Robert defies his family to marry Hathaway and builds her startup into a listed company. But her assistant George turns her against Robert, causing their divorce. Robert withdraws his investment, ruining her business, and moves on with his betrothed Natasha, leaving Hathaway full of regret.

Wrongfully accused of thesis plagiarism, medical grad Kelly can’t find work. She rescues an elder, Carl, who gets her a job at a military hospital—where the director is Carl’s grandson George, her contractual husband.Kelly hides their marriage to avoid attention, but is harassed by George’s admirer Victoria. George defends her, and their contractual bond grows into real affection as they spend time together.

The underground casino reeked of sweet, metallic air. When the dice cup was lifted, my fingers trembled. Three crimson dice, all showing a single blood-red dot—【The Death Gate】. Across the table, the impeccably suited "Gambling God" smiled. Behind his golden spectacles, his eyes were like blades: "Lin Qi, you won't live past tonight." I said nothing. Just pushed my last chip onto the table. My workwear sleeve slipped, revealing the old serpent-shaped scar on my forearm—the mark Henry carved into my flesh with a razor when I was twelve. "My master once said," I whispered, "when gambling reaches the end, it's not about speed—it's about who fears death less." Poker round. He laid down a straight flush. I flipped my card—a blank. The room erupted in laughter. Until I raised it to the light. Blood letters bled across the back: 【You owe me a life】. The Gambling God’s face turned pale. Third round: knives. Fingers slicing flesh. Loser loses a hand. Blades flashed between our fingers, spraying droplets of blood. Half of my left middle finger dangled by skin, yet my right hand remained unnaturally steady. His final strike came at me. I raised my hand—not to block. But to impale. The blade plunged deep into my palm. Then, following its momentum, I forced the entire knife into my sleeve. In that instant, golden light exploded from the wound! A phantom emerged—black tailcoat, monocle, that familiar mocking smirk... "Henry… Mr. Henry?!" Silence swallowed the room. The spirit stood amidst the blood mist, gently patting my shoulder. "Good pupil. This time… I’m betting on you to win." The Gambling God staggered back, his tie suddenly tightening—as if an invisible hand gripped his throat. "No… impossible! Henry died ten years ago!" "Yeah," I spat blood, smiling as I raised my mangled hand, "that’s why he’s waited too long for this." Blades flashed again. No one saw who struck. Only a dull thud. The Gambling God dropped to his knees. A card pierced his forehead. Front: Demon King. Back: 【Paid in full】. Smoke curled through the air. I stood over the fallen body and whispered, "Master… if I win… can you come back to life?" Golden light faded, leaving only a whisper: "No. But you can live on—for me." The game ended. But fate… has just begun.

In the late-night showdown at "Tranquility Restaurant," light sliced like knives, tearing through the silence. Jasper, the rising star chef, said nothing. With a gentle push of his fingertips against the fish's belly, he removed every bone from the East China Sea silver perch—without breaking the skin. The tail still quivered faintly, as if swimming in the deep sea. The room erupted. Old-school master Zev sneered, “Just flashy tricks. Cooking isn’t illusion.” But before the words faded, surveillance footage suddenly played on the main screen—three years ago, Zev had used his so-called “inner energy infusion” to manipulate taste illusions, secretly influencing judges and stealing the Golden Spoon that rightfully belonged to another. The evidence was undeniable. Shock rippled through the crowd. Zev leapt to his feet, eyes bloodshot. “Who do you think you are? You dare ruin my life?” He lunged at Jasper, palm blazing with fury. Yet Jasper closed his eyes—left hand drawing a circle, right hand striking like lightning. He unleashed the long-lost **Dance of the Beast, Bone-Stripping Technique**. One blade, one cut—silent, seamless. Zev froze. His knife clattered to the floor. He looked down. Five crimson lines bloomed across his apron, perfectly aligned with the projected positions of the five vital organs. The outcome was clear. Then, a dark figure stepped in through the rain. Hair white as snow, left sleeve hanging empty. Master Chef had arrived. His gaze settled on Jasper, soft but profound: “The final disciple I’ve waited twenty years for… has finally made this blade speak again.” Silence swallowed the room. Only the crackle of stove flames remained, illuminating the young man once mocked as “all show, no soul.” He turned, removed his chef’s hat—and revealed an old lotus-shaped scar on the back of his neck. The **“Crimson Flame Brand.”** A mark known only to Master Chef’s lineage. He hadn’t come to challenge the rules from the start. He had come to **burn the old throne to ashes.**

In the Hall of Golden Chimes, officials stood in solemn silence. Before the emperor upon his dragon throne could speak, a white figure shattered the morning light as it arrived. A youth clad in pure white robes, hair like snow and eyes like cold stars, ascended the jade steps with measured strides—each step resonating deep within the hearts of those present. The court murmured in scorn—him again, Adrian, the prince abandoned to the frontier, returned only to be called "the talentless wretch with no spiritual roots." "The Emperor once promised half the empire to whoever could break the 'Ninefold Thunder Prison Array,'" he declared, voice clear and calm, neither humble nor haughty. "Today, I have come to claim my reward." The hall erupted in shock. "Insolence!" the Grand Preceptor roared. "You can't even hold a sword—how dare you speak of breaking the array?" The princess trembled, whispering, "He's gone mad… Even the Imperial Seer dares not approach that formation." A foreign envoy sneered, "Another bastard son of Nelson Shaw, thinking words alone can change fate?" Only the Empress Dowager's pupils contracted sharply—her gaze locked onto the faintly glowing azure纹 on the youth's wrist—the ancient mark of the tyrant's bloodline, awakened after three centuries! At that very moment— Boom!!! The heavens split open. Seven bolts of violet lightning crashed down from the clouds, converging into a writhing arc within the boy’s palm. He bore no weapon, yet gales howled around him, the ground cracked beneath his feet, officials collapsed to their knees, and armor shattered under invisible force. The Emperor shot upright, his throne exploding behind him. "You… you are…" "I am no one's shame," Adrian lifted his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips as the world shifted around him. "I am the new king you would beg for—yet never dare hope to see." Bathed in thunderlight, he let out a soft laugh: "Now then—who still dares say… I am unworthy?"

On Christmas Eve, snow fell in silence. As I stood on tiptoe to adjust Jack’s scarf, he suddenly pinned me against the shop window and kissed me. Our embracing figures reflected in the glass, behind us the grand Christmas tree at the mall's center glittered with crystal lights—so dazzling it felt like a dream. But the next moment, his mother arrived in sharp heels, her crimson lips curling into a sneer. "Don't touch my son, you lowly feeder." Behind her, Jack’s father crushed the pocket watch left by my grandfather—the old heirloom I’d kept against my chest for twenty years. Gears shattered, time stopped dead. I knelt on the floor, gathering the fragments, blood seeping from my fingertips. They didn’t know—the watch concealed a microchip, the secret key to the Miller family inheritance. Three days earlier, Grandma had summoned me to the hidden chamber, her wrinkled hand resting on the safe. “Play this role. Test whether he loves you for who you are, not your billions.” “But what if he hurts me?” “Then let him,” she said quietly, “personally destroy his chance to marry me.” So I disguised myself as an ordinary girl, spending three months with Jack in the warmth of everyday life. He gave me cheap earrings, took me to eat street hot dogs, warmed my hands in the snow… I thought it was real. Until tonight. The moment the watch broke, a system alert sounded in my mind: [Mission Failed. Subject passed the wealth and status test, but failed the respect-for-family test. Inheritance rights automatically frozen. Related party disqualified.] Slowly, I rose to my feet and removed my contact lenses—encrypted code flickered across my left iris. At that very instant, news exploded: "The sole heir of the Miller Group revealed! 250 billion assets about to be transferred!" Crowds gasped. Jack turned deathly pale. I settled into the wheelchair being wheeled over, and my silver-haired grandmother took my hand, whispering, “You were never a farm girl. You’re the princess upon the throne of ice and snow.” Snowflakes landed on his shoulder as I lifted my gaze for one final look. “Jack Howard, you were one step away from happiness.” The Christmas bells rang. I turned and walked away. Behind me echoed his desperate, heartbroken cries. Love didn’t lose—only arrogance and prejudice won.