When everything finally quieted down, the night was still and heavy. A female officer, worried Claudia might be shaken, had offered to take her to a hotel. But Claudia waved her off with a tired smile and an excuse—she just needed a little time alone. She stood there for a long time, staring at the charred ruins until her legs went numb. Finally, she turned and walked toward her car. But just as she reached for the door, something in the grass caught her eye. A shape. Calmly, she opened the door, pulled out a fruit knife from the console, and moved closer—slow, deliberate steps, the air thick with smoke and silence. She pushed aside the tall weeds. Under the dim starlight, a man's face came into view—sharp, striking, and smeared with blood. Even lying flat, his tall frame and broad shoulders were obvious. His eyes were closed, lashes long against his skin, but even in unconsciousness he carried an unsettling sense of power. And she knew him. Claudia nudged his shoulder with her foot. “Tsk. What poor bastard have we got here?" She took in the scene for a moment—the haunting mix of beauty and wreckage—then turned away without hesitation. But just as she did, a hand shot out of the darkness and wrapped around her ankle. A pale, strong hand. Her breath caught. The man's eyes were open now—black and bottomless, catching the faint glint of starlight. His voice was low, rough with amusement. "To treat your savior like this, Ms. Lancaster—don't you think that's a bit cruel?" So he knew her name. Not surprising. The other day, the police chief himself had gone white when greeting this man, his tone dripping with fear and respect. Clearly, this wasn't some ordinary stranger. But so what? Claudia tilted her head, voice cool. "Every TV show says never to pick up strange men off the road. And besides, don't you think you look a little too much like a fugitive right now?" Really—what decent man lies in the grass at midnight, covered in blood? Sterling—who, incidentally, had fed two men to wolves not even an hour ago—let out a low laugh. "Is that so? Then maybe a killer and an arsonist make the perfect pair." His gaze lingered on her, full of teasing warmth. Even half-dead on the ground, he looked like he was the one in control. … No matter how hard she tried to resist, Claudia somehow got roped into Sterling's game. She brought him back to her tiny apartment. When he leaned against her for support—on purpose, she was sure—she tossed him onto the couch without a shred of gentleness. He groaned. "You really don't want to go to a hospital?" she asked flatly. "No need. Someone will come soon." Claudia eyed his injuries. The blood loss alone looked bad enough to kill him. She hesitated."What's wrong?" Sterling arched a brow, his tone faintly mocking. "Feeling sorry for me?" Claudia's face didn't move. “No. I just don't want you dying in my apartment. That's bad luck." He chuckled weakly. “Relax. Even if I did die, someone would come to collect the body." "Then maybe they can collect you while you're still alive," she shot back, expression cold. Her look said everything: Please leave. Immediately. Sterling's lips curved, amused. “No. I'm staying. I need to give you a chance to repay me." Claudia's face fell. He might've been joking, but his eyes never stopped scanning the room—alert, calculating, ready for danger. Even bleeding, even pale, he didn't let his guard drop. Claudia pretended not to notice. She wasn't interested in who he was or what he'd done. Her life was already in ashes—she didn't need more chaos. When he finally staggered and half-collapsed near the couch, she had already turned her attention to the kitchen, boiling a pot of wontons. So much had happened these past few days, she hadn't even eaten properly. Now, back in her own space, hunger was the only thing she could feel. Ten minutes later, she set a steaming bowl on the table and wandered lazily back toward the living room. She'd already noticed in the car—his endurance was inhuman. Any normal man would've passed out from that much blood loss, but he'd stayed sharp, always watching the rearview mirror.He was either a killer—or a man being hunted. If not for his refined looks and that quiet, noble arrogance, she would've believed the former without question. "Hey," she called, too lazy to bend down, nudging him with her foot. "Still alive?" She had changed into a simple white dress, her bare feet padding softly across the floor. Her face was calm, expression unreadable. The faint sway of her legs, the pale shimmer of her ankles in the lamplight—they carried a strange, effortless grace. When he didn't answer, she pressed her toes against his chest. Hmm. Strong heartbeat. She pressed harder, poking him a few more times. He'd scared her earlier in the car with his talk of being hunted and tortured if caught. Maybe it was time to return the favor. Before she could jab again, a cold hand wrapped around her foot. “Ah—!” Sterling looked up at her, exasperated. He'd been pretending to be unconscious, but no man could sleep through her brand of torment. If he hadn't stopped her, that dainty foot of hers would've ended up on his face. Not that he'd minded the thought. Her skin was cool, impossibly soft. His fingers itched. Before he could stop himself, he squeezed. Smack. Pain exploded in his jaw. The world froze.That was the price of wandering hands. Sterling's chest rose and fell sharply, but instead of letting go, he caught her ankle again and pressed it back against his chest. His bloody palm left a red streak across her pale foot, staining its delicate perfection. His eyes, dark and deep, flickered with something unreadable. “Mr. Romero—!” The door burst open. Claudia froze. Two men stood there—one she recognized immediately. Clint, the assistant she'd seen at the police station. The other, thin and disheveled with a medical kit in hand, had to be the doctor Sterling mentioned. Claudia shot them a cold, wordless glare, then turned that same look on Sterling, who was still holding her foot. Breaking into my home now? Really? And you call yourself civilized? But Clint and David looked even more horrified than she did. Good God. What were they seeing? Their boss—the same man who'd once fed naked women to wolves without blinking—was now lying there, clutching a woman's foot like it was a sacred treasure, looking positively… pleased. And wasn't he supposed to be half-dead? The two men froze, their expressions stiff and awkward, like they'd just barged in on a married couple mid–bedroom scene.