Natalie Alexander stood in the bridal suite at the top of the hotel, a gilded invitation card pinched between her fingers. Her fingertips had gone pale. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of London’s most luxurious hotel, her reflection stared back at her: a pristine white wedding gown, complete with a three-meter train and thousands of hand-sewn crystals.

Rumor had it the dress had been flown in from Paris, commissioned by the Ford family matriarch, costing hundreds of thousands of pounds. But now it lay crumpled on the carpet, stained with red wine, like a forgotten rag.

“Miss Alexander, Mr. Ford… he’s been delayed. He said he’ll be here later.” The assistant hovered in the corner, sweating bullets, refusing to meet Natalie’s eyes.

This soon-to-be Mrs. Ford was the calmest bride he’d ever seen. She’d been waiting since eight a.m. It was now two p.m., and the groom was nowhere to be found. His phone was off. The people sent to track him down reported that Grey Ford had spent the night at Nightfall, a club, and was currently passed out in a private room with two Instagram models.

Any other woman might have been sobbing, screaming, maybe even running out in her wedding dress. But Natalie picked up the gown, dusted it off, and gave the assistant a gentle smile. “I understand. Thank you for keeping me informed.”

The assistant shivered. That smile was too pure, too sweet—nothing like the gossip online about “Grey Ford’s forced marriage.” According to the internet, the Alexander family’s daughter, newly returned from abroad, was a pushover. Grey despised her. He’d left her in the lurch on her own wedding day, and she was doomed to a miserable life with the Fords.

Natalie folded the dress neatly, put it back in the closet, and pulled a simple white T-shirt and jeans from her suitcase. She removed the elaborate diamond hairpieces, letting her hair fall loose before tying it casually into a ponytail.

“Let Grey know,” she said, applying a light layer of lipstick that brightened her complexion, “that the wedding has been rescheduled for seven p.m. If he doesn’t show by then, I’ll tell Mrs. Hudson the wedding is off. Also, the banquet deposit is non-refundable. Make sure he sends the cancellation fee to my account.”

The assistant was stunned. “Evening at seven?”

“Is there a problem?”

“N-no, not at all!” The assistant dashed out, phone already in hand, making frantic calls as he went.

Natalie studied her reflection in the mirror. Twenty-five years old. Five foot six. Less than a hundred pounds. She had the “harmless ingénue” look down to a science—round doe eyes, a slightly upturned nose, thin pale lips, and soft dimples when she smiled.

Her complexion was pale and cool, her wrists delicate enough to snap. Everyone she met said she didn’t look like someone who could stand her ground.

And really, why would they think otherwise? Her family had left her in the UK unsupervised for a decade, only to suddenly call her back for a marriage of convenience. The groom was the most notorious son of one of London’s elite families—Grey Ford of the Fords.

The Alexanders wanted the Ford family’s influence. Mrs. Hudson wanted a “compliant and obedient” granddaughter-in-law to rein Grey in. Both families agreed without bothering to ask Natalie for her consent.

Over the phone, she had said only, “Alright.”

When she returned, Grey had met her at the airport, lounging in the back of a car with two young models, one on each side. He looked at her with his chin raised. “Natalie, right? Be sensible. After the wedding, we live separate lives. Don’t mess with me, and I won’t mess with you. You handle my grandmother, and you’ll get every penny you’re promised.”

Natalie, who hadn’t even set her luggage down, regarded him for a moment. Then she smiled. “Sure.”

Grey blinked, momentarily thrown by her smile, but he quickly brushed it off and ordered the driver to leave.

That evening, Natalie returned to the Alexander household. She faced her stepmother Bella Cunningham’s fake smile and the eyes of a family that saw her as property to be sold. At dinner, she quietly finished a bowl of pasta, then asked Bella, “Auntie, I studied gemology in the UK, and I want to open a studio. Could you lend me three hundred thousand pounds?”

Bella paused, fork suspended midair, her smile very much a mask. “Natalie, you know the company has been having some cash flow issues lately… Perhaps you could help out at your father’s company instead?”

Natalie nodded. “Sure.”

The next day, she went to the Alexander Group to “help out.” She spent the morning reviewing three years of financial statements, and in the afternoon, she walked into a board meeting and projected three money-laundering schemes onto the big screen for the directors.

“This sum went into Bella’s brother’s private account. This one was transferred to an overseas shell company. Altogether, over a million. Dad, are you genuinely unaware, or just ignoring it?”

Mr. Alexander—Stephen Alexander—turned pale with rage.

Bella burst into the meeting room, calling Natalie a thankless ingrate and a bastard, back to ruin the family.

Natalie calmly turned off the projector, packed up her computer, stood, and bowed to the directors. “I apologize for the domestic scene. I’ll recover these funds within three days, ensuring it doesn’t disrupt company operations.”

As she left the room, a coffee cup shattered behind her.

Three days later, 1.2 million pounds were returned to the Alexander account.

Natalie didn’t return to the company. She got a text from Bella, venomous: “Fine, you’re good. Now just marry that Ford brat and see how long you last!”

In the bridal suite now, Natalie glanced at her phone.

It was three p.m. Four hours until the rescheduled time.

Not wasting a second, she opened her laptop and logged into a darknet terminal inaccessible to the general public. The interface was black, with a single silver wing symbol in the center—“Silver Wing.”

She had twelve unread emails. Skimming through, she replied to three marked urgent.

One was from Southeast Asia, code name “Finley”: “President, the Double Dragon Society is sniffing around. Looks like they caught wind of your return. Be cautious.”

Natalie typed a brief reply: “Let them snoop.”

Closing her laptop, she stretched with a yawn. Outside, the sunset painted the sky gold and red.

Her phone rang. It was the assistant: “Miss Alexander! Grey’s awake! He said he’ll be there at seven sharp tonight!”

“Okay.”

“A-and also…” The assistant hesitated. “Grey said not to try any tricks. Even if he shows up, he won’t be kind to you.”

Natalie balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear as she poured herself a glass of warm water. “Tell him I changed the wedding dress. It’s not the one Mrs. Hudson chose.”

“Huh? But that dress is—”

“Too big. It felt like wearing a bedsheet. I had something else sent over, simple and white. If he feels embarrassed, he can stand me up again. I don’t mind.”

There was a pause on the other end before the assistant whispered, “Miss Alexander, you… you’re really not afraid of Mr. Ford?”

Natalie chuckled softly, sipping her water.

“Afraid of him?” She blinked at her reflection in the window. “Why should I be afraid of a spoiled rich kid who can’t even manage his family’s business?”

By 6:50 p.m., the hotel ballroom was filling up.

The guest list included relatives from both the Ford and Alexander families, plus notable figures from business and politics—over three hundred guests in all.

Mrs. Hudson sat at the head table, leaning on her cane, her expression dour.

Stephen Alexander and Bella sat across from her. Stephen looked awkward, while Lenora wore a barely suppressed smirk, eager for more scandal from this wedding.

At seven p.m. sharp, the doors to the hall opened.

Grey Ford walked in.

Today he wore a custom-fitted, pure black suit that added a touch of formality to his strikingly handsome face. Standing at six foot two, with broad shoulders and a slim waist, he had sharp, expressive eyes that could make countless women swoon with a single glance.

But those eyes now showed only irritation and indifference. His tie hung loose, as if he’d tossed it on without care.

Trailing behind him were two infamous playboys of London, Jonah Weber and Billy Cross.

Grey strode up to the ceremonial stage and glanced around. No bride. He scoffed. “Where is she? Wasn’t it supposed to be at seven? Did she take my advice and bolt—”

His words cut off as the side door of the hall opened.

Natalie walked in.

She wore a simple white dress, neatly tailored, cinched at the waist, the skirt falling just to her knees and revealing a pair of straight, pale legs. Her hair was free of crowns or veils, adorned only with a silver feather hairpin. She wore flat white shoes, moving gracefully and confidently.

For a moment, the entire hall went silent.

The dress should have been out of place at such an opulent wedding. Yet as she walked the aisle, her poise and confidence made everyone believe it suited her perfectly.

The mocking smile on Grey’s face froze.

He stared at Natalie for a solid five seconds.

In those five seconds, his gaze moved from her face to her waist, then back to her eyes. Those eyes were as clear as a mountain spring, dark as black grapes, curving into a smile as they met his.

“Seen enough, Mr. Ford?” Natalie asked as she approached him, tilting her head slightly. “If you’re finished, let’s sign.”

She handed him a pen.

Grey reflexively took it, then realized he was being steered. His expression darkened. “Natalie, are you doing this on purpose? Mrs. Hudson spent ages picking that dress, and you just switched it?”

“It was too big. Felt like I was wrapped in a bedsheet.” Natalie tilted her head. “If you’re upset about the money, I can compensate you.”

“You—”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the officiant interjected, dabbing at his sweat, “shall we proceed with the ceremony?”

Grey took a deep breath, suppressing his frustration. He had already decided. The marriage had to happen—Mrs. Hudson was holding his grandfather’s inheritance over his head. No wedding, no inheritance.

But he had plenty of ways to make this woman suffer: emotional neglect, living apart, extramarital affairs. What couldn’t he do?

When he signed, his signature was bold and aggressive, nearly tearing the paper.

Natalie’s signature, however, was neat and precise, every stroke deliberate.

During the ring exchange, Grey slid the ring onto her finger with such force it nearly broke her skin.

Natalie didn’t flinch. Instead, she gently took his hand, carefully placing his ring on his finger, even adjusting it to the right angle.

“All set.” She released his hand, stepped back, and nodded toward Mrs. Hudson in the audience. “Grandmother, the ceremony is complete.”

Mrs. Hudson’s stern face finally softened, showing her first smile of the evening.

During the toast, Grey unabashedly mingled with a drink in hand, flushed with alcohol alongside Jonah and Billy, leaving Natalie to handle the family.

The Alexanders’ side had a sparse turnout, mainly Stephen, Bella, and Bella’s daughter—Natalie’s half-sister, Kaiya.

Kaiya, a year younger than Natalie and spoiled from childhood, wore a champagne-colored dress and elaborate makeup. She stuck to Natalie like glue, forcing smiles as they toasted, all while secretly tugging at Natalie’s dress hem under the table.

By the third toast, Kaiya gasped dramatically, spilling her entire glass of red wine over Natalie’s white dress.

“Oh no, sister! I’m so sorry! It was an accident!” Kaiya exclaimed, hand to her mouth in mock horror, her eyes gloating.

Natalie looked down at the deep red stain spreading across her dress. She paused for a moment.

Then she looked up, still smiling. “It’s alright. I’ll go clean up.”

As she made her way to the restroom, she passed Grey’s table. Grey had his arm around Jonah, laughing heartily. He glanced at the stain on her dress and, instead of offering help, raised his glass. “Get changed before you come back, wife. This dress is too plain. Not as nice as your sister’s.”

Jonah and Billy burst into laughter.

Natalie didn’t break stride. She headed straight into the restroom.

In the mirror, the harmless ingénue turned on the faucet, washed her hands calmly, dried them, then pulled a small silver earring from her purse and pressed a button on its back.

The inside of the earring glowed faintly blue.

“President,” a deep male voice emerged from the earring, “I’ve compiled the information you requested on Grey Ford. Would you like to hear it now?”

Natalie smiled at her mirror reflection. “Go ahead.”

At twenty-five, Grey Ford was the only son of the Ford family’s third branch. On the surface, he was a carefree playboy—casinos, race cars, young models—burning through more than ten million dollars a year. But underneath it all…

The voice on the other end of the line hesitated before continuing. “His casino is just a front. Behind the scenes, he’s tied to at least three European arms-trafficking routes. Last year, he moved a shipment worth around five million across the northern Swiss border. And two months ago, he sat down with the Double Dragon Society.”

Natalie Alexander raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“And there’s more.” The voice dropped lower. “Every month, Grey sends a fixed amount to an orphanage called Stardust. It sits on the border and looks after the children of drug enforcement officers killed in the line of duty. President, this man is anything but simple.”

Natalie turned off the earpiece and tightened her ponytail in front of the mirror. It made sense now. If Grey Ford was important enough to make Mrs. Hudson personally step in and arrange a marriage, he couldn’t be just some wastrel.

Footsteps sounded outside, followed by a soft knock on the restroom door. “Sis? You okay?” Kaiya Johnston’s voice was syrupy sweet through the door. “Need me to find you a spare dress? Mom brought a couple of cocktail dresses. They might be a little shorter than mine... hope you don’t mind, sis?”

Natalie opened the door. Kaiya’s smile faltered when she saw the wine stain on Natalie’s chest was gone. The white dress had been cleverly turned inside out, hiding the stained side, with a silver feather brooch pinned at the waist to conceal any sign of the switch.

“No need,” Natalie said as she brushed past Kaiya and whispered in her ear. “Next time you spill something, use a darker drink. Pouring coffee into a wine glass is a dead giveaway.”

Kaiya’s face went pale. Natalie headed back to the banquet hall, making a beeline for Grey’s table. Jonah Weber and Billy Cross were still chatting away. When they saw Natalie’s “new” outfit, Billy whistled playfully. “Sister-in-law, where’d you learn that dress trick?”

Ignoring him, Natalie stopped in front of Grey. He leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing as he looked up at her. “Grey,” she called out, her voice calm but loud enough for the surrounding guests to hear.

“Hmm?”

“Step outside with me for a moment.”

“Why?” Grey smirked. “That eager? And on our wedding night?”

Laughter rippled around them, thick with innuendo. Natalie didn’t blink. She leaned down and whispered something only he could hear.

His smile stiffened, and he shot up from his chair, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the banquet hall.

At the corridor’s end, he pinned her against the wall, looming over her with a sharp, unfamiliar intensity. “What did you just say? Repeat it.”

Trapped between his arm and the wall, Natalie’s expression remained infuriatingly calm. “I said,” she lifted her gaze, her eyes crystal clear, “the shipment you moved across the Swiss border last month was intercepted. The couriers were called ‘Venom Hornets,’ ambushed by a crew in gray uniforms driving three black SUVs. The plates were—”

Grey’s hand clamped around her jaw.

“Who are you?”

Natalie felt the pressure on her jaw, but she only smiled. “Your wife,” she replied, “the kind who just got the marriage certificate.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, then released her, stepping back to reassess the woman before him. She had a face like a delicate flower, innocent eyes, a slender waist, and thin wrists—yet when he had grabbed her chin, her pulse stayed steady as a rock, showing no fear.

“Natalie,” he called her name, his tone shifting from flippant to cautious.

“Yes?”

“Marrying me wasn’t Mrs. Hudson’s idea, was it?”

Instead of answering, Natalie straightened his crooked tie. “The wedding isn’t over,” she reminded him, patting his chest. “Come, Mr. Ford, let’s finish the toasts. Your friends are waiting to crash the wedding.”

Grey grabbed her hand as she patted him. “Natalie, you better hope we can coexist peacefully,” he warned, his voice low. “I don’t care who sent you, but if you interfere with the Ford family—”

“Relax.” She gently pulled her hand away. “I have no interest in the Ford family. I married you because...” She tilted her head, appearing earnest. “You’re easy to fool.”

Half an hour later, the wedding dinner was winding down. Guests were slowly leaving the venue, and Grey was being helped out by Jonah and Billy, tipsy and unsteady.

Mrs. Hudson took Natalie’s hand before leaving, calling her a good girl and saying, “If Grey ever gives you trouble, come to me.”

Natalie smiled warmly, promising she would as she saw the older woman off. She turned to see Stephen Alexander standing nearby with a complex expression.

“Natalie.” He called out to her.

“Dad.”

“You... handled things well today,” Stephen said, rubbing his hands, unable to voice what he wanted. In the end, he sighed. “Keep an eye on the Ford side. Even if Grey’s unpredictable, the Ford family has deep roots. You won’t suffer following him. Your sister is young and naive—don’t hold it against her.”

Natalie smiled. “I understand.”

As Stephen got into the car, Natalie heard Bella’s sharp voice inside. “Who was she trying to impress today? Wearing such an informal dress, who does she think she’s disgracing? Stephen, I’m telling you—”

The rest was lost as the car drove away.

Natalie turned back to the hotel, the night breeze lifting her white dress, revealing a faint old scar that ran from her ankle to her knee like a thin, white snake.

Footsteps sounded behind her. “Natalie.”

She turned to see Grey, having shaken off his companions, standing by the hotel’s revolving door. Neon lights danced across his face, alternately bright and shadowed. His tie was gone, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, showing a faint scratch on his collarbone—left by some woman, no doubt.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to the bridal suite,” Natalie replied, waving the room key. “I’m taking the bed. You can have the sofa, or go back to the ‘Nightfall’ club if you prefer. Either way, you’re not missing out.”

Grey snorted, stepping closer to look down at her. “Natalie, do you really think marrying into the Ford family means you’ve got it made? I’ll be honest—I have no intention of touching you. We’re just partners living separate lives. Once things settle with Mrs. Hudson—”

“Okay, okay.” Natalie interrupted with a yawn. “A marriage of convenience, I get it. Trust me, I’m even less interested in you. That cologne you’re wearing—two brands mixed together—those Instagram models from yesterday, right? Clean up before talking to me; the stench gives me a headache.”

He choked on her words. “You—”

“The elevator’s here.” Natalie stepped in first, pressing the button for the top floor, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. “Are you coming? If not, I’ll head up alone. The card’s with me, so you’ll be sleeping in the hallway tonight.”

Grey clenched his teeth but eventually stepped into the elevator.

In the confined space, silence lingered between them as the elevator ascended.

Grey watched Natalie’s reflection in the shiny surface, her posture relaxed, eyes unfocused, as if he wasn’t even there.

He couldn’t understand it. After years of living in London and encountering all sorts of women—those who threw themselves at him, those who played coy, those after his money or fame, those who cried heartbreak—none had ever treated him like he was invisible.

Unable to hold back, he asked, “How did you know about that shipment?”

Natalie turned to meet his gaze, a slight smile on her lips. “Guess.”

“I don’t guess.” He closed in on her, the small space reducing the distance between them until he could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent she carried. “Natalie, if you don’t explain yourself today, this isn’t over—”

“Ding.”

The elevator stopped.

Natalie slipped under his arm, her flats tapping against the carpet as she walked to the bridal suite door, swiped the card, and pushed it open. She turned and beckoned him. “Come in, Mr. Ford. I have something to show you.”

Warily, Grey followed her inside.

The suite was expansive, presidential in scale, with a giant bouquet of roses, champagne, and a spiced honey cake on the coffee table.

Ignoring the decor, Natalie went to the desk, opened her laptop, and pulled up a PDF, turning the screen toward him.

Grey leaned in, his eyes widening at the sight.

It was his private financial records, every transaction clear as day, including the regular payments to the Stardust orphanage.

“You—”

“Don’t worry,” Natalie said, closing the laptop. “I’m not investigating you. I just wanted to tell you something.”

“What?”

Natalie Alexander walked to the window and gazed out at London's stunning skyline, her back to him. Her voice was soft. “Marrying you wasn't Mrs. Hudson's idea.”

“Then whose idea was it?”

Natalie turned. Outside, neon light bled through the glass, haloing her silhouette and hiding everything but her eyes—eyes that glittered like shattered diamonds. “Remember four years ago, at the Swiss border? You were running for your life, and a woman saved you.”

Grey Ford went still, as if struck by lightning. Four years ago, he'd just taken over the family's secret business, had no idea what he was doing, and nearly died in the forests of Switzerland. Yeah, there was a woman. He still remembered the silver mask, the almost inhuman skill—how she'd taken out more than a dozen assassins alone, dragged him from a pile of bodies, and left him on a farmer's doorstep before vanishing. He'd been searching for her ever since.

“It was you?” His voice scraped out, hoarse.

Natalie smiled, dimples barely showing. “Who else would it be? Why do you think I agreed to marry you?”

Grey surged forward and grabbed her shoulders, his grip so tight his knuckles went white. “Why did you save me and then disappear? Why are you here now? What—”

“Shh—” Natalie lifted a finger and pressed it to his lips. “Don't ask so many questions. All you need to know is I married you to protect you.” She rose on her toes, her warm breath brushing his ear. “Grey Ford, the Double Dragon Society is after you. That shipment interception wasn't an accident. Someone's trying to lure you out. If you want to see another sunrise, you'll do exactly what I say.”

Grey swallowed hard.

Natalie stepped back, sliding out of his grip, and tipped her chin toward the bathroom. “Go shower. You reek.”

Grey didn't move. His chest rose and fell; then he exhaled and forced his fists open. He started for the bathroom but paused at the door and glanced back. “Natalie.”

“What now?”

“Goodnight.”

With that, he shut the door.

Natalie stood alone in the living room, listening to the water run, and let out a slow breath. She looked down at her right palm—a deep, old scar from saving a reckless man four years ago.

“Fool,” she muttered.

Outside, the London night was ink-black, the city lights stretching into a sea. Hidden from view, the undercurrents were already shifting. The Double Dragon Society was on the move.

The water ran for nearly forty minutes. Natalie had already made up the sofa bed, using the hotel's extra bedding and pillows. From her suitcase, she pulled out a pair of silk pajamas—emerald green, lace-trimmed. They looked made for comfort, but they doubled as a covert combat uniform, with hidden pockets for blades.

She changed into the pajamas, sat on the bed, and checked her phone. In Silver Wing's encrypted channel, Finley had messaged: ‘Double Dragon sent two operatives to London. Code name Green Snake—poison specialist. And Iron Head—notorious assassin, top twenty worldwide. They're in the country, but we're still working on pinpointing them.’

Natalie replied with two words: “Understood.”

Then she checked her sister Kaiya Johnston's social media. Her younger sister had posted a wedding collage, captioned, ‘My sister got married. Wishing her all the happiness.’ One photo showed Natalie in her flowing white dress, with the caption: ‘Sis was so chill today. Super envious of her easygoing vibe~’

The comments were savage: ‘Why wasn't the Ford family's third son next to the bride?’ ‘Heard Mr. Ford spent the whole night drinking with Jonah and the boys. Barely made the rounds.’ ‘Kaiya, where's your sister's dress from? Looks basic. Off-the-rack?’

Kaiya replied to them all with the same line: ‘Don't speculate. My sister just got back from overseas. She's not used to how things work here yet. She'll adjust~’

Natalie screenshotted it for later.

The bathroom door opened.

Grey came out with wet hair, a towel slung around his waist. He was built—not bulky, just lean and broad-shouldered, with defined abs and a V-line that disappeared into the towel. Water slid down his chest, making him almost... distracting.

He knew exactly what he looked like. Grey toweled his hair slow, on purpose, then stood over Natalie and looked down at her. “Seen enough?” He raised an eyebrow, like he'd taken back the upper hand.

Natalie looked up, gaze drifting from his abs to his face, expression flat. “Your towel's crooked.”

“What?”

Natalie reached out and gave the towel at his waist a light tug—and the whole thing dropped.

Caught off guard, Grey cursed and scrambled to cover himself. Natalie had already turned away and tossed a pillow at him. “Get dressed. There's a robe in the wardrobe.” Her voice carried a grin. “Nice body. That leg hair, though?”

Grey went red.

He yanked on the robe, stormed over, and pulled the pillow off Natalie's face, teeth gritted. “Natalie, was that on purpose?”

Natalie lay back, hands behind her head, dark hair fanned across the pillow. She blinked up at him with fake innocence. “You said we'd live separate lives. I was just fixing your towel. Did you want a bigger show?”

Grey: “...”

For once, he had nothing to say.

This Alexander girl, educated overseas, had a tongue sharper than he'd expected.

“Fine.” He exhaled hard and dropped onto the couch. “You take the bed. I'll take the sofa. Happy?”

“Very.” Natalie pulled the quilt up and turned away. “Goodnight, Mr. Ford.”

Grey lay back and stared at the ceiling.

Logically, he could get under her skin—blast the TV, raid the minibar, video-call Jonah at some ungodly hour. But her words kept echoing in his head: she'd saved him. The Double Dragon Society was after him. And she'd married him for ‘protection.’

Protection?

Since when did Grey Ford need protection from a woman?

The thought ate at him more and more. He turned to face the back of the sofa.

Then another thought hit him—how did Natalie know about Switzerland? The shipment. The forest. The assassination attempt. Only a handful of people in his family knew those details. A young woman educated in the UK—how could she—wait. Her knife.

The woman from four years ago had an unmistakable knife style—every move lethal, the blade vanishing in a flick. He remembered the silver feather earring peeking through her dark hair when she'd checked his injuries.

He glanced at the bed.

Did Natalie have a pierced earlobe?

He distinctly remembered that her ears had been bare after she changed out of the dress...

Outside, a faint click sounded.

So faint it would've gone unnoticed by most. But years in the underworld had sharpened Grey's ears.

His body went tense. His fingers slipped under the sofa cushion for his tactical folding knife.

Natalie sat up in bed.

She moved like a shadow. Grey barely saw her leave the bed before she was at the window. She pulled the curtain aside, peeked out, then motioned for him to stay quiet.

“Don't move,” she whispered.

Grey kept his grip on the knife and went still.

The click came again, followed by the friction of wire—someone rappelling from the roof. Clearly heading for their floor.

Natalie crossed the carpet barefoot, silent, and pulled a long black whip from her suitcase. Its silver-capped tail caught the moonlight and flashed cold.

She glanced at Grey and mouthed, ‘Stay put.’

Then she leaned out—not into the room, but through the window.

Grey's eyes widened.

A second later, Natalie's foot found the window ledge, and her body flipped outside at an impossible angle.

The curtain fluttered in the wind. Then came a dull thud and the scrape of metal.

Grey couldn't hold back. He rushed to the window and yanked the curtain open—

Nothing.

Just darkness, city lights far below, wind howling at eighty-eight floors up.

He looked down. The wall was smooth—no ropes, no figures, nothing.

He spun around.

Natalie stood in the bedroom doorway, black whip in hand. Blood dripped from its tip onto the carpet, blooming into a dark stain.

She pressed her earring and spoke softly. “Clean it up. Two on the rooftop. Alerting the hotel is a no-go.”

Then she smiled at Grey.

“All clear,” she said. “Had an unexpected guest. Sent him packing.”

Grey's temple throbbed. “Sent him packing? You're eighty-eight floors up, and you sent him packing?”

“Relax. He had a parachute.” Natalie flicked blood off the whip. “He was a pro.”

“Who are you, really?”

Natalie walked over, circled him once, then climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Your wife,” she yawned. “Get some rest. We have Grandma's formalities tomorrow. And maybe avoid the sofa by the window tonight. There might be a second wave.”

Grey stood by the bed, watching her slip into sleep—long lashes, lips slightly pursed, breathing soft, like a harmless cat.

If he hadn't seen it himself, he wouldn't have believed she'd just taken out an assassin eighty-eight floors up.

He was silent for a while. Then he accepted reality, walked to the bed, lifted a corner of the blanket, and climbed in.

The space between them was at least half a meter.

“Natalie.”

“Hmm?”

“Did anyone ever tell you I'm a heavy sleeper?”

“...No.”

“You should've asked,” Grey said, facing away. “I sleep like a rock. And I kick.”

Natalie paused, then let out a soft chuckle. “Bring it.”

He said nothing else.

Five minutes later, he was out cold.

Natalie opened her eyes and turned to study his silhouette in the dark.

Asleep, he looked relaxed, his features softened, younger—like a typical spoiled rich boy.

But she knew he was anything but typical.

A man who sent money every month to an orphanage on the Swiss border, secretly ran arms routes, had the Double Dragon Society watching him... was anything but ordinary.

She turned away and shoved down whatever personal feelings tried to surface. Silver Wing's missions had demanded that from day one.

At 6:30 the next morning, Natalie woke on the dot.

The first thing she noticed was an arm wrapped around her waist, her back pressed to a warm chest, his breath tickling her neck with a faint hint of mint—even though he hadn't used mouthwash last night.

Grey was wrapped around her like an octopus, one leg thrown over hers, head tucked against her shoulder, dead asleep.

Natalie stared at the ceiling for three seconds, expressionless.

Then she bent her leg, knee—Then she bent her leg, drove her knee squarely into his lower abdomen, and twisted—

Grey went tumbling off the bed, blanket and all, hitting the carpet with a muffled thud.

“What the hell—”

Grey jolted upright, his hair sticking out like a bird’s nest. It took him three full seconds to realize what had happened.

Clutching his aching waist, he looked up and saw Natalie sitting on the bed, calmly straightening her pajamas.

“I warned you,” she said, getting out of bed and slipping her feet into his slippers before heading for the bathroom. “I kick in my sleep. You brought that on yourself.”

Grey sat on the carpet and stared at her back for a long moment. Then he lowered his head and let out a muffled laugh.

Realizing what he was doing, he quickly wiped the smile off his face.

By the time Natalie came out of the bathroom, Grey had already made the bed. His technique was rough, but the blanket was folded into a perfectly square block, which was more than she had expected.

“Grandma’s expecting us at eight.” He leaned against the bathroom doorframe, already dressed in a fresh suit, his hair neatly dried and styled. “What are you wearing?”

Then he added, “Don’t show up in jeans and a T-shirt again. The old lady really will get mad.”

Natalie opened her suitcase and took out a dusty-pink modernized gown.

It was made of silk, with a mandarin collar and knotted buttons, and the hem fell just above her knees. She paired it with nude low-heeled shoes.

The outfit was simple and understated, but it made her look gentle and elegant, as though she had stepped straight out of a vintage poster.

Grey glanced at her, then turned his face away.

“Not bad.”

Natalie pinned a silver feather hair clip beside her ear, checked herself in the mirror, and picked up her handbag.

“Let’s go, Mr. Ford.”

The Ford family’s ancestral residence stood in the western suburbs of London and occupied most of a hillside. Traditional gray-brick courtyards were connected by modern glass corridors, the old and new blending together seamlessly.

As their car passed through the gates, Natalie noticed two rows of ginkgo trees lining the road, their leaves glowing brilliant gold.

Mrs. Hudson lived in the main courtyard. She had already prepared morning tea, and the table was covered with pastries and hot porridge, all traditional local dishes.

“Natalie, you’re here. Come, sit down.” The old lady looked full of energy. Her silver hair was combed neatly into place, and she wore a dark purple traditional jacket. A translucent jade bracelet gleamed on her wrist.

Natalie sat as instructed, lifted the teacup, and offered it to her.

“Grandma, please have some tea.”

Mrs. Hudson accepted it and took a sip, then pulled a thick envelope from her pocket and pressed it into Natalie’s hand.

“Good girl. You’ve been through a lot.” She paused and shot Grey a glare. “He didn’t give you a hard time last night, did he?”

Grey touched his nose and sat down beside them. “Grandma, I behaved myself and slept on the sofa all night.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Natalie answered. “He slept on the sofa. I took the bed.”

Only then did Mrs. Hudson nod in relief. Suddenly, she leaned closer and lowered her voice.

“Natalie, that sofa is terribly hard. You two are young... Why don’t you share the bed tonight? You know—”

“Grandma!” Grey broke into a coughing fit.

Natalie remained perfectly composed. “All right, Grandma. I’ll think about it.”

Grey glared at her.

Mrs. Hudson cheerfully served them food, and the atmosphere around the table was surprisingly harmonious.

Just then, Grey’s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, his brows knitting almost imperceptibly. Instead of answering, he immediately declined the call.

But the screen lit up again.