In the dead of night, as Taras managed to slip away after work, he pieced together everything that had happened.
To his surprise, the girl they had taken away had a normal blood alcohol level, and tested negative for any illicit substances. The reason she had fallen unconscious was simply because she had drunk too much, thoroughly intoxicated. It was the wealthy young men who had attempted the vile act, all of whom were dead. Now, the case seemed to have no clear resolution. From what Taras knew of the powerful families, they would likely do everything in their power to cover up the truth, shifting the blame to the girl and tarnishing her reputation, claiming she was the one who had acted irresponsibly.
How could the girl named Vivian have escaped unscathed? Taras flipped through the photos, his gaze lingering on the girl. In the picture, she was holding onto a railing, looking up with a posture that made Taras's heart tighten. There was something eerily familiar about her, yet this sense of familiarity should belong to a dead person. Taras furrowed his brows, seizing the disguised, stealthily arrived Faceless Ghost, and questioned him fiercely. The more he asked, the more uneasy and alarmed he became. Finally, he threw Faceless Ghost aside and hastened away in a rush.
Arabella timed her "awakening" perfectly, and was immediately interrogated by the police for a long time. She feigned ignorance, her face a picture of panic and anxiety. The police couldn't get any answers from a victim, so they had no choice but to let her go back to rest for the night, with plans to have her come in the next day for an official statement. That night was filled with bloodshed and chaos. Arabella, under the guise of Vivian, returned to her underground home.
The reason she chose this identity was because Vivian's parents had divorced. Raised by her mother, Vivian had always been outstanding. However, after she came of age, her mother fell seriously ill and, burdened by a massive debt, Vivian was tricked and abducted for organ trafficking. She died on the operating table. After receiving the news, Nicholas quietly buried the body and arranged for Arabella to take her place.
This area, originally a slum, was dense with dilapidated buildings. The basement that Vivian rented was even darker and more decrepit. Arabella walked down the pitch-black corridor to its end, where she paused in front of a crumbling little door. There was someone inside the room, but there was no murderous intent. Arabella didn't pay much attention and pushed the door open. A damp, foul smell wafted through the air. In the dark, a man stood in the center of the room, his arms wide open, facing Arabella: "I missed you so much."
The light bulb hanging on the wall flickered to life, casting a dim glow that did not hinder the sight of the two inside. Julius, wearing a navy blue shirt with two buttons casually undone, exuded a languid demeanor, the mask of an aristocrat concealing the bloodthirsty nature beneath. He pulled Arabella into his arms and, with a tone full of complaints, said, "Luckily, I arrived in time. Otherwise, you would have gotten your hands dirty killing those people at the club."
Arabella's expression remained indifferent: "You've killed so many people, it's too conspicuous."
Over the years, Julius had gotten to know Arabella's character, and now he spoke up, trying to convince her: "They're just some blind fools who think they're playing a game. Why don't we take care of them tonight and leave?"
Upon hearing the word "game," Arabella gave a cold smile and replied sarcastically: "If you kill them, will your arms deal still go through?"
Upon hearing Arabella's words, Julius immediately felt a chill run down his spine. He had thought she only knew the surface details, but he never expected her to so easily deduce the truth behind it all.
In front of Arabella, the usually crafty and scheming Julius could only obediently confess everything. Three years ago, he faked his death for her, causing the collapse of a massive drug empire, though the power in places like Pujivang was never fully relinquished. It wasn't hard to understand; people like them would never be foolish enough to lose their heads over love, nor would they choose to live a life of mediocrity.
This time, the government of the country had a military project to procure a batch of extremely expensive military supplies. Although the country is a monarchy, 65% of the country's financial revenue is controlled by the three major conglomerates, so the balance of power has always been in the hands of these conglomerates, leaving the royal family extremely wary. The military supplies trade is actually a struggle between the royal family and the conglomerates, with the royal family wanting to successfully complete the deal while the conglomerates work behind the scenes to sabotage and steal.
Upon hearing the explanation, Arabella maintained her usual composure and asked, "Then what role do you play in all of this?"
Julius raised an eyebrow and replied, "The arms deal this time is a competition between the governments of Scalien and Doma. As for Marcellus and Jasper, I've never liked them. I want to see them tear each other apart."
Arabella smiled. "Indeed, old acquaintances. I don't like those two either. However—" She paused, fixing her gaze on AE with a cold scoff. "The little imps who deliberately lured me into this game, I despise even more. As for those I dislike, I don't want you to work with them."
Julius was taken aback. Having known Arabella for nearly ten years, this was the first time he had heard her speak so bluntly about her likes and dislikes. Reflecting on the feigned smiles she had once shown him, the contrast between the past and the present made something stir within him. Beneath the layers of deception and the waves of time, he had finally glimpsed the fragments of her true emotions.
If it had been over three years ago, Arabella would not have felt an ounce of sentiment. But three years later, as she looked at Julius, who had chosen to stay by her side for so many years, she couldn't help but say, "People inevitably grow old. Movements become stiff, reactions slow, and battles will always end in failure. I can leave at my peak, but you can't. It's better for you to make plans early."
Julius was completely stunned. He naturally had deep feelings for Arabella; in this life, he had only ever loved her. However, being a man with a venomous heart, he had little room for kindness or affection, and love had played too small a role in his life. Even when he loved, he wouldn't risk his life for it. But now, hearing Arabella clearly state that there was no future for her, he was wracked with agony. Especially as he thought of the meaning behind her words, his heart began to pound violently in his chest, and his voice trembled as he whispered repeatedly, "You'll live a long life. You will."
Arabella couldn't be bothered to argue about such things. She already knew how long she would live—it was a fixed fate, just a matter of delaying it by a few more years. Otherwise, she wouldn't have come here in person to carry out this intricate scheme. She cupped Julius's head gently in her hands and whispered, "I want to use this opportunity to appear openly and honestly from now on. So, can you sever those dirty connections for me?"
Julius felt a deep sense of disorientation, as if the decision three years ago to remain by Arabella's side had been a dream. The future she spoke of stirred something in him, a longing he had never felt before. For the first time, he truly understood why she had once insisted on walking away with Cyrus. His lips parted, but no words came out. Tears welled up, and he absentmindedly touched his face, letting out a helpless laugh. He, who had hidden malice even in the lives of his own family, found it impossible to accept the painful truth of Arabella's early death. It was clear to him now that his heart had been thoroughly softened by her.
"Fine, I, Julius, will never again involve myself in those schemes for the rest of my life."
After Julius left, Arabella picked up a chair and placed it in the center of the room. She sat down, the door wide open, quietly waiting for her old friend to arrive. From the moment someone in the club had tried to poison her, to Julius committing murder, she had known that after seeing the scene, Taras would surely suspect her identity. This time, she came not only to intimidate those young fools to prevent them from ruining her future plans but also, of course, to scheme against Taras.
Of course, Arabella didn't want to live her whole life trapped in the depths of the swamp. She wanted to walk proudly and openly across the world in her remaining years, living the life she had once dreamed of with Cyrus. But even with her skills in disguise, it wasn't a long-term solution. She wanted to appear with everyone, but Taras and Faceless Ghost were the biggest obstacles. Until she was absolutely certain, she couldn't let Taras realize she was still alive.
Yet, there were always those who, when one was half-asleep, would offer a pillow to rest upon. Julius, as her confidant, had his petty grievances against Marcellus and Jasper, and Arabella would never reproach him for it. However, there were always those who, undeterred by their own folly, schemed and plotted to achieve their grand ambitions, yet still dared to cast their sights upon her. In that case, she could hardly be blamed for turning the tables on them.
When Taras arrived, he stopped at the door. The breath of the person inside was so faint that if it weren't for his sharp senses, he wouldn't have noticed her presence. Taras took a deep breath. He had personally sent the person to prison and watched as she was executed. In the years that followed, how could he not remember the warmth of her body, the way they had once been so close, stirring up storms together?
"Come in."
With this single sentence, Taras felt the tightly wound string in his heart snap. He took a sudden step into the room, only to find that the person sitting there was not the one he had been longing for. His brow furrowed slightly. The truths, which had long been vaguely imprinted in his heart over the past three years, now surged to the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.
"Arabella! You truly have the audacity to show up!"
"Arabella is dead, you know," the woman in the seat remarked without any courtesy, as if she were intent on stoking the flames of Taras's fury, speaking with an air of unapologetic certainty.
"Stop barking nonsense! Then who are you?" Taras drew his gun in an instant, facing off with her, and in that moment, all the questions he had been unable to answer for years suddenly became crystal clear. A meticulously planned substitution and staged death. As expected of Arabella, she's outwitted him at every turn, having already plotted the entire scheme in his mind.
Pointing at her face, Arabella said slowly, "My name is Vivian, a third-year university student."
What is this? Lying with open eyes? Denying it to the end?
Taras was almost enraged to the point of laughing. He loaded the bullet with a cold voice, "Won't we find out if you come with me?"
Arabella touched her nose, knowing that Taras was the type who wouldn't be easily swayed. Fortunately, she was well-prepared. "Half a year ago, an undercover cop in the country was tragically killed. After that, Levine started frequenting that clubhouse. She's an outstanding student in chemistry, and she grew up in the same orphanage as the deceased cop."
At this point, how could Taras not catch the implication in Arabella's words? His eyes shifted to one of caution as he asked, "What are you trying to do?"
"I know the G-11 is just a pretext set by the people behind the scenes to lure me in. They also want to attract the attention of your police to cover their true objectives. The high-priced arms deal in the country—those kids want to pull off a big one, steal the arms. Don't you want to wipe them out in one go?"
Taras suppressed all expression, his face serious as he said, "I think you're the one secretly dealing with them."
"I've told you, Arabella is dead. She's been dead for three years."
Taras suddenly lost control, roaring, "Then why show yourself? Couldn't you just hide peacefully for the rest of your life? Must you make me arrest you with my own hands again? Arabella, three years ago, I already turned a blind eye!"
"My heart condition is real, I don't have much time left, so I want to make a deal with you."
As the victim, Arabella deliberately took two or three days off before returning to school. The moment she entered the campus, she sensed that something was off. Rumors about her being drunkenly taken away were flying everywhere. The focus of everyone's concern lay in the victims of the gang rape or the debauchery, but not in whether anyone had been harmed or killed—those were mere afterthoughts. Arabella's eyes met with Caracal's from a distance, and she raised an eyebrow to signal him to stay calm. Caracal, well aware of Arabella's lethal capabilities, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and quietly left to continue taking care of the tasks Arabella had assigned him.
As Arabella walked down the hall, she was met with pointed fingers and mocking glances. Even overt violence, which was rarely seen in this school, occurred. Arabella looked at her seat, which was covered with insults like "stinky bitch pretending to be decent," "slut, get out," "disgusting slut who seduces rich boys and messes around." She glanced at the drawer, where used condoms still had semen on them, sanitary tampons stained with menstrual blood, and the drawer was filled with dead bugs and rats.
This childish act almost made Arabella roll her eyes in boredom. She wondered if those little fools felt any satisfaction from digging through the trash bins. Ignoring the hostile glares around her, she calmly sat at the messy desk, even casually pulling out breakfast from her pocket to eat.
The once gleeful eyes around her froze. Arabella's behavior was not what they had expected, but soon enough, the malice came pouring in. The girl sitting diagonally across from Arabella spoke up first, "Vivian, how dare you show your face at our school? You've completely ruined our school's century-long reputation." Immediately, mocking voices of agreement filled the air.
If Arabella hadn't understood the international common language, she might have thought she had accidentally wiped out the entire girl's family from the look on her face. Though Arabella was indeed itching to make a move, the thought of the agreement she had made with Taras that day held her back. With a deep breath, she stilled her restless hand, instead only flexing her fingers, knowing these were just insignificant pests. She just needed to cover for Taras in investigating the real arms deal.
Such a small scene was just for amusement. She was waiting for them to make their big move.
As expected, those little insults weren't enough to truly provoke her. After school, Arabella was dragged forcefully into an enclosed gym. Along the way, the place was empty; perhaps some had already avoided it or were standing idly by, watching.
Seeing the group of ill-intentioned young men and women, Arabella couldn't help but murmur, "Wouldn't attacking me directly leave evidence? This is a university, after all. You can't rely on your minor status to do as you please." As they were on the verge of entering society, such bold acts of school bullying were rare in this class-divided institution. After all, the highborn young masters and ladies had countless subtle methods at their disposal to deal with those who refused to comply. In this nation, where most jobs were provided by large conglomerates, offending the heirs of powerful families could mean a lifetime of hardship.
However, this time, the ones who died in the hotel were all heirs of wealthy financial families, among which the most important was the death of a member of the largest financial family, the Afton family, from the country conglomerate. Although the boy was just a junior member of the Afton family, his death still greatly embarrassed the Afton family. Upon thinking of the several behind-the-scenes figures being involved, some of whom were from the Afton family, Arabella could understand why such a large-scale operation was launched today.
The few behind-the-scenes players used drugs and murder cases as bait, thinking that she and Taras were fools? The tactics they were using were the same ones they had played with in the past.
This group of little grasshoppers, treated as targets, laughed gleefully, with a dozen or so men sizing up Arabella from head to toe, openly commenting, "This slut may not be much to look at, but once the drugs kick in, she'll definitely be uncontrollable." "Let's set up more cameras later, capture her begging from multiple angles."
The other girls covered their mouths and giggled, their eyes filled with contempt as if they weren't women themselves, letting the men speak lewdly and watching with smug satisfaction.
Drugs, photography, gang rape, coercion, and fabricated testimony—this must have been the treatment Levine suffered back then. Such an ordeal is something any ordinary woman would be unable to bear. There are almost no women who would not be forced into silence, their sense of resistance completely broken. After all, in the face of drug addiction, even strong self-respect is shattered, and it becomes impossible to clear one's name. If Levine hadn't jumped into this trap willingly, she probably would have been so humiliated that she would have taken her own life by now.
Arabella lowered her expression, then looked around at the group of people before curling her lips into a smile and asking, "Has the person who urged you to deal with me mentioned that I'm good at fighting?"
The group of men froze for a moment before bursting into unbothered laughter. The leader scoffed, "Good at fighting? Well, we've checked your background, Vivian. You're a woman whose parents are divorced, your mother's sick, and you make a living working odd jobs. How strong can you be? I bet you're just good at 'fighting' in bed with men, huh?"
Another muscular, tall young man took a step forward, leering with a perverted smile. "Come on, little bitch, let's have a little match first," he said, then lunged toward Arabella with open arms.
Arabella stood motionless, allowing her waist to be seized and pulled tight, her body lifted off the ground. It was, indeed, a move—using immense pressure to squeeze the opponent's waist in order to break their spine. However, the young man's intention was far from martial. His true aim was to lift her with lewd intentions, his actions nothing more than an assault in disguise.
Laughter and mockery erupted around them: "Oh, no drugs, and she's still cooperating like this, this slut is really playing along."
Before the words even finished, Arabella, who was initially held tightly by the man's waist, changed her hands from open palms to fists, striking his waist and abdomen. Taking advantage of his pain, she quickly used his momentum to kick him off and break free. The next moment, with one arm on the ground, she was ready to strike his throat with a sharp elbow. But just as she was about to deliver the fatal blow, she recalled Taras's words: "You can handle those little brats as you wish, but you cannot take their lives, or our agreement will be void."
Because of Taras's words, Arabella swiftly withdrew, landing gracefully on the ground as though nothing had transpired. The burly young man, however, felt a sharp pain where she had struck him, completely unaware that she had exerted no real force. He was blissfully ignorant of the fact that he had narrowly escaped death, as if he had walked on the very edge of the gates of hell but had been spared at the last moment.
Arabella's movements were so quick that the group of men froze in place. Two young men who usually practiced martial arts realized that her moves were for real, and their expressions changed immediately. One of them shouted, "That bitch really knows some moves."
One girl, unable to hold back, retorted, "What's so impressive about a few moves? You men, with all your strength, can't even handle her?" Her words immediately stirred the group of men, each of them eager to try their luck. They surged forward, surrounding Arabella in a circle.
Arabella silently sighed, then pulled a tiny paperclip from her pocket. Without a word, she prepared to strike with a lethal precision. She knew that if she weren't careful, even a fraction of her power would be enough to end their lives — these pests, with their fragile bodies, wouldn't be able to withstand a single move. She had made a promise just days ago, and she couldn't break it now. So, she resorted to a hidden weapon, ensuring they wouldn't be killed but still keeping them at bay.
As five or six people charged at her, Arabella flicked her wrist, and a flash of silver light gleamed. Screams of agony filled the air. The once arrogant individuals were now either bent over clutching their hands or rolling on the ground in pain. After all, a paperclip had pierced through each person's palm, reaching the heart, making the pain even more excruciating. The remaining seven or eight youths exchanged looks, instinctively retreating and scattering. But before they could react, Arabella flicked her wrist again, and the remaining paperclips shot out like homing missiles, targeting them. Another round of screams echoed through the gym.
A few girls who were watching in the crowd were so scared they nearly collapsed. One of them screamed and rushed toward the door, only to be struck back with a club by someone standing outside. Then, with a look of anxiety, Amy entered, holding a club, shouting, "Vivian, I'm here to help you!" After saying this, she looked around and was shocked to see the attackers crying out in pain, while the victim, Arabella, was perfectly fine, standing there.
Amy was momentarily stunned. After blinking, she remembered that Vivian was an undercover cop. She immediately gave a thumbs up and praised, "Wow, your skills are amazing!"
Arabella's gaze swept past her and looked toward the door, with a hint of a smile as she asked, "How did you know I was here?"
Amy turned around, pointed at the door, and called out, "Dabia, come in!" Then, she turned to Arabella, smiling innocently and explaining, "My boyfriend just happened to see you get captured. I had mentioned you to him before, so he immediately called me to come and rescue you."
As she spoke, the door opened, and someone stepped in, pausing in place. Their gaze, soft and shallow, turned towards Arabella, accompanied by a faint smile. The newcomer had strikingly delicate features, their brows and eyes exquisite beyond measure. Standing in the light, they resembled a living painting of beauty.
This little brat really has no patience—he couldn't even wait a bit before showing up? Arabella raised an eyebrow, recognizing yet another venomous, vicious little brat.
