Chapter 1: Time Loop
The world was a deep blue, with sparse stars and scattered clouds.
Evelyn Blackwell could not control her body because it was occupied by an external soul!
In her ears were countless noisy voices; she had her right finger bone broken and was thrown into the lake, only to wake up half an hour later.
"Miss Blackwell, you’re awake." Standing at the bedside was Henry Monroe's secretary, who smiled formally. "Your hand is broken, but the sir does not allow you to receive treatment until you recognize your mistake. You need to understand his concern."
Evelyn Blackwell's expression was indifferent as she slowly gripped her left hand.
After all this time, the external soul had finally left; she regained control of her body!
"Your expression is wrong again. Please always remember to exert force on both sides of your mouth and show a smile," the secretary continued. "When you smile, you will look more like Miss Reed and will also win the sir's favor."
"And one more thing, you need to know your place. The sir does not like people who cling and are shameless. You—"
Snap!
Evelyn Blackwell had reconnected her finger bone.
The secretary's words came to an abrupt stop.
He looked at the girl in confusion as she grabbed a coat and draped it over her shoulders, rising to go downstairs.
After a moment of shock, the secretary quickly followed. He sighed, "Miss Blackwell, although you resemble Miss Reed, you are still not her. You have no privileges with the sir. If you keep causing trouble, it will not be good for you. Haven't you suffered enough?"
Henry Monroe could fly from the Northern Hemisphere to the Southern Hemisphere for Isabella Reed's birthday, abandoning business meetings, but Evelyn Blackwell did not have that privilege.
Today, Evelyn Blackwell was somewhat unusual, but the secretary did not think much of it as he respectfully greeted the person walking into the villa: "Good day, Mr. Quinn."
Damien Quinn was Henry Monroe's childhood friend.
He lifted his chin slightly: "What's wrong with her?"
The secretary's gaze was full of pity: "Miss Blackwell is throwing a tantrum and running away from home."
He had grown accustomed to such tactics.
Two years ago, after Evelyn Blackwell became close to Henry Monroe, she had always kept a low profile. Occasionally, her pride would rise, prompting her to leave, but as long as Henry Monroe said a word, she would willingly return, with no dignity left.
Damien Quinn bit his cigarette and chuckled nonchalantly: "Throwing a tantrum?"
The entire Riverport knew that Evelyn Blackwell was merely Isabella Reed's stand-in.
Initially, she could continue to stay by Henry Monroe's side as a substitute, but a month ago, the real Isabella Reed returned from studying abroad, and Evelyn Blackwell immediately lost her value. Yet she was still unwilling to let go, clinging persistently.
But Evelyn Blackwell should never have laid a hand on Isabella Reed, nearly breaking her right hand.
Isabella Reed was a top student and painter in their circle, admired by men and women alike, the white moonlight of everyone.
Damien Quinn was no exception, and he certainly wouldn’t let the culprit, Evelyn Blackwell, go unpunished.
At midnight today, the group of siblings had summoned Evelyn Blackwell in the name of Henry Monroe, broken her finger, and pushed her into the water to avenge Isabella Reed.
Water droplets still dripped from the girl’s hair as the evening breeze blew, tousling her hair. As the hazy mist cleared, her stunning features emerged, enchanting all.
Her beautiful brows and eyes, however, carried a hint of coldness, like a thorny rose swaying in the cold wind, its chill mixed with a sense of danger that made one’s heart tremble.
She cast a faint glance, as if the long-sealed beauty had awakened, shaking the mortal realm.
Leaves fell silently, creating a moment of stillness.
Damien Quinn paused, momentarily unsure of how to describe such a face.
How could he think that a stand-in was more beautiful than the real one?
Ridiculous.
Damien Quinn felt irritated. Seeing the girl stop, she turned and walked towards him.
He raised an eyebrow, a vague smile on his face: "What, have you come to apologize? I wouldn’t—"
Crack!
The sound of bones breaking rang clearly in the silent night.
Evelyn Blackwell spoke blandly: "How did it break?"
Before Damien Quinn could react, his right hand was seized again, followed by another c***k.
"This one is broken too."
The pain that shot through Damien Quinn’s fingers caused his legs to buckle, and he knelt on the ground, shaking uncontrollably, unable to even scream from the pain.
His face turned pale, disbelief filling his expression.
Evelyn Blackwell then stepped on his ankle, and after two crisp cracks, she smiled: "Now they’re all broken."
An even more intense wave of pain surged, and Damien Quinn could not endure it any longer; he blacked out.
The girl strode away, her back like a knife.
The secretary was also stunned, and after a long moment, he tremblingly contacted Henry Monroe: "Sir, something has happened..."
Outside the villa, Evelyn Blackwell's smile faded.
She had a secret: her body had been occupied when she was fourteen.
For the past four years, Evelyn Blackwell had watched as the soul occupying her turned her once peaceful life into chaos.
The other soul wanted to be a model, so she abandoned her studies to enter the industry and walk the runway.
The soul liked Henry Monroe, signing a substitute agreement.
The soul looked down on her uncle's family, causing her to become estranged from them and unable to return home.
In the end, the soul, not wanting to play anymore, left to find a new life, and only then did she finally regain control of her body.
But before she could tidy up the mess, she was trapped in the same day by time, endlessly looping.
No matter what she did, she could not arrive at the next day.
She acted without considering any consequences, but could also not establish any connections with others.
Because after midnight, aside from her memories, everything would reset. She would return to midnight on May 18th, repeating the exact same beginning.
She had repeated this day for a whole nine hundred and ninety-nine years.
From the initial rage to calmness and then to indifference, Evelyn Blackwell had finally gotten used to it and started to use her infinite rebirths to enrich herself.
She had traversed every corner of Riverport and nearby cities, remembering every significant event that occurred at various time points, becoming proficient in countless skills and a hundred languages.
Ninety years ago, she began studying artifact restoration and Kunqu opera to cultivate her temperament, suppressing her murderous intent, but life still felt dull and endless.
Evelyn Blackwell put on her helmet, mounted her motorcycle, and set off for the day's plans.
Practicing calligraphy, martial arts, painting, singing...
The last tune ended as darkness fell.
Boom!
Dark clouds gathered, and the thunder sounded as if it were about to split the sky. Lightning intertwined with neon lights, creating a sea of light, while rain mist engulfed the night.
It was a bit chilly.
Evelyn Blackwell wrapped her outerwear tighter and booked a hotel for the night.
After swiping her card and opening the door, she paused.
The window was wide open, and a strong wind rushed in. There was already an uninvited guest in the room.
It was a man.
He leaned against the bed, turned sideways to her, his figure perfect, with flowing lines showcasing strength and beauty.
A few strands of damp hair stuck to his cheeks, and the veins in his strong arms were visible, evidently enduring immense torment.
Evelyn Blackwell stepped back and looked at the door number: "This seems to be my room."
The man pressed his lips tightly together, his voice hoarse as he spoke: "Get out!"
Evelyn Blackwell walked in and closed the door.
A lost stranger was quite interesting in her monotonous life; she cherished such moments.
After all, she had already incapacitated Damien Quinn over three hundred thousand times; every bone in his body had been broken by her, and there was no freshness left.
Evelyn Blackwell slowly approached, bent down, and pinched the man’s chin, lifting his face.
It was a stunning face, undeniably captivating.
The moonlight dyed his brows and eyes silver, his brows tightly knitted, eyes dazed, carrying a sense of brokenness and dangerous beauty.
Evelyn Blackwell raised her eyebrows slightly.
Many people in Riverport she had seen, but she had never seen this man.
Bang!
The man suddenly moved.
His gaze was still unclear, but the attack was swift, aiming to kill.
Evelyn Blackwell remained unfazed, countering with equal ferocity, skillfully blocking each strike.
Bang!
Clatter!
The sound of her phone ringing abruptly broke the silence; Evelyn Blackwell freed one hand to answer.
On the other end, Henry Monroe’s cold voice came through: “Evelyn Blackwell, playing hard to get won’t work on me; be at the hospital in ten minutes.”
Evelyn Blackwell did not respond; her focus was solely on the man who had invaded her room.
He seemed to have exhausted all his strength, stopping to look at her with hazy eyes.
The man’s pupils were dilated, his mind unclear.
Evelyn Blackwell had already seized his throat, pinning him to the bed, immobilizing him.
His eyelids fluttered, his complexion pale as if made of cold porcelain. Suddenly, he found an angle of attack that she had never anticipated.
He tilted his head slightly and kissed her lips.
To be precise, he bit her.
His cold lips touched hers, igniting a wildfire in an instant, their breaths intertwining with heat.
Evelyn Blackwell’s lower lip was bitten and bled.
This blood seemed to calm him down, and he gasped, leaning against the wall.
The night was very quiet, and the sound of his broken breaths was clear, like feathers dancing around her heart.
On the other end of the phone, there was a moment of silence.
Three seconds later, Henry Monroe coldly asked: “Evelyn Blackwell, what are you doing?”
