conversation. He maintained his composure, making his way around the room to play the gracious host, warmly receiving the foreign guests.
After completing nearly a full circle, he reached the area near the corridor, and only then could he clearly see Julius and the others. Julius was dressed in the national costume of Pujivang, the silver-white satin accentuating his graceful bearing. Since this was merely a state banquet, it was only natural that officials from various countries, including domestic ones, brought their families. Several young ladies surrounded him, smiling warmly, and the atmosphere was lively. It was no surprise, given that Julius was exceptionally handsome, especially when he smiled, exuding a gentle and kind aura, which naturally made him popular with the ladies.
Marcellus took a glance and left. If his memory served him right, the young lady standing next to Julius was the prime minister's daughter, whom he had seen at a recent parliamentary banquet. It seemed Julius was quite well-informed, knowing that this young lady would be his future wife. Of course—barring any surprises—this was how his life would unfold: a powerful family alliance, a stable and worry-free home, leaving him free to focus on his career. In fact, most men were this pragmatic; they would speak of love and devotion, but deep down, they knew whether the woman was a fleeting pleasure or the serious wife they would marry.
But there was no way around it—Arabella was the one who existed beyond the grasp of any man, the unexpected twist in his life. Her nature was cruel, devoid of any genuine affection, and thus unworthy of being cherished as a wife. Yet, by the same token, Arabella, with her unparalleled skill and disdain for love, wealth, and power, rendered every man unqualified to play with her. It was much like his own feelings for her—intense hatred mixed with equally intense love. He understood the path he had chosen: a life of fleeting indulgence, driven by the empty desires of this world, one that would ultimately lead them down separate roads.
He turned around and after completing most of the circle, he finally spotted Jasper in the smoking room—the man rumored to have been entangled with Arabella two years ago. He knew that Arabella's ability to pass through the Mountains range from Doma must have been with this sharp-eyed, cold man's assistance. The two exchanged a glance and reached out for a friendly handshake, silently sizing each other up before politely parting ways. After Marcellus left, Jasper snuffed out his cigarette, his cold eyes darkening as he finally saw the living form of the person Arabella had been thinking of.
Meanwhile, in Spanka, as midnight approached, Ferdinand had just fallen asleep when he felt a movement in his arm. He woke up abruptly, but was stopped by someone at the bedside. He focused his gaze and saw that it was Raven, who had arrived on time. Since it was part of the original plan, Ferdinand had naturally been prepared. He quickly became alert, changed into his clothes, grabbed the pre-packed large bag, and followed Raven out.
Raven was highly skilled and moved with ease, almost like he could fly and scale walls. Ferdinand could not match him, but fortunately, he knew the secret passages of the Leiso family's castle. He sprinted down the hidden corridors, meeting Raven outside the castle.
As they looked back at the castle, Raven asked, "Is that Norris fine staying here?"
"Don't worry," Ferdinand reassured him. "Even if I'm not here, the Leiso family can protect him. Besides, I've been keeping an eye on that kid recently, and I'm afraid he has more abilities than he's letting on."
Raven nodded and then asked, "Has that batch of weapons been sold to the Jingle government?"
"Yeah, we're just waiting for the right moment. How did I hear that Arabella has been kidnapped?"
Raven tightened his lips, then immediately got into the off-road vehicle hidden along the forest path. Once Ferdinand was seated, he said, "Master Unknown has her own ways of making plans. We'll just follow the original plan."
Upon hearing this, Ferdinand couldn't help but feel a little smug, as if the compliment were directed at him. "Of course, the woman I choose is the best in the world."
