“Mmm…” A soft, almost seductive moan slipped out.

The fair-skinned woman on the bed slowly opened her sleepy eyes. She tried to move, only to realize her whole body felt like it had been run over by a truck. Nothing felt like it belonged to her anymore. Her pale, slender fingers pressed lightly against her temples, her brows drawn tight in a painful frown.

She opened her eyes fully and looked at the room around her, familiar and strange at the same time.

Just how much had she drunk last night? Other than the splitting headache, why did her whole body feel like it was falling apart?

Then the sharp pain between her legs rushed through her body, and the intimate marks all over her skin were impossible to ignore.

In an instant, the woman understood exactly what kind of night she had gone through. But the second she remembered the man’s relentless thrusts from last night, that breathless, sweat-soaked feeling, her thoughts jammed. The flush already lingering on her face deepened at once, spreading all the way to her ears.

The sound of water splashing onto the bathroom floor came from inside the bathroom, pulling her sharply back to reality.

Then, suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

Serena Ashford shifted her aching lower body, and the tearing pain nearly made her want to give up on getting out of bed. But the knocking continued, polite and steady, as if whoever stood outside had all the patience in the world.

Left with no choice, Serena braced herself against the bed and forced her feet onto the floor, wrapping the sheet tightly around her body.

Every step made the tearing pain below yank at her chest too, so intense it almost made her black out.

It should have taken her one minute to reach the door. Serena somehow spent three.

Enduring the pain between her legs, she frowned faintly, her pretty brows knitting together.

Her pale hands pressed against the cream-colored wallpaper as she looked toward the door and asked softly, “Who is it?”

“Room service.”

Hearing that answer, Serena didn’t think much of it. The moment she opened the golden door, before she could even process what was happening, a huge force slammed into her and shoved her straight to the floor.

A swarm of reporters rushed in, and without a single word of explanation, they started snapping pictures at Serena like crazy.

Ignoring the pain in her wrist and between her legs, Serena hurriedly raised her hands to cover her face. But some of the reporters clearly didn’t like that. They roughly pulled away her pale, slender hands and kept taking photos nonstop, not even bothering to ask a single question.

At that moment, her clear eyes were filled with pure panic.

She went crashing down onto the expensive carpet, a total mess.

The presidential suite was full of traces no one could ignore, the kind of tension hanging in the air that made people instantly think of what had happened the night before. A man’s and a woman’s most private pieces of clothing were tossed carelessly over the pricey cashmere blanket. A fully bespoke suit worth a fortune, the keys to a Pagani, a finely tailored white dress shirt...

The reporters standing there missed none of it. Their cameras swept across every suggestive detail in the suite like sharks smelling blood.

One of the female reporters was even bolder than the rest. She actually reached out, trying to rip away the sheet wrapped around Serena Ashford.

"What are you doing?" Serena panicked, clutching the sheet around herself so hard her knuckles turned white.

"Taking pictures, obviously." The woman didn’t hold back at all. She stretched out her hand again, trying once more to yank the sheet off Serena.

"Don’t you dare." Serena’s voice turned cold. Her clear eyes were steady, stubborn, and sharp.

"What’s there to not dare?" the woman sneered. "You went to insane lengths just to climb into Mr. Whitmore’s bed. That says it all, doesn’t it? You’re nothing but a cheap tramp. Of course I’m going to photograph this shameless side of you and let the whole world see it."

"What?"

Serena froze on the spot.

What did that even mean?

That one sentence hit like a truck. There was way too much packed into it, and her hungover brain couldn’t process it fast enough.

And in that tiny moment of distraction, the shameless female reporter found her opening and grabbed the sheet around Serena.

Just when everything was about to go completely sideways, everyone watched the arrogant reporter suddenly drop to the floor with a thud. She clutched her stomach, face twisted in pain, groaning like she’d been hit hard. At the same time, Serena felt herself pulled into an embrace that seemed both strange and weirdly familiar.

She lifted her head a little and saw a sharply cut jawline and a sexy, prominent Adam’s apple. But the man was too tall, and from her angle, she couldn’t make out his full face at all.

"You’ve got some nerve. Tired of living?"

Damian Whitmore’s low voice was heavy with a coldness that kept everyone at a distance.

Sure enough, every reporter who had barged in started trembling at that one sentence. They all lowered their heads, not daring to look at Mr. Whitmore, much less raise a camera and snap another shot.

Who was Damian Whitmore? Anyone with even a little status knew exactly who he was.

Only thirty-two, and he was already a legend across the business worlds of Asia, Europe, and America. But for some reason, he had disappeared overseas for the last two years and never once returned.

No one had expected that the moment Mr. Whitmore came back, something this explosive and scandalous would happen.

Serena could feel just how overpowering the man beside her was, especially that icy pressure rolling off him.

Ignoring everyone else in the room, Serena Ashford grabbed a white bathrobe and pulled it around herself. She turned her head a little, and the next second, her eyes met his.

Damian Whitmore had just come out of the shower. His wet hair still dripped onto his shoulders. A towel was tied low around his waist. Broad chest, defined abs, a sharp nose, thin lips that somehow looked ridiculously attractive, and those deep, unreadable eyes... under the glow of the lights, he looked so stunning it was almost unreal. That face, that bone structure, it was like God had spent extra time sculpting him. Seriously, not a single bad angle.

A faint smile touched Damian’s lips.

Serena, still dazed, gave him a silly little smile back.

Without saying anything, Damian walked over, scooped her into his arms, and gently set her down on the soft, high-end sofa. Serena froze for a second, her brain clearly still lagging behind.

Then Damian picked up the robe lying on the sofa, put it on with calm, lazy movements, and sat down right beside her. He pulled her straight into his arms. No matter how she struggled or twisted away, he simply wouldn’t let go.

"You. Raise your head."

Nobody knew who Young Master Qin—no, Damian—was talking to. Naturally, not one person dared move. The room was so tense it felt like everyone’s heartbeat had climbed into their throat, pounding like crazy.

Damian swept a cold glance across them and saw that no one responded.

"The woman who tried to lift this girl’s bedsheet."

It was weird. His tone was clearly light, even gentle. But when it landed in everyone’s ears, it carried a chill that made their scalp go numb. No shouting, no threats, yet the pressure was suffocating.

But the moment Serena heard him call her this girl, she instantly stopped being calm.

She was just about to snap back at him when the female reporter from earlier slowly lifted her head. Her small frame was trembling hard, like she might collapse at any second.

Serena couldn’t figure it out. Every single person here was terrified of this cold, distant man in front of them. But just a moment ago, he had smiled at her so softly. So what was that? A glitch? Had she seriously imagined it?

"You," Damian said flatly, his gaze locking on the reporter, "slap yourself. Hard. Ten times."

"Young Master Qin—Mr. Whitmore—please, please spare me. I’m begging you, please let me go..."

The female reporter dropped to her knees on the spot and started begging Damian for mercy, her voice shaking so badly it barely sounded human.

Watching the woman panic like that, Serena only grew more confused. Just what kind of power, what kind of identity, did Damian actually have, for people to fear him this much?

And ten slaps? If she really did it hard, she’d probably end up in the hospital.

Still, Serena had never been some saint who forgave everyone for free. That woman absolutely deserved to be punished. But ten slaps... wasn’t that a bit too much?

What no one in the room knew yet was that the very moment the reporters took those photos, every single image had already been uploaded from their cameras to the internet.