The original surgery was a cruel struggle. Catherine used thorns from plants as needles and stripped vines as thread, stitching his abdominal wounds with the unwavering focus of a surgeon. The man—Bryce—had already passed out from the pain, which was a relief for both of them. When the last rough stitch was finally drawn together, the adrenaline that had sustained her for hours abruptly faded, leaving only an endless void and a bitter exhaustion. She slumped against the cold stone wall beside him, her body protesting silently, then fell into an uneasy, trembling sleep.

She was woken by the sound of his teeth chattering. Dawn was breaking, painting the sky in bruises of purplish gray, but the chill left by the storm still lingered in the cave. She reached out and touched his forehead—it was scorching. He had a fever, infection was setting in. Combined with the ongoing hypothermia, it could kill him.

There was nothing to start a fire, no way to warm herself. A cold wave of panic tried to surge up her throat, but she swallowed it down hard. There was only one choice, one that felt both desperate and impossibly intimate.

She hesitated for only a second before taking off her damp coat. She gritted her teeth against the bone-chilling cold, lay down beside him, pressed her body close to his, trying to transfer what little warmth she had to his trembling form.

He was delirious with fever, beginning to murmur incoherently. In that confusion, he must have sensed warmth and proximity—his arms coiled around her waist like a snake, pulling her tightly toward him. It was pure instinct, a drowning person grasping at driftwood. Catherine froze. This touch was a shock to her entire nervous system, an unwanted intimacy from a stranger. But he was too cold, and she was his only hope. She forced herself to relax, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I must survive," she thought, the faces of the Callahan family flitting before her eyelids. "I must go back."

She didn't know how long they lay tangled together in the half-light, until a new voice broke the rhythm of the waves and the wind. A low, rhythmic hum, growing louder as it approached. It was a helicopter.

Catherine shot to her feet, exhaustion forgotten. She scrambled to the entrance of the cave and peered out. A sleek black helicopter hovered above the island, its searchlight sweeping through the morning mist. It was descending, aiming for a small beach not far from the cave.

Hope and fear surged within her simultaneously. Who were they? His friends—or enemies, come to finish him off?

The helicopter landed. Several men in black tactical gear jumped out, moving with agility and efficiency. The leader was called Jax Stone, with a cold, hard face and eyes as emotionless as a killer. He glanced at the device in his hand and walked straight toward the cave. They were after him.

Jax was the first to squeeze inside. His gaze locked onto Bryce first, then swept to Catherine. He drew his gun without hesitation, aiming it at her chest.

"Don't move," he commanded, his voice low.

Before Catherine could react, a weak voice came from behind her. "Jax... stop."Bryce woke up, propping himself up on one elbow, his face pale and drenched in sweat. "She... she saved me."

A flicker of surprise passed through Jax's eyes, but he didn't hesitate, holstering his gun. He gave a brief command, and his men swarmed the cave with stretchers and first-aid equipment. They moved quickly, attaching an IV to Bryce and monitoring his vital signs.

"Mr. Bass will greatly appreciate your help," Jax turned to Catherine, his tone filled with more respect but still laced with caution. "He will ensure you are well compensated."

On the stretcher, as his men lifted Bryce out, his gaze found Catherine. His eyes were clearer now, the feverishness slightly receding. "Name your price," he said, his voice stronger than before. "Anything."

Catherine looked at him, at the helicopter, at the team that obeyed him without hesitation. Money was the last thing she needed. "I don't want your money," she said, her voice clear and resolute.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. This was clearly not the answer he was used to hearing. His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"I just want to go home," she said. "A flight ticket to New York."

He stared at her for a long time—his gaze intense, as if he wanted to brush away the layer of grime and exhaustion from her face to see the woman beneath it. Finally, he nodded briefly. "Arrange it."

On the helicopter, the world changed. When leaving the island, the roar of the rotors was deafening. Catherine was given a seat in a corner, a bottle of water, and a blanket. She watched as the medical staff tended to Bryce—cleaning the wound, properly bandaging the rough stitches she had just made. She and this man, Bryce Bass, came from completely different universes. The chasm between them was as boundless as the ocean beneath their feet.

His emergency treatment was completed, and Jax handed him a satellite phone. Bryce began making the call, his voice low and resolute, issuing a series of orders that could shake the market and end careers. Even after being pulled back from the brink of death, he still controlled everything.

Katherine no longer looked at him, turning to gaze out the port window. She didn't care who he was or what he did. He was just a tool, a means to her destination. Her entire focus was on one thing: New York. And those who had left her stranded on that island.

After the call,Bryce's gaze fell on her. He looked at her for a long time—capturing her quiet stillness, her complete indifference to him and his prestigious status. It was fresh, more captivating than any business deal.

"What's your name?" His voice cut through the noise in the cabin.

"Catherine," she replied, offering no more information—no last name, no past.

He didn't press further. He simply turned to the pilot, Rick Sullivan. "Plan changed. Let's take this lady to where she needs to go first."

The pilot and Jax exchanged a surprised glance, but neither opened their mouth. A command is a command.

Catherine was somewhat taken aback by the arrangement, but she merely nodded. "Thank you."

Bryce looked at her, at her dirty, stubborn face, and those astonishingly clear eyes. This woman was a mystery. And Bryce Bass, loved mysteries above all.

"The address?" Pilot Rick Sullivan asked through his headset, his tone professional but tinged with curiosity.

Catherine didn't hesitate. "Hampton. Callahan Manor. ”

Bryce Bass, sitting in the back seat, heard the address through his headphones and his brows twitched slightly. The Callaghan family—he knew—a deeply rooted Old Money family in New York, whose influence and wealth were slowly and steadily declining. He glanced at the quiet and resourceful woman in the corner, his interest growing even stronger. What is her relationship with them?

The helicopter began to turn, leaving the vast gray Atlantic waters behind as it flew toward the Hamptons' neatly trimmed green lawns and stretches of mansions. After circling for a week, it began to descend—not landing on a private tarmac, but heading straight for the wide, lush green lawns of Callaghan Manor.

The deafening roar of the rotors tears through the elegant atmosphere below. Today is Bryanna Callahan's twenty-first birthday, and the estate is packed with New York's socialites. Champagne flows, string quartets play Vivaldi, and the air is filled with the scent of expensive perfume and polite but meaningless pleasantries.

Bryanna wore a fluffy pink Chanel haute couture gown, the center of the party, immersed in the joy of being surrounded by flattery. Her mother, Anis Callahan, gracefully weaves through the crowd, embodying the perfect hostess, chatting and timely revealing that Bryanna is about to get engaged to the heir to a banking tycoon.

When that black helicopter appeared in the sky—a model that was too advanced and expensive for any of their guests—a wave of excitement spread throughout the party. This uninvited arrival is full of drama.

Anes and Bryanna exchanged a knowing glance, full of anticipation. They thought it was a reclusive billionaire, perhaps a tech giant from the West Coast, drawn by the allure of this exclusive party. An unexpected heavyweight guest.

Bryanna immediately smoothed her skirt, patted her meticulous hair, and prepared to greet the mysterious guest with the brightest smile.

The helicopter's rotors slowed down, and the hatch slid open. Two men dressed in dark suits and wearing headphones stepped out first, exuding a quiet yet chilling aura. They glanced at the crowd, and then one of them set up a portable ladder on the grass.

Then, she appeared.

A young woman, her clothes tattered and dirty, hair a mess, and her face covered in mud. Catherine stepped off the helicopter and stepped onto the clean lawn, squinting slightly in the afternoon sunlight.

The party fell into a shocking deathly silence. The music gradually faded and then stopped completely. Hundreds of pairs of eyes intertwined with confusion and disgust, staring at her.

Bryanni's smile, practiced countless times, froze, then twisted into a look of disgust. "Who is that? What are beggars doing here? ”

Aneth's expression darkened. She calmly signaled the manor security guards with her eyes, signaling them to go over and stop and take away the uninvited guest.

Catherine ignored everyone. Her gaze fell on the grand mansion before her, supported by white columns. A cold and hard hatred congealed in her stomach. This is her mother's house. Her home. And these vultures have devoured them completely.

Bryanna never misses a chance to show her cruelty. She strode toward Catherine, waving a silk fan in her hand, exaggeratedly covering her nose. "Oh my god, you smell like a subway station. Get lost, don't ruin my party. ”

But the security guards hesitated. The helicopter had not yet left, the rotors were still slowly turning, silently and threateningly signaling the power behind it. Aneth was much sharper than her daughter and sensed danger. She walked forward gracefully, her face polite and caring. "Miss, I think you've come to the wrong place."

Catherine's gaze passed over them and landed on a man sitting on the balcony. The champagne glass in his hand froze in midair, just an inch from his lips. Hillary Callaghan—her father.

The moment he recognized her, shock, fear, and anger all intertwined across his face, a complex tide surging through him. The way he looked at her was not that of a long-lost daughter, but of a trouble that had just landed on their own lawn.

Aneth followed Catherine's gaze, and a wave of fear suddenly gripped her. She remembered Hillary once mentioning a daughter he had left in a forgotten town in Pennsylvania—the child of his first wife, who was also Aneis's own sister.

Bryanna was completely unaware, continuing her long speech, mocking Catherine's tattered shirt and mud-stained shoes. All the glamour and extravagance at the party seemed to hold their breath at that moment. Fake smiles and social engagements are completely forgotten.

Catherine looked at the two women in front of her, at their exquisite makeup and hollow eyes. A slow, cold smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. She said nothing, just stood there—a ghost from the past, waiting for the grand show to begin.

As if an eternity had passed, Hillary Callahan finally forced himself to take a step. He walked down the balcony steps, wearing a stiff and hypocritical smile, walking toward the daughter he had abandoned years ago.