Chapter 3 The Kiss

Henrik accepted a handkerchief from his trusted aide, Rhett Foster, wiping the blood from his hands with deliberate, almost regal precision.

He then removed his mask slowly, revealing a face that could seize anyone's breath.

His eyes were dark, magnetic pools, deep enough to pull anyone in.

And above his perfectly-shaped lips was a prominent, sculpted nose.

His chiseled features conveyed both power and beauty, almost too flawless to belong to any ordinary man.

It was the kind of face that could eclipse even the brightest stars in the showbiz.

But more than his appearance, it was his aura—commanding, indomitable—that sent shivers down spines. This was a man who held dominion over countless lives.

Henrik smiled, a flash of danger glinting in his eyes. "So what if I am?"

Khloe's eyes went as wide as saucers.

Henrik Watson—that name carried the weight of legend.

Henrik had once been a branch member of the Watson family before vanishing into obscurity for ten long years.

When he resurfaced, he singlehandedly seized control of the nation's underworld, rendering him a king without rival.

In fact, he was so powerful that even the president treaded carefully around him.

Khloe's ex-fiance, Eric, was a member of the Watson family, which had ascended from obscurity to supremacy solely thanks to Henrik.

By blood, Eric was Henrik's nephew.

So, if her marriage to Eric pushed through, Henrik would be her husband's uncle.

Khloe's stepsister, Sloane, had maneuvered her into offering herself to Karl Russell.

Though Karl held sway in the city, he was nothing against Henrik's underworld might. It was like comparing a lion to a mouse.

As the thought struck her, hope flickered within Khloe.

If she could gain Henrik's support, she might escape her forced sacrifice, and her mother could be saved.

Steadying her breath, she asked tentatively, "Since I just helped you, could I ask you a favor?"

Henrik's gaze sharpened, eyes gleaming with intrigue.

It was the first time a woman had faced him with such poise, especially after witnessing him kill so many people.

Interest piqued, Henrik strode towards Khloe with an almost lazy confidence, each step measured and unhurried.

His sculpted fingers pinched her chin, lifting it so she was looking right at him.

He held her gaze as he studied her with a trace of amusement in his eyes.

His voice, low and rich, sent a chill through the air.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to? Aren't you afraid I'll kill you?"

A shiver raced through Khloe's heart.

His presence was overwhelming, like a storm cloud closing in, suffocating in its intensity.

He was dangerous—merely speaking to him was like playing with fire.

But she had nowhere else to turn; Henrik was her only chance.

"I have a Ph.D. in chemistry and medicine, along with patents—highly profitable ones. If you help me, I can make you money," she said, voice steady but with a glint of desperation.

Henrik shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Money?" he murmured, his fingers brushing her cheek. "Do I look like I lack money?"

The scent of blood clung faintly to his skin, chilling her even as he remained outwardly gentle. Khloe's guard went up instinctively, her body tensing beneath his touch.

"What do you want?" she ventured cautiously. "If it's within my power, I'm willing to exchange anything."

A spark flickered in Henrik's dark eyes, something enigmatic and unreadable.

He let his gaze drift over her as if considering her offer. "Anything, you say?" All of a sudden, he let out a chilling laugh. "Then I want this."

In one swift motion, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

And there, before all his men, he kissed her.