Clara, the lost daughter of the prestigious Capital-based family, finally returned to her true home after enduring years of suffering under her adoptive father's cruelty.

But her adoptive father refused to let her go: "If you don't want everyone to suffer because of you, you’d better be obedient."

Following his cold-blooded instructions, she targeted her mark on the very first day of her return—Alistair Vance.

Alistair was born daring and ruthless, but above all, he was heartless.

He never expected to lose his soul to a "Little Swan" who had just returned to the country.

Since then, the young heir who used to live for adrenaline and danger began to cherish his life. When his friends teased him, he simply replied: "I can't let my Little Swan be heartbroken."

Clara was in agony. She had fallen for Alistair, but she... was only an undercover agent.

When the truth was finally unmasked, she chose to fake her own death to help Alistair escape her adoptive father’s assassination attempt.

When they met again, he pulled her into a burning embrace: "I told you, you are my eternal love."

Chapter 1: Touching My Girl? You Want to Die?

The night was as dark as ink at the East End Speedway.

"Vance! Vance! Vance!"

The piercing screams and chaotic music blended together, forcing everyone’s gaze to follow the sleek, black motorcycle shimmering with a cold metallic light on the track.

"Ahhh! He won! He won!!!"

"Damn it, I lost another ten grand!"

"Didn't they say Alistair Vance was stuck in Veridia and couldn't make it back for this race? How did he get here! I lost twenty grand because of him!"

Amidst the chorus of cheers and curses, the black bike drifted through a perfect curve and skidded to a halt in the pit area.

The man dismounted and pulled off his black helmet, revealing a shock of defiant silver hair.

"Feeling good today? You lapped the third-place guy a full round."

Behind him, Julian hopped off a blue motorcycle, ran a hand through his hair, and walked over to drape an arm across the man’s shoulder.

"It was alright."

Alistair pressed his lips together coldly. His gaze swept through the crowd, and his movement to light a cigarette suddenly paused.

In a far corner, a group of men were huddled together. Through the gaps between them, he caught a glimpse of pure white.

"Go rest first."

Julian assumed he was exhausted from rushing straight from the airport. He patted Alistair’s shoulder. "Join us for a drink once you’ve recovered. The boys want to ask you about what happened over in... Veridia."

Only after receiving a nod of approval did Julian turn back to continue his laps.

In the blink of an eye, Alistair watched the men disappear through the doors of the bar, leaving only a lingering image of a woman’s fair, slender legs in his peripheral vision.

Inside the bar, a "No Entry" sign had been placed outside the restroom.

"Damn, a prize like this is rare!"

"Pour it! Make her drink every last drop!"

Inside the restroom, a man rubbed his hands together, reaching out to touch a delicate cheek, only to have his collar seized from behind.

In the next second, he was hurled across the room.

"Who the hell is ruining my fun!"

The man began to curse violently, but upon seeing who had entered, he and his cronies scrambled away in a panicked retreat.

Without the support of the two men, Clara instantly slumped to the floor.

Alistair spun a lighter between his long, slender fingers, his eyes narrowing as he unashamedly sized up this "Little Swan" who seemed to have wandered into the wrong place.

"Cough... cough..."

Clara, choked by the stinging alcohol, coughed uncontrollably.

A few stray locks of hair fell against her porcelain neck, swaying gently with her involuntary movements, making her throat look even more fragile and elegant.

"Who... who are you?"

Her eyes were watery, like a lake shrouded in mist, shimmering with a blurry light. They should have been crystal clear, but now, due to the alcohol, they were veiled in a hazy, lingering tenderness.

"Can you... take me to the hospital?"

Alistair suddenly smirked. He flicked the lighter, the small flame reflecting on his face, giving him an indescribably roguish look.

He knelt down, his fingers tilting Clara’s chin upward.

"You don’t know who I am?"

How could she not know?

The target of her mission, the crown prince of the main Vance family in Veridia—Alistair Vance!

And she was the daughter who had been switched at birth by a branch of the family.

Clara lowered her gaze, hiding the complex emotions in her eyes.

Her burning hands gripped Alistair’s wrists.

"They... there was something in the drink... cough..."

Her lips parted slightly, her breathing ragged.

Those slightly pouting lips were fresh and succulent, like a ripe cherry waiting to be picked.

Alistair wasn't in a hurry. He watched her with a casual, detached air.

"Who sent you?"

His cold fingers brushed against her cheek, but they weren't even a fraction as chilling as his tone.

"I... I feel so strange..."

Like a kitten, Clara nuzzled into the palm resting against her face, a hint of satisfaction flickering in her eyes.

Alistair’s gaze shifted downward, landing on her restless legs.

Beneath the cloud-like hem of her dress were two slender, ivory legs, perfectly proportioned with delicate ankles.

Despite the beauty before him, Alistair’s eyes grew increasingly cold.

"They certainly went to a lot of trouble, finding someone like you."

Clara’s eyes were unfocused, but her mind was perfectly sharp.

This dosage of the drug was less than half of what she had endured during training; it wasn't nearly enough to truly make her lose control.

However, Alistair’s words made her heart sink.

As expected of the man who gave her adoptive father such a headache.

The thought lasted only a second before Clara looked up, hooking her arms around Alistair’s neck and pulling him closer to her.

"I don't know who you are. Please... save me."

Like a cat, she grazed her lips against Alistair’s chin, her warm breath intentionally brushing past his earlobe.

She watched as the hardened man’s ear turned a deep, vivid red.

"Please, will you save me?"

Alistair’s eyes darkened instantly. He stared at the wall behind Clara, his other hand slowly moving to cover her slender neck.

"Ugh..."

In an instant, Clara was pinned against the wall by her throat.

"Tell me. Who exactly sent you?"

The sudden lack of air caused Clara’s brain to go blank for a split second as she stared at the fierce man in front of her.

"Speak now, and I might spare your life."

Alistair’s voice carried a deadly, frigid edge.

Over the past year, the branch families had sent no fewer than twenty or thirty women to seduce him.

Now, a woman so different and so suspiciously perfect had appeared out of nowhere.

He would be a fool not to doubt her.

With one hand squeezing Clara’s throat, his other hand began to search her body.

She was wearing a dress; the only thing she carried was a phone that had fallen to the floor.

Alistair picked up the phone. The lock screen was a photo of her.

He swiped it open; surprisingly, there was no password.

Contacts, messages, even shopping apps—there was nothing suspicious.

Refusing to give up, Alistair hiked her skirt up to her thighs.

The sudden sight of her creamy white skin made Alistair freeze for a rare two seconds.

How could there be nothing?

Had the branch family finally wised up? Had they sent a woman without the family tattoo?

Alistair’s brow furrowed deeply. Refusing to believe it, he scooped her up.

As the hand on her throat released its grip, the sudden rush of fresh air caused Clara to gasp instinctively.

By the time she realized what was happening, she had been placed on the vanity.

The faucet was turned on, and as the water flowed, the small amount of the drug caused her body to react slightly.

She intentionally let out a soft moan near Alistair’s ear.

As expected, she felt his entire body stiffen.

Wait... could he actually be... a virgin?

Alistair gripped Clara’s shoulders to push her away, his frown deep enough to crush a stone.

He cupped some water and began to rub at her inner thigh.

"It hurts... it hurts so much..."

Clara’s voice broke with a sob, and a single tear splashed onto the back of Alistair’s hand.

"I don't want your help anymore. Go away! Get away from me!"

Clara struggled, pushing Alistair back before stumbling off the vanity and running out of the restroom.

Alistair watched her figure disappear past the doorway, the image of her reddened skin still burned into his mind.

"Could it be... she really isn't one of them?"

As soon as he stepped out of the restroom, he saw Clara being approached by several men. One man was just about to lay a hand on her glowing shoulder.

Clara looked back at him through the crowd, her misty eyes filled with a silent plea for help.

His body moved before his brain could.

By the time he realized what he was doing, he had already snapped the man’s finger.

The feeling of being controlled by instinct was unpleasant.

Alistair’s eyes flashed with murderous intent as he threw the wailing man to the ground.

"Touching my girl? You want to die?"