He sneered, "How can anyone call that ugly?"

"Back then, I was stabbed eighteen times saving you; my intestines spilling out."

"You held my entrails with one hand and carried me on your back for miles across a blood-soaked road with the other. It was a horrific sight."

The mention of those bloody memories made the girl in Samuel's arms tremble.

Samuel immediately covered her ears, his brow tightening.

"Don't say that around her."

"She's not like you. If she hears that, she'll be terrified and won't sleep."

Of course, she was different.

At her age, had I seen Samuel beaten...

I would have drawn my knife and cut him down, risking my life.

Perhaps she feared I'd expose what happened before.

Samuel sighed and signaled his men to leave.

The girl was fragile, clutching the hem of his coat, unwilling to let go.

She only left after Samuel soothed her with patient words. When everyone had gone, Samuel sat before me. He lit a cigarette; the smoke obscured his face. His voice was calm, impassive. "You're an old fool—why argue with a child?" "I said you're the only one I love, but I'm still a man and have needs." He flicked ash from his cigarette. His eyes lingered on my reddened, frost-bitten chest, then looked away. "Look at all those scars, they're terrible." "Every time you stand naked before me, I see those wounds, great and small, and I feel..." He paused, but the word came precisely. "Disgust." Samuel rose slowly. He placed a jade token—bought with blood—into my palm. "But don't worry, I only love you." "No matter who else I am with, you have my place." "I've fought half my life; now I want to settle and live decently." For years, he had told me to wait. Wait until he owns all the docks. Wait to reach the peak. Then he'd retire and live well with me. For that promise, I endured beatings and scorn. Even pierced by bloody wounds, I never thought to quit. I pictured a quiet life for three, at peace. What Samuel pictured was a handsome wife and concubines, contentment and ease. I breathed, sensing the man before me both familiar and strange. The boy who endured insults for me, who swore to fight and massacre in Tongwan. The Samuel who had pulled me from a trash heap and promised a home. Now he seemed like another person. My fingertips stroked the gun's cold muzzle. I inhaled and told him, "Let's get a divorce." At nineteen, I would have raged. I would have stabbed the two in the act again and again and thrown them into the sea. But now... I touched my belly; bitterness rose in my throat.

For years, his promises were a steady drumbeat: wait, he said, endure a little more; the docks will be mine and danger will pass. I believed him because we had bled together, because when enemies came, he carried me as if my life alone mattered. I forgave punches, insults, late nights, and the way he sometimes watched other women with a greedy smile that tightened my stomach. I washed his wounds and mended his pride; he built an empire on my patience. At night, I imagined a small house, sunlight on a table, a child's laugh through the rooms. I held faith because love had been our shelter. But love can not restrain appetite, and appetite has teeth. The man before me spoke of settling, yet his hands still reached beyond comfort; his heart left room for others. That was the betrayal I could not accept and my trust.

That year—here in this casino—Samuel and I had hidden our not-yet-one-year-old daughter from enemies. To survive, we closed up in a box and covered her mouth. We held her until she stopped breathing. That day, Samuel's cries echoed across Harbor City. He swore on his severed finger to avenge our daughter's death.

I bow to the heavens as well.

If, one day, Maggie Westbrook could forgive me.

If one day she would come back into my arms.

I promise I will change, become good, and never kill again. Now, Samuel is the ruler of Harbor City, the owner of this casino.

He can reattach a severed finger and abandon old vows.

He can let his lover trample whole stacks of photographs.

But I cannot.

I want to build a blessed life for my child.

I want to bury these old wounds behind us.

Then I can take our child to a place without strife or betrayal and live out the rest of my days.

Samuel refused the divorce.

Not because he was unwilling to let her go.

But because his little girl called, suddenly saying she was afraid of the dark.

He dashed over, barely letting me finish a sentence.

That impatient bastard could not wait to send me a taunting video.

In the bright, spotless, floor-to-ceiling window light, Samuel was half-kneeling, washing her feet.

I knew this house.

When Samuel and I first came to Harbor City to make a living, we stood at the base of this building and looked up.

I had imagined standing by that window, sharing this view with my lover, and dying without regrets. Now Samuel could buy the whole building.

But the woman who lived there was not me.

More than a decade of blood and violence could not withstand the gentleness laid before my eyes.

I endured it again and again, but in the end, I could not.

I cleared the portraits, lit incense, and called a subordinate.

At dawn, a gift box arrived at Samuel's desk containing Serena Rowe's severed finger.

The blood, still wet, shone crimson and blurred the glittering ring.

Samuel's eyes burned with rage.

He bound the subordinate who worked for me and dragged him to me, saying sternly, "Sophia, this is going too far."

"Serena is just a child." "Child?" Those two light words stabbed my chest like a blade. I sneered and shook my head. Our child, our Maggie, is now buried underground. Every night I miss our daughter; every night Samuel is absent, I fear enemies hunting me. I fear Samuel, who hasn't yet returned, will be in danger. I fear he will suffer the same fate as Maggie. But what about him? He holds Serena Rowe and laughs at my frantic, wounded love. I clenched my fists and croaked, "Sign the divorce papers and I'll ...

"I'll cut off her fingers, her ears, her nose."

"I want to see whether her body or yours has more organs left." Samuel smiled with confident certainty. "You won't." "Sophia, I know you. You love me too much to tear us apart from a child."

Before he could finish, a girl's soft moan came over the line.

Samuel struck the man on the ground with one blow.

He hurried away, still longing for Serena Rowe.

After that incident, Samuel guarded Serena Rowe even more closely.

I held nothing back.

If I could not find her, I would destroy her.

In seven days, I hit thirty-seven docks and eighteen satellite casinos.

Wherever Serena Rowe had been, I smashed and burned it.

One day, while I was raiding a casino, my man called.

"Sophia, something terrible is happening! Someone is trying to demolish Miss Maggie's grave!"

"What?"

My eyes widened instantly, and I drove straight there, tires screaming, heart pounding like a drum. Memory after memory flashed — the child's laughter, the box, the silence. When I reached the cemetery gate, my hands shook, but my steps were steady. I would not let them desecrate her resting place. Not now, not ever. I promised myself blood for blood if anyone dared touch that grave. No second chance.

As we neared the cemetery, a reckless car slammed straight into me.

A second before the shock, I saw the license plate ahead.

A927.

A cipher of death.

In all of Harbor City, only one man dared use it: Samuel.

As expected, Serena Rowe's fragile voice floated to my ears.

"What do I do, Brother Samuel? I hit someone."

"Will they arrest me? I'm so scared! I don't want to leave you!" Samuel kissed Serena Rowe's cheek.

Without looking at me, he ordered his men to dump a stack of cash at my feet.

He used the power I had given him to trample my dignity.

A cramping pain spread through my body.

I clutched my belly, ground my teeth, and looked up to see Samuel's men digging a grave.

Serena Rowe snuggled into Samuel's arms, pretending to tremble as she peered up.

"Brother Samuel, will Sophia be angry if she finds out we're doing this?"

"What if she comes after us? She's fierce, I'm so scared..."

Samuel smoothed her hair, dismissing her, "What are you afraid of? I have your back."

"In Harbor City now, I hold the final word."

Moved by his earnestness, Serena Rowe tilted her head and pouted.

"Really? I've suffered so much for you. An amusement park isn't enough. I want you on all fours to ride me like a horse!" Samuel kept smiling and nodded. Serena Rowe pressed on. "I want you to make me a birthday cake, too." "I want you to watch the stars and set off fireworks with me." "And I want us to have many, many babies." Samuel's smile grew brighter. The man who had fought through storms now looked like a lovestruck boy. He hugged Serena Rowe tightly, nodding repeatedly. "Okay, okay, I'll do as you…

No matter how outrageous her demands, Samuel smiled and agreed.

The fondness never left his face.

The bulldozer's roar became the anthem of their happiness.

And the small bodies below watched their love as witnesses.

The Buddhist beads on my wrist were stained with blood.

Compassion in my chest hardened into murderous intent.

I drew my pistol and fired without hesitation.

The bullet left the muzzle in an instant.

Samuel, without thinking, shielded Serena Rowe beneath him.

In the next breath, dozens of guns were trained on me.

Pain in my abdomen flared.

It felt as if Maggie, beneath the soi,l cried wide, accusing eyes.

I glared at Samuel, teeth clenched.

"You disturb Maggie's rest for this whore."

"Samuel, you are unfit to be a father!"

Samuel frowned. "Sophia, calm down."

"Our child is gone." "The dead are gone, the living remain."

What prize is living's supremacy? Old love cannot rival new love.

I bore the searing pain and raised my pistol once more.

But before I could fire again, Serena Rowe seized the full urn behind Samuel and smashed it down.

The box that held my longing and hope was scattered and swept away by the wind.

"Maggie!"

I lunged forward, screaming with hysteria.

Rage drowned the pain.

When I scooped the ashes into my arms, I froze, startled. For a moment, time stretched; memories rushed back in jagged, relentless waves — the child's first laugh, the night we concealed her in a box to hide from killers, the smell of smoke and iron, Samuel's desperate oath over a severed finger. Each memory struck like a bell, tolling loss and a promise of blood. I felt every wound reopen, every betrayal sharpen, and beneath the frenzy a cold clarity settled: whoever had dug here, whoever cheered or laughed had to answer with equal fury soon.