He branded me with three marks of his own making.
One was in the workplace, where he taught me the art of “attacking the heart” and shaped me into his sharpest blade.
One was at my waist, where he declared his absolute possession of me in front of everyone, claiming me as his exclusive treasure.
The last was hidden in the “calming soup” delivered to me punctually every night, silently eroding every boundary I had.
I thought it was nothing more than an elaborate conditioning scheme devised by a top capitalist. That is, until a photograph of an ancient symbol stained with blood was slipped into my pocket.
A watcher in the shadows sneered: [Miss Su, is your “keeper’s” gilded cage still secure?]
Fu Yanci locked me in his arms on a rainy night, his breath burning hot, every word iron-hard. “Su Wan, your life belongs to me. Your revenge, your family’s blood debt, I’ll settle it all myself.”
But when every clue pointed to the monstrous conspiracy that swallowed up my loved ones twenty years ago, the people at the center of the web turned out to be the gentle doctor I had called “Uncle” for ten years, and the “controller” who was closing in on me at every turn.
Not bad, life is hard enough. So the novel should be read sweetly