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Chapter 2
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2021-09-14 09:35:01Elena’s stepmother, Yuna Li, had once been a famous actress in the entertainment industry. Even after having two daughters, she was still impeccably maintained—glamorous, youthful, and effortlessly captivating.
Yuna had not always held her current position. Years ago, she had fought tooth and nail to replace Elena’s biological mother. Through calculation and charm, she secured the title of Madam Xia and quickly became a beloved socialite among wealthy women.
At today’s wedding, Yuna was stunning as always. Elena’s gown, custom-made in Milan, also added more glow to her image—further fueling everyone’s admiration toward Yuna’s “taste” and “devotion” as a stepmother.
Elena sat quietly, feigning innocence as she asked softly,
The color drained from Yuna’s face at the question.
The guests exchanged confused glances.
There would be no groom at this wedding.
“Elena,” Zander Xia stepped forward awkwardly, avoiding her eyes. “The groom… is unwell. He won’t be attending the ceremony. You’ll need to go to the residence on your own.”
Elena paused, then smiled obediently.
She entered the luxurious car alone.
As she left, the guests couldn’t help but stare. They had expected a country girl with poor manners—but Elena in her elegant bridal gown was thin, poised, and strikingly graceful. Her quiet, submissive expression only added to the sympathy she unintentionally evoked.
Whispers rose almost immediately… and they were not kind to Yuna.
From the outside, people believed Yuna had generously arranged a grand marriage for her stepdaughter. But the truth—that she had forced Elena to take a position meant for her own daughter—became painfully obvious to all.
Yuna’s face stiffened.
Perhaps she had miscalculated this girl.
But Yuna comforted herself.
Elena arrived at Green Garden.
The house was dim—no lights, no warmth. A cold, heavy silence filled the air.
Her dark eyes glimmered in the shadows, alert yet curious. She approached the bed and saw a man lying still on the large mattress.
Her husband.
Elena reached out to check his pulse—
But a strong hand caught her wrist.
Before she could react, the world spun, and she found herself pinned beneath him.
Elena froze.
She had been told her groom was a dying man, bedridden and barely conscious.
Who was this man?
Elena moved swiftly, dropping her weight to pin his groin—
But he was faster.
He avoided her attack effortlessly, turned her body, and pressed her against the cold wall, trapping her with brutal precision.
His movements were quick, sharp, merciless.
“What qualifications do you have to touch me?” he growled.
Elena struggled, their bodies separated only by thin layers of fabric.
“The bride is very enthusiastic tonight,” he said, voice deep and teasing. “Are you asking for something special?”
“…Disgusting,” she muttered coldly.
Suddenly, a realization struck her.
The only man allowed in this room tonight was her newlywed husband.
His fingers slid along her jaw, slowly undoing the buttons of her gown.
Elena grabbed his wrist. “I just got here. What are you doing?”
“Fulfilling my duty,” he replied lazily.
Duty?
Before she could protest, a voice drifted in from outside the window.
“You can’t look, Old Madam! Let’s go back—this isn’t appropriate!” a maid whispered.
“Quiet!” Mrs. Lu snapped. “I won’t look—just listen!”
The old woman clung to the window grille, eavesdropping intently.
Elena stiffened. She tried to stand, but the man—Holden Lu—placed a firm hand on her shoulder and murmured, “Move and you’ll ruin everything.”
Elena assumed he needed her cooperation to put on a show for the old woman.
“I… I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered tensely.
In the dimness, Holden’s eyes glinted like a hawk’s. He studied her expression—her confusion, her stiff posture, her innocence. Something unreadable flickered across his face.
Then, without warning, he slid his hands to her waist and pulled her closer.
Elena gasped as cold air brushed her skin. She crossed her arms protectively.
“And now you decide to scream?” Holden’s lips curved.
“…!”
Her cheeks burned.
Holden braced his arms on either side of her, enveloping her in his warmth. Then he began moving—not intimately—but loudly enough to shake the bed.
The wooden frame creaked rhythmically.
Elena’s face turned crimson. She squeezed her eyes shut, trapped in the moment.
“If you make a sound at the wrong time,” Holden warned quietly, “I won’t be gentle.”
Terrified he meant it, she followed his cues, letting out small gasps to match his movements.
Outside, Mrs. Lu nearly applauded.
“My grandson is not useless after all! He’s strong, vigorous—oh, bless the ancestors! I’ll go pray for a great-grandson right now!”
She shuffled away happily.
The moment the footsteps disappeared, Elena shoved Holden off her.
This time, he allowed it.
He reached over and snapped on the wall lamp.
Elena sat up quickly, fumbling to button her clothes, cheeks still flushed. She kept her head lowered, trying to hide her embarrassment.
When she finally looked up—
Her pupils shrank.
The man standing before her had sharp, noble features and a cold, aristocratic presence. His expression was indifferent, his posture flawless.
But she recognized him instantly.
“You!” she exclaimed. “You’re the man from the train!”
Her groom.
was the same man who had nearly been assassinated earlier that day.
Holden’s lips lifted in a lazy smile.
“Recognize me?” he asked. “I told you we would meet again.”
He remembered, too.
The butler had informed him that his bride was a country girl with no manners. Holden hadn’t cared—until he saw Elena’s eyes.
And the way she had handled danger so effortlessly on the train.
There was much more to this girl than what the Xia family had told him.
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The silence after the kiss was not empty.It was heavy—dense with everything they had just crossed and everything they could no longer walk back from.Elena was the first to step away.Not because she wanted to, but because she had learned—through loss, through displacement, through memory fractures—that moments like these were dangerous not for what they revealed, but for what they took away once they ended.Holden watched her retreat a single step, as if the movement itself pulled something out of his chest. His hands lowered slowly, reluctantly, still warm with the imprint of her waist.Neither spoke.The corridor felt too narrow, too exposed, as though the walls themselves had witnessed something forbidden.“We shouldn’t do that again,” Holden said finally.His voice was controlled. Too controlled.Elena lifted her gaze to his face.“That’s a lie,” she said gently.His jaw tightened.“I’m serious,” he replied. “That kiss didn’t just happen. It meant something.”She nodded. “Yes.”
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The silence Holden left behind did not dissolve when the door closed.It settled.Heavier than before.Elena remained seated long after his footsteps disappeared down the corridor, her gaze unfocused, fixed on the grain of the desk beneath her fingers. The room smelled faintly of wood polish and cold air—neutral, controlled, unmistakably his.She hated how comforting that was.Five minutes later, she stood.Ten minutes later, she paced.By the fifteenth minute, she had accepted a truth she had been quietly circling since the safehouse confrontation:Holden Lu was not the kind of man who panicked loudly.His panic looked like distance, orders, structure tightening around emotion until it suffocated.And right now, she was standing at the center of it.Elena left the study.The house was unusually active. Guards moved with clipped efficiency. Voices murmured into earpieces. Screens flickered with live feeds at the far end of the hall.She walked toward the command room without hesitatio
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