CHAPTER 1: CHAPTER 1: PLEASE LET ME GO, WILL YOU?

The man’s black shirt was half unbuttoned, revealing a broad, tight chest and glimpses of defined, sexy abs.

Under the dim, ambiguous light, the man strode toward Renee Winslow with long, commanding legs and a fierce aura.

Renee, terrified, backed away again and again: "You... don’t come any closer..."

The man advanced relentlessly, only stopping when Renee was pressed into a corner. He gripped her chin with a large hand, eyes sharp as a blade: "Still trying to run?"

Renee lowered her gaze, struggling to hold back her fear as she shook her head. "No... I won’t run."

The man pinched her delicate jaw, forcing her to raise her head, his thumb ruthlessly rubbing over her lips.

"Renee Winslow, stop thinking about leaving me. Even if you die, you’ll die in my bed."

His shameless, domineering words made Renee’s cheeks flush red; she was both ashamed and angry, but she held her fury in check through sheer disgust.

She had no choice but to suppress it; resisting would only bring more suffering. It was better to appear obedient and lessen the punishment.

To make herself seem meeker, she lowered her eyes, letting tears roll down.

"What are you crying for?" The man lowered his head, gritting his frustration against her lips with a hard bite, his voice hoarse and restraining, "Is it so unbearable to be with me?"

Renee kept her eyes tightly shut, saying nothing. Her long, wet lashes trembled lightly.

"So who do you want to be with? Who? Hm?" The man squeezed her face, a flush creeping to his eyes’ corners, gaze intense, "Open your eyes. Talk to me while looking at me."

"No one... I don’t want to be with anyone." Renee’s eyes flickered open in a trembling gaze, shattering as she looked at the man before her, her voice breaking, "Mr. Yates, I don’t want to be with anyone. Please, I beg you, just let me go?"

Her pleas were soft and gentle, hoping for a shred of mercy from him.

The man wrapped an arm around her waist and swooped her up, biting her neck with suppressed rage, voice rough and dark: "What you should say is, ’I want to be with Jack Yates.’ Understand?"

Renee endured and endured, then said softly, "I want to be with Jack Yates."

Under the overwhelming pressure of his presence, she had no choice but to compromise.

The man’s gaze darkened. Holding her, he hurried them into the bedroom, pressing her down urgently and aggressively, long fingers jabbing harshly: "Has he been here? Has he?"

"Ah!" Renee cried out.

"Ms. Renee!" Assistant Nadia Sheridan asked in concern, "Ms. Renee, what’s wrong? Were you having a nightmare?"

Renee jolted awake from her dream, eyes wide in panic, gasping for breath.

A flight attendant, alarmed by the cry, quickly hurried over: "Ma’am, are you feeling unwell?"

The plane had just crossed into Northridge airspace, and even the weather seemed to have turned drier in an instant.

Renee struggled to swallow against her parched, hoarse throat and waved her hand: "I’m fine, thank you." She turned to Nadia, "I’m okay, maybe I just stayed up too late revising the script last night and didn’t rest properly—must’ve had a nightmare just now."

Revising the script was an excuse. Actually, she hadn’t slept a wink last night because she learned she had to fly to Northcity today.

After boarding, she finally drifted off on the plane, only to be plunged into that terrifying nightmare—not even really a dream, but something she’d truly lived through. She woke from it, unable to sleep again.

The plane landed in Northcity at 5:35 in the afternoon. In the depths of autumn, the sun was almost set, the clouds in the sky burning red like fire.

Even though the whole sky was blazing bright and red, Northcity’s air was sharp and cold, tinged with a chilling, merciless edge—just like the man she hadn’t been able to erase from memory in five years: The Yates Family’s third son, Jack Yates.

A lot of people in Northcity were afraid of Jack Yates. Renee was too—more than anyone, so scared she hadn’t dared set foot in Northcity for five years.

This time, coming to Northcity was something she couldn’t avoid; she was forced into it, just like she’d been forced into that fortresslike house of his eight years ago, and forced into three years of entanglement with him after that.

Five years ago, she’d taken a knife for Jack Yates—traded half her life to win freedom and get away from him.

The day she left had also been late autumn, locust trees shedding everywhere, the sky painted with fiery clouds.

Jack Yates stood beneath those leafless locust trees, sunset streaming through barren branches, casting him in the ruthless, merciless light of an avenging demon.

"Renee Winslow, I’ll let you go this once. If you leave, never come back again."

"Thank you, Mr. Yates. Rest assured, I will not come back—never again, for the rest of my life, will I set foot in Northcity."

But she’d broken that promise. Five years later, here she was back in Northcity.

That’s why she hadn’t slept all night, and why, on the flight, nightmares haunted her—because she was afraid. Afraid of running into Jack Yates again, of being trapped in his grasp once more.

Nobody understood how intense Jack Yates’s need for control and possession was better than she did; she’d been subject to his obsessive grip for three years.

It wasn’t just the thought of his control she couldn’t stand—more terrifying was the entanglement between Jack Yates and Caleb Yates, being caught between uncle and nephew’s power games, stripped of her agency, reduced to just a toy in their hands.

Thankfully, she was free of Jack Yates now, finally cut off from both uncle and nephew.

After leaving Northcity, she’d gone overseas. Last September, she’d returned home, working as a screenwriter at a film company called Nimbus Media—it was her high school classmate, Sylvia Carrington, who got her the job, and Sylvia, as the company’s executive director, actually had some pull.

Even if Sylvia hadn’t helped, with Renee’s own abilities she could have gotten into Nimbus Media. Still, with Sylvia around, things at work were smoother and less fraught with unnecessary trouble.

Last summer, the company produced a breakout hit, instantly earning a stellar reputation. They were drowning in ad offers and sponsorships were easier than ever to secure.

At the start of the year, they planned a major IP xianxia drama. The early stages—approvals, scriptwriting, everything—went great, and they even secured backing quickly. But the investor was a big shot in Northcity, and just before the contract signing, he suddenly insisted the whole core creative team come to Northcity for a meeting.

As a screenwriter, Renee was part of the core team and should have gone to Northcity with them.

At first, when she heard she had to go, she begged off, feigning illness. Sylvia didn’t push—it was decided Renee could stay in Maridia and wait for updates.

But just yesterday, as soon as Sylvia and the others arrived in Northcity, she called Renee, saying the investors felt their attitude lacked sincerity.

"How could they think we’re not sincere?" Renee felt a faint tremor of unease.

Sylvia said, "The big-money boss said, since our main writer didn’t show up, we must not mean business—he left without even eating."

Renee tried to quell her anxiety, joking, probing for details: "What’s the investor’s name? Some major player from The Capital Circle?"

Sylvia answered, "Last name is Donovan—Southedge’s richest family, the Second Young Master Donovan."

Renee breathed a sigh of relief: "Donovan, huh."

Sylvia asked, "What’s up?"

Renee smiled, "Nothing."

Anyone but Yates was good. Donovan was even better—safer.

Southedge’s Second Young Master Declan Donovan had never gotten along with Jack Yates; they’d even gone head-to-head vying for the Southea market.

Since Declan Donovan was producing this show, there’d be no need to worry about running into Jack Yates.

Once off the plane, Renee and her assistant Nadia hailed a cab straight to the hotel.

As soon as they arrived, Sylvia brought out a brand new sea-blue mermaid gown, autumn’s latest design, and handed it to Renee. "Put this on."

Renee blinked, confused. "Why the change of clothes?"

Sylvia, standing behind, raked through Renee’s soft hair, testing which style would look best.

After flinging the hair loose a few times, she wrinkled her nose and wiped her hands on Renee’s shoulder. "How many days since you washed your hair?"

Renee coughed awkwardly. "Just two, maybe—I think I washed it the night before last." Turning, she asked, "But you haven’t said—why the change of outfit?"

"Because you didn’t come yesterday! You pissed off the investor, so you have to look extra pretty tonight. Second Young Master Donovan needs to see you and cool down. During dinner, be sweet-talking, give him a few toasts. Fenton said—we have to succeed this time, no room for failure!"

Renee still couldn’t shake her doubts. "Are you sure the investor is Declan Donovan?"

Sylvia was certain. "Of course! I’ve already met Mr. Donovan twice."

She flipped out Declan Donovan’s photo on her phone, showing it to Renee. "Here, this is the Second Young Master of The Donovan Family, Declan Donovan—the real power behind The Donovan Group. Handsome, right?"

Renee took a look. Confirming it wasn’t Jack Yates, her anxiety finally eased a little more.

But she still couldn’t completely relax and had to ask again, "So it’s only Declan Donovan—no one else?"

Sylvia clearly sensed Renee was acting odd today and frowned. "Who else could it possibly be? Who are you expecting to show up?"