Mistook

A week later

Blues Bar, located on a somewhat secluded street, hadn't always done well in business, but ever since Chloe started working there, the place had become more popular by the day.

Her music was like a spell, capable of calming people's anger, bringing them joy, and making them feel completely at ease.

For an entire week, Chloe had been missing. The bar owner, Mag, had tried calling her so many times that her phone was nearly dead, but she still couldn't reach her.

Customers were growing more restless, almost to the point of tearing the bar apart.

Tonight, the bar was packed again, and with only five minutes left until showtime, there was still no sign of Chloe. Mag was starting to sweat with worry.

Standing on her toes, Mag anxiously scanned the bar, and finally, she saw a figure dressed in white appear around the corner. She couldn't contain her excitement and shouted, "She's here! Chloe's here!"

Instantly, the bar fell silent. As Chloe stepped inside, hundreds of pairs of eyes followed her every move. She was a bit taken aback.

After a brief moment of silence, thunderous applause erupted.

She felt a bit overwhelmed by the attention. Naturally quiet and reserved, Chloe had always been cautious in this mixed crowd, but the regulars had grown accustomed to her presence and enjoyed communicating with her through her music.

Nodding slightly, Chloe sat down at the piano. Instantly, her slender, pale fingers began to dance across the keys, producing a stream of smooth, powerful, yet graceful notes that filled the room. The guests seemed enchanted, their worries melting away.

At some point, the music began to change, causing the patrons to stop whatever they were doing and fixate on Chloe as she played quietly. Her expression remained mostly unchanged, her eyes downcast, revealing only the slight tremor of her long lashes.

The music sounded like a lament, a mournful wail, as if it were crying out in pain, evoking a sense of heartbreak in those who listened.

***

At midnight, Chloe finished her shift. She closed the piano lid as Mag approached her.

"Chloe, are you in some kind of trouble?" Mag was a widow in her thirties, warm-hearted and sincere.

Chloe smiled faintly, her lips curving into a gentle crescent, "Mag, I'm sorry about this past week, I—"

"No need to explain," Mag interrupted. "If it wasn't absolutely necessary, you wouldn't have done this!"

Mag glanced toward the entrance, not seeing the man who usually came to pick up Chloe every day, Amos. "Let's wait a bit longer; the person who usually picks you up isn't here yet."

A sharp pain shot through Chloe's heart, but she maintained a soft smile. "No, it's fine. I'll go on my own." There was a bittersweet sadness to her smile.

Noticing the change in Chloe's music tonight, Mag, who had seen all kinds of people and events in her life, had already guessed what was going on. She patted Chloe on the shoulder and said, "If anything happens, don't forget you still have me."

"Mm." Chloe smiled gratefully.

Raising her head, she saw a tall figure at the door, and the faint smile froze on her lips. Mag followed her gaze to the man at the entrance—he was no longer the dashing, handsome man he used to be. His hair was disheveled, and stubble covered his face.

Chloe's expression disappeared, and suddenly, a cold indifference enveloped her. She drifted past the tall man at the door like a wisp of white smoke.

Seeing the distant, ethereal look in her eyes, Amos suddenly felt a sharp pain. He had a sense that his Chloe was slipping away like a wisp of smoke, drifting out of his world forever.

His eyes turned red in an instant. He reached out with his long arm and grabbed her delicate, pale wrist.

"Chloe, we need to talk." His voice was hoarse and raspy.

Chloe slowly lifted her eyelids, casting a faint glance at the man—or rather, her gaze passed right through him, distant and ethereal. She didn't say a word, just tried to pull her wrist free.

Her wrist was so slender and fragile that it seemed like it would snap with the slightest twist, so Amos quickly released her.

"I was wrong, but I truly love you. I was drunk, and I mistook her for you!"

Grabbing Chloe's hand, Amos shouted, his frustration and self-loathing clear in his voice. He was furious that Chloe wouldn't listen to his explanation.

"Ha…" Chloe laughed through her tears. Her newly dried tears started to fall again, big and heavy. She quickly wiped them away, her bloodshot eyes sharp as daggers, staring at Amos's handsome face as if wanting to cut it open to see if there was blood underneath that mask.

Mistook her?

He claimed he mistook her!

Could someone truly in love make such a mistake?

She didn't want to shed another tear for this man, but the dull ache in her heart was impossible to ignore.

Chloe's laughter sent chills through Amos, her mockery piercing his heart. He couldn't stand her sarcasm. He tightened his grip on her hand, leaving her wrist red.

"Chloe, please don't do this," Amos pleaded, a tear slipping from his eye. He quickly turned away, not wanting her to see it.

"Take your hand off!" Chloe's voice was icy, her entire body bristling like a porcupine. She yanked her hand free and immediately wiped it with a tissue, as if his touch had dirtied her.

"Chloe…" Her actions deeply hurt Amos. Was he really that filthy? After all, wasn't it common for men to have multiple women? And he hadn't done it on purpose!

Chloe gritted her teeth and growled, "Shut up! Don't humiliate me anymore!"

Betrayal was betrayal, with no excuses and no chance for forgiveness.

Not sparing him another glance, Chloe straightened her back and walked away with her head held high.

"Chloe..." The man let out a pained cry, his eyes moistening. His moon had truly forsaken him. Without the moon, how could the stars shine?

No!

He wouldn't allow it!

He got up and followed her from a distance, knowing her temperament all too well, too afraid to approach. He wished he could cut his flesh into pieces and feed it to the dogs, then carve out his heart and offer it to her.

But it was too late. Last night, when he had climbed into that bed, he had lost that privilege.

Could he tell her that it was because he loved her too much, loved her to the point of drunkenness, to the point of madness, to the point where his intelligence was reduced to zero, that he had ended up in the wrong bed?

Even he couldn't believe such an excuse, so how could he make her believe it?

Chloe, I hate you!

Later.

When Chloe opened the door, she felt utterly exhausted, wanting nothing more than a bath and some rest. To her shock, she found herself face-to-face with a heavily made-up face on the sofa.

The sight stunned her so much that she nearly dropped her bag.

It was the first time she'd seen her since that day. Just the sight of that face made Chloe recall the image of them entwined together, and instinctively, she wanted to avoid it.

Flora was quicker, grabbing her hand. "Chloe! Stop!"

Chloe stared blankly at the face in front of her.

"Let go!" She didn't want to get entangled with her. She didn't hate her sister; she only hated herself for believing a man's sweet lies.

Chloe felt none of the heartache she expected. Flora, red with anger, shouted, "Chloe, you heartless monster! I slept with your man! I was FUCKED your man! Are you blind or deaf?"

How could she not feel pain? She had slept with her man just to make her suffer—to suffer so much that she couldn't breathe, so much that she would scream to the heavens, so much that she would wish for death. Only then would Flora feel satisfied.

But things didn't go as Flora had expected, and her frustration gnawed at her, like a thousand cats clawing at her heart.

"If you want him, he's yours from now on," Chloe said calmly, her face expressionless as if the matter had nothing to do with her.

This reaction completely crushed Flora.

"Chloe, I hate you! I hate you!" Flora broke down, sobbing. "You heartless monster, you're the one who killed Dad and ruined our family…"

How could this cold and unfeeling woman be her sister?

Flora's tears streamed down her face.

Dad had favored her so much when he was alive! But how could she not shed a single tear after causing his death? Flora hated her!

The boys at school worshipped her sister like a goddess. Men who once fawned over Flora would abandon her without a second glance after seeing Chloe. She hated that!

Amos was the man Flora had set her eyes on first, but like all the others, he too, after seeing Chloe, no longer spared Flora a glance. And Chloe, so proud and indifferent, disdained any man who approached her. Yet these men would still grovel, eager to please her! She hated that!

She hated how Chloe had stolen all the attention, the glory, and the man. She hated how Chloe had killed their father, made their mother a widow, and brought their once carefree family to ruin overnight. They had to sell their house and move into a slum, and now Flora was forced to work and endure the scorn of others to survive.

And throughout all of this, her sister remained cold, seemingly unaffected. She carried on with her serene, noble facade.

Flora hated it! She hated how Chloe could feel nothing while Flora suffered so much!

She refused to believe that Chloe had no heart, that she couldn't feel pain! So, she would tear off Chloe's false mask of nobility. She wanted to see Chloe bleed from the pain!

How could Chloe remain so calm after witnessing her man in bed with her sister on Valentine's Day?

"Chloe, you're not human—you're a devil!"

Flora shoved Chloe hard and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Watching the door shake, Chloe's lips curved into a faint smile as she walked into the bathroom and submerged herself in the water.

She wasn't human. She was heartless. She was a devil.

Maybe that was true.

She knew Flora hated her. No! Not just Flora—her mother and brother did too.

Their father had been a professor at a university. On that stormy night, Chloe had been struck by a sudden high fever, feeling so ill that she cried out, "Daddy, I'm in so much pain—I'm dying..." Her words had terrified him, and he had rushed out into the rain to fetch a doctor, only to be struck down by a car…

Since then, their world had collapsed.

Their mother lost the husband who had adored her, and the three siblings lost the father who had loved them most.

In a single night, their family had fallen from the heights of happiness into the depths of despair.

Their mother became withdrawn, her gaze toward Chloe filled with sorrow. Her sister and brother grew to despise her.

How had it come to this? How had she killed the father who loved her most? If only she hadn't been so willful, if only she had endured the pain a little longer, would her father still be alive?

Drugged

Two Months Later.

Bar Paradiso

People called it paradise on earth—a world of luxury and excess that others spent their whole lives pursuing. Yet, it was a world of decadence and corruption.

In one of the lavish private rooms, a man lounged on a sofa in the corner. His face was so strikingly handsome that it seemed like the masterpiece of a dedicated artist, sculpted with the utmost care. His sharp, defined features exuded a wild, yet refined allure, with an aura of untouchable power.

Resting his elegant chin on one hand, his deep brown eyes—mysterious and unfathomable, like a bottomless pool—gazed thoughtfully at an ancient painting on the wall. He gently swirled the wine in his glass, lost in thought.

With a tilt of his head, the fiery red liquid flowed smoothly down his throat, filling his mouth with its rich aroma. His cold, somber face, shrouded in the dim light, was a stark contrast to the vibrant, lively scene behind him.

Suddenly, the crisp sound of high heels clicking against the floor pierced the air, followed by a pair of slender arms wrapping around him. "Lion, everyone's waiting for you to give the word!"

The woman tugged at his arm, pulling him from the sofa. As she looked up at his chiseled features, her heart raced like a frantic deer.

No wonder he was Lionel Williams, the CEO of K International Group. It wasn't just his billion-dollar fortune; his god-like looks alone could stop traffic, captivating every woman who laid eyes on him. He was born to stand out, a beacon that had shattered countless women's hearts.

But she knew all too well that he was a man who stood at the pinnacle of the pyramid, a man with standards so high that someone like her, a mere woman of the night, could never hope to match.

His gaze, when it flicked over to her, was enigmatic and distant, with a subtle hint of coldness that was easy to miss. His thin lips curved ever so slightly, sending a chill down her spine. Those familiar with Lion knew this was a sign of his displeasure, and she quickly released her grip on his wrist.

"Lion, you're off in your own world, leaving us hanging. You should be punished."

Another man approached with a bright smile, holding a glass of wine.

How could anyone be so handsome? The women around the room felt both envy and an overwhelming urge to pounce on him.

"Lion, have a drink!" A sultry beauty, who had already toasted him several times, slid over to sit next to Lionel, holding the glass, stained with her lipstick, to his lips.

Lionel's brow furrowed slightly, and a faint, hollow smile flashed in his eyes. He took the bottle and poured himself a drink, then downed it in one go.

The seductive woman, familiar with his temperament, didn't mind. She happily withdrew her hand and finished her own drink.

"Lion, for you!"

"Lion, here's to you!"

"We want…"

Seeing the woman get so close to the handsome man, the others in the room became desperate. They quickly stood up and crowded around him, each one trying to offer him a drink.

The ignored men glanced at each other and sighed, "With Lion here, we can forget about getting any attention from the ladies. Let's go."

They wanted to say goodbye to Lionel, but seeing how busy he was, they figured he wouldn't have time to respond, so they quietly left the room.

The boisterous laughter and chatter didn't last much longer. Suddenly, Lionel's face darkened. The smile that had been playing in his eyes turned into a sharp, cutting glare that he swept coldly across the crowd of women. Their laughter froze on their lips.

It was the first time he had ever shown anger toward women. With his already commanding presence, combined with a look that seemed capable of killing, the women didn't dare to even breathe.

"Wh-what's wrong, Lion?" The woman's voice trembled as she reached for Lionel's hand, but she quickly withdrew when she met his icy gaze.

His eyes roved over the faces of the women, who felt as if the cold wind was slicing their skin. Clutching their glasses tightly, they noticed the liquid inside trembling uncontrollably.

"Get FUCKING out!" he suddenly roared like a beast, smashing his glass onto the floor with a loud crash that sent shards flying.

The women couldn't help but tremble violently. One after another, glasses shattered, and the women, abandoning all pretense, screamed and bolted like startled deer, fleeing in all directions.

In an instant, only a floor littered with broken glass remained. Lionel, now drenched in sweat, looked as if he were burning up with a fever. His pale face had turned a fiery red.

The heat surging through his body was sudden and overwhelming. He clenched his teeth, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Some fool had dared to drug him?!

After years of navigating the cutthroat business world, this wasn't the first time someone had tried to poison him, but the dose this time must have been at least three times the usual amount.

It was clear—someone was dead set on taking him down tonight!