Anyone who betrayed me had only one ending in my hands—death.
But that day, the rain fell too heavily, too muddied.
And I hesitated.
My father’s final words were:
“Sweetheart, it’s fine if you were crazy before. But from now on, you must treat Adrian as the sharpest knife in your hand.”
The day my father died, it was Adrian who, heedless of his own life, wiped out every rival in a single bloody night.
He elevated me to the rightful throne of the Crime Boss.
The downpour of blood splattered across him as Adrian wiped it from his face, like a demon risen from hell.
Without hesitation, he handed me the Family Crest Medallion that symbolized leadership.
“Coco, what’s yours will always be yours—no one can take it away.”
In Newport City, in the dreaded underworld, within the Hayes family’s territory—
True loyalty was the cheapest, and yet the most precious thing of all.
I ejected the magazine, kicked him into the mud.
Forbade anyone from covering him with an umbrella.
Let the rain drench him pale.
“Come back when you’re clean.”
“Adrian, there will never be a next time.”
For the next three years, whenever Adrian was in Newport City, he always came home before ten.
He gave me a yacht named after me, anchored in Hudson Bay, set to sail only for me.
He brought my favorite singer to Madison Square Garden, holding a private concert just for me.
We kissed atop Twin Peaks Hill, and wandered alleys for nothing more than a glass of iced lemon tea.
Everyone in Newport City feared Adrian.
But they all admitted one thing—Adrian loved me deeply.
Yet when I saw that woman’s unchanging smirk, I knew.
Adrian didn’t love me deeply—he had simply learned how to protect her better.
The hatred dragged my heart down like molten lead.
As my father said, Adrian was a good knife.
But the hand gripping him was not mine.
I wiped away my tears, pulling out the gun I hadn’t touched in three years.
The first shot shattered our wedding photo.
The glass split down the middle, separating Adrian’s hand from mine.
The second shot pierced the helm of the “Victoria,” our yacht on Hudson Bay.
Our love could never restart.
The third shot destroyed the TV replaying the Madison Square Garden concert.
I wanted no love tainted with pretense.
Clara had calculated everything perfectly—except one thing.
Even if a madwoman pretends to be tame, she’s still a madwoman.
What’s mine can only ever be mine.
Either obey me—or die.
The day the U.S. media exposed my marital scandal with Adrian, the yacht “Victoria” was publicly auctioned.
One clueless bidder shouted, “One dollar!”
I grabbed the mic, thrilled as the gavel fell.
“One dollar—it’s yours!”
When the butler handed over the transfer papers in front of everyone, I received a call from Adrian.
“Coco, what game are you playing with me now?”
“Do you want those mansions on the hill, or that crown from the auction? Say the word, I’ll even pluck the stars for you.”
Adrian’s way of coaxing could truly intoxicate.
But the sweeter the words, the more poisonous they felt.
I narrowed my eyes, glancing at the message just sent by my men.
“I want nothing—except for you to come back.”
“And play this game properly with me.”
