Charlotte is a hardworking intern who never imagined her idol, superstar Freddy Jones, would fall for her. To keep his secret, Freddy disguises himself as an intern, standing by her side against jealous rivals and pulling her into a whirlwind romance she can’t resist.

At her daughter's one-month banquet, Shen Ruohan discovered her husband Zhou Yan's betrayal with her best friend Sun Qianqian—and that her own biological daughter had been killed by Sun Qianqian and secretly replaced with the child of Zhou Yan and Sun Qianqian. Shen Ruohan endured in silence, raised her enemies' daughter, and carefully planned her revenge. Years later, she revealed the truth publicly and made Zhou Yan and Sun Qianqian pay a heavy price.

I was once the Supreme Martial Artist, revered by tens of thousands. But now, I am merely a vagrant, scrounging for food with stray dogs in a street corner. The blood of a venomous serpent once granted me unparalleled divine power, yet my brother's poisoned wine cast me into the abyss. My memories were brutally excised, leaving only hunger and cold, and the faint, powerful illusions that felt alien to me. It was in the sixth month of my wandering. Filthy and disheveled, I caught a whiff of unease near an alley entrance. A few ruffians were cornering a woman in training attire—Lavina. She was beautiful, like a drawn sword, and her beauty had clearly drawn unwanted attention. I should have turned away, avoiding trouble as I usually did. But for some reason, a strange yet familiar fury ignited in my chest. My body acted before my mind, my grimy fists whistling through the air. The ruffians didn't even see my movements before they fell to the ground, howling. That power, that swiftness, felt alien even to me. Lavina's eyes held a hint of curiosity, a touch of admiration, and a flicker of... pity. She asked no questions, simply took my hand and led me back to the martial arts hall she managed with her father. The Master was an old man, his gaze as sharp as an eagle's, yet brimming with wisdom. He looked at me, shaking his head with a sigh, as if beholding a treasure covered in dust. "Your skill is extraordinary, yet you are consumed by amnesia. A pity," he pondered for a moment. "The hall needs an odd-job man. I'll provide food and shelter, but no pay." I nodded. It was the most generous offer I had heard in six months. At least, I would have a roof over my head, no longer having to fight dogs for scraps. A new life began, but danger stealthily drew near. While cleaning the martial arts hall one day, a familiar yet unfamiliar figure crashed into my awareness. He wore brand new training attire, his eyes sharp, yet upon seeing me, there was a flicker of undetectable panic and unease. Was he my... enemy? Or... family? I didn't know, but a primal chill ran down my spine. He was the brother I had personally cast into the abyss, now reappearing in my new life as a student. While wiping a dusty wall, my gaze inadvertently fell upon an ancient, treasured sword. It hung silently, a faded ribbon wrapped around its hilt. In that instant, a blinding white flash erupted in my mind: blades clashing, shadows dancing, flesh and blood flying... Was it my past? Or a future yet to be unearthed? I gripped the broom tightly, my fingertips ice-cold. Were forgotten powers and a fated enemy silently awakening, stirred by this very sword?

Belinda's voice, silken and alluring, brushed over the gleam of polished chrome. "How about this one? Someone of your distinguished caliber deserves nothing less than a top-tier ride." Nicholas, accustomed to such luxury, gave a subtle nod, accepting the flattery as his due. Hours later, however, the praise felt utterly hollow. Late that night, he lay curled in his cold bedroom, his wife Mina beside him. He spoke in a low voice, a subtle plea in his tone, almost a whisper of humility: "Darling, could I get a new electric scooter? I've had this one for five years." Mina didn't lift her head, focused on the bottles and jars on her dressing table, letting out a dismissive scoff: "You hardly ever go out, what do you need a new one for? Don't be so particular." His phone buzzed. Gillian's school calling. A parent-teacher conference. He'd forgotten. At the school, a teacher eyed him with a scrutinizing gaze. "Gillian's father is already here." Another teacher, Ms. Gao, added, "He's Gillian's *real* father. The gentleman who arrived earlier is Gillian's uncle." Nicholas's face instantly drained of color. He instinctively turned to leave, but Ms. Gao gently, yet firmly, blocked his path: "Today's meeting focuses on celebrating your daughter's essay, 'My Father.'" Nicholas stood there, rigid, watching Gillian approach the stage. Her young voice, clear and earnest, spoke of his endless patience, his warm companionship, and her wish for him never to leave. Every word, like a gentle knife, slowly carved out the image of the father he once prided himself on being. However, once the essay concluded, Gillian didn't walk towards him. Instead, she ran directly to "Uncle" Hank, who sat beside Mina, and hugged him tightly. Nicholas struggled to conjure a smile, but when Hank looked at him, his eyes holding a knowing, almost pitying expression, he asked nonchalantly: "Nicholas won't mind, will he, Nicholas?" In that instant, the smile utterly shattered, leaving behind only a forced facade, beneath which, a lifetime of accumulated regret silently wailed.

Elara’s smile was so serene it was unsettling. "I'm moving," she announced softly, yet gave her loyal bodyguard Ethan a strange task: to buy sugar-roasted chestnuts for "Joyce." He offered to help her move, but she waved him off, a glint of something unfathomable flickering in her eyes, as if they held the secrets of the universe. "You'll know soon enough," she promised, her voice ethereal, like a prophecy. Then, with a casual flick, she tossed her phone out the car window. It wasn't casual at all; it was a definitive farewell. Leaving only Ethan, and a strange, tearing tremor from where his mysterious tattoo lay. A strange sense of anticipation churned uneasily in his stomach. He had never felt so clearly that this was the first time he was bringing something for "Qiaoqiao" – a name he subconsciously associated with a tender nickname for Elara. His heart pounded as if it would burst from his chest, filled with an unprecedented excitement, like a caged beast about to break free. However, when the door finally opened, it wasn't Elara standing before him, but a radiant, utterly unfamiliar woman. "Ethan, you're here!" she chirped cheerfully, her voice light and carefree as a bird, taking the still-warm chestnuts from his hand. "They're still warm! How... how did you know I like chestnuts?" Ethan's breath hitched, all his anticipation instantly frozen into ice. Suspicions coiled around his heart like venomous snakes. "Didn't Elara tell you?" The woman, oblivious to the shock and rigidity in his eyes, continued blithely, "She's 'given' you to me! Elara agreed to marry the comatose son of the Xiao family in exchange for ten billion dollars. She went to Nordor, and now... you're my bodyguard." The sweet scent of chestnuts instantly turned to bitter ash in Ethan's mouth. His world tilted violently, spinning around him. Marriage? Ten billion? A comatose man? All these fragments collided violently in his mind, piecing together a suffocating, utterly absurd picture. An icy chill instantly seeped into his bones, a coldness that even surpassed the intense pain in his chest. His hand involuntarily trembled, clutching his chest – the tattoo there was now scorching, as if branded by a hot iron. "She... she married Charlie Xiao?" He barely managed to force out the words, his voice almost inaudible, hoarse as torn rags, as if it took every ounce of his strength. This truth, like a poisoned dagger, plunged fiercely into his heart, then twisted with malicious intent. Elara, what had she done? And what did this sudden, fierce pain in his chest truly mean? He felt utterly abandoned by the world.

In the silent bedroom, the silk wedding dress clung to her like ice, every inch of friction a blade, tearing at her last vestiges of dignity. She hugged herself tightly, fingers digging into her arms, trying to use the pain to fend off the bone-deep chill seeping from the room, and the suffocating predation in the man's abyss-like eyes. **[A pathetic prey, systematically lured into a trap, with no escape.]** She hadn't come here willingly. Sarah, the duplicitous maid, had personally thrust her into this opulent cage. The bridal gown wasn't a garment of joy; it was a shroud for a sacrifice. “The second rule,” his voice, a low thrum, coiled around her throat like invisible chains, constricting her breath, “You are forbidden from touching me without my permission.” His ice-cold gaze declared his absolute dominion over her, and his utter contempt for any hint of defiance, as if her very breath were an affront. **[He savored this power, reveled in her struggle.]** Then came the even more brutal third rule, accompanied by a predatory, almost demonic smile that flickered across his lips—a smile so fathomless it struck terror into her very soul: “You cannot say no to me.” Her heart plummeted like a massive stone into an abyss, humiliation and terror growing wild in her chest, threatening to tear her apart. When he commanded, “Now… take off your clothes,” her voice was barely a whisper, a desperate plea, fragile as a dying butterfly: “But… we don’t even know each other.” **[Acquaintance? That was never what he wanted.]** **[In this devil's game, she was predestined to lose.]** His reply was a bloody, heavy hammer, instantly shattering every shard of her remaining hope. “Listen,” he said, his voice glacially cold, each word a precise stab at her most vulnerable point, tearing at her last thread of resilience and plunging her into agony. “We can still call the hospital and postpone your grandmother’s surgery, can’t we?” Her breath hitched, tears welled in her eyes, but immense fear choked them back, transforming into an ocean of despair. She was trapped—by an unforgiving reality, by the life of her loved one held as a ruthless bargaining chip in his hand, trapped in this gilded cage, more frigid than any hell. She knew, she had no choice.