On the night of Henry's birthday, torrential rain poured down.

I stood at the entrance of his shabby house, holding a cake box in one hand and a suit bag in the other. I didn't have an umbrella as I had deliberately not brought one.

Rainwater streamed down my hair, soaking into my skin until my whole body trembled from the cold.

I stood there from 7:00 pm until 12:00 am. My legs went numb, and my lips turned a deep shade of purple. Still, I did not move a single step.

Myra posted a photo of herself partying at a nightclub on her social media, with the caption, "I heard that idiot Sam is waiting in the rain for that ex-convict. What a desperate loser. Serves her right if she freezes to death."

At 1:00 am, a Maybach stopped at the entrance of the alley. Henry walked over soon after, reeking of alcohol.

He had just returned from the Quinton family's banquet. He was dressed in a bespoke suit worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, looking sharp and commanding.

Before entering the alley, he took off his jacket, leaving only his shirt.

When he saw me drenched to the bone, he stopped in his tracks.

He frowned deeply and scolded, "Are you out of your mind? It's pouring, and you're just standing here? What, were you planning to die if I didn't come back?"

I looked up despite my trembling. Water clung to my lashes, blurring my sight.

When I saw him, I managed a weak smile. It looked worse than crying.

"Mr. Quinton…" I muttered. "You're back. I knew you would come back."

I carefully handed him the suit bag I had been protecting against my chest.

"Happy birthday. I thought you might need something decent for interviews or work."

Henry took the bag. Under the streetlight, he could see clearly that it was a ready-to-wear suit from a mid-range luxury brand.

The fabric was ordinary, and the tailoring only decent. In his world, it was no different from a rag. However, he knew exactly how much I earned, and he understood my situation at home.

Those five thousand dollars I spent on this suit were everything I had.

His hand tightened slightly around the bag, and he said nothing for a long time.

The rain kept falling, drumming heavily against us.

"Was it worth it?" he asked hoarsely.

Before I could answer, my vision briefly blacked out, and I nearly collapsed.

Henry caught me instantly. He kicked the door open and dragged me inside.

Without any hesitation, he pressed me against the cold wall and kissed me hard.

The kiss carried punishment, long-suppressed desire, and a hint of panic he didn't seem to notice.

"Sam, you asked for this," he murmured against my lips.

Afterward, Henry went to shower, and the sound of running water filled the bathroom.

On the bedside table, his phone suddenly vibrated. A pure black app icon lit up the screen, with no name attached.

I picked it up almost instinctively and tapped it. My heart fluttered.

It wasn't a bank balance notification, nor any chat records with women. It was surveillance footage.

Four split screens covered the entire shabby house from every angle. There was even a pinhole camera above the bed.

On the screen, I saw everything—the way I had been trembling in the rain just moments ago, the way I handed him the meat, and even the cold smirk I wore behind his back…

All of it had been recorded.

I launched the playback history.

Only then did I realize the truth. Every time I thought I had fooled him, he had been sitting on the other side of the screen, quietly watching my performance.

Shame surged up like molten lava, instantly burning my face red.

I thought I was the hunter. But in reality, I had always been the prey.

Just then, the bathroom door opened, and Henry stepped out, wrapped in a bath towel. The moment his eyes landed on the phone in my hand, his gaze turned dark and sharp.

He walked over, snatched it back, and let out a faint, amused smile.

"So, you've seen it?"