The Kiss That Ruined Him

--- Chapter 1 I woke to the sound of a ticking clock—not the gentle kind, but the heavy, mechanical heartbeat of an antique timepiece, each second striking like a hammer against my skull. The air tasted of dust, dry and ancient, like the inside of a tomb that hadn’t been opened in decades. The ceiling above me was cracked, peeling paint curling like burnt skin. This wasn’t my apartment. My heart slammed against my ribs as I sat up too fast, dizziness clawing at the edges of my vision. The room was bare—cold, sterile, smelling faintly of mold, as if someone had hidden something here and then forgotten how to come back for it. And then I saw her. Me. In the mirror across from the bed: sharp cheekbones, pale lips parted in shock, dark circles under wide, alert eyes—eyes that didn’t belong to Lydia Voss, bankrupt heiress turned target. They belonged to someone else entirely. Sophie Chen. Forensic pathologist. Dead in another world. The memories hit like bullets: Last night, the mafia sent Kai to kill me. Not because I stole from them—but because I refused to marry the Wolff boy, the spoiled brat whose family ruined mine. My father didn’t just lose everything—he jumped off a roof with my name still on his lips: “Run. Don’t look back.” So why am I still breathing? Because something woke up inside me when I should’ve died. 【System Initializing…】 A vibration—not in my ears, but deep in the bone behind my left eye. Like ice water flooding my sinuses, like a blade sliding between the folds of my brain. Then the voice—not robotic, not kind, but ancient, hungry: > 【Criminal Profiler System Bound】 > Survival Condition: Solve cases. Upgrade skills. > Tutorial Mission Activated: “Escape the Killer.” I blinked once. My throat went dry. This wasn’t a gift. It was an infestation. “You awake。” His voice came from the shadows near the window—low, calm, predatory. Like a cat watching a bird that doesn’t know it’s already in the air. I turned slowly. He stood where light met darkness, tall and broad-shouldered, black jacket hugging muscle like armor. Dark hair slightly messy. A smirk playing on his lips—the kind that says, I know you’re afraid, and I like it. Kai. The killer. My death sentence. But I didn’t flinch. Because I noticed two things he didn’t mean to show: First—the way his right index finger kept brushing a tiny scratch on his holster, slow and unconscious, like tracing someone’s name in the dark. Second—the scent: not blood, not sweat, but antiseptic with a hint of mint. The kind used in private clinics, not crime scenes. He wasn’t just here to kill me. He was waiting for me to speak first. I met his gaze—and smiled. Not out of fear masked as courage. Out of clarity. Of calculation. Of seeing the crack in his armor before he even knew it was there. “Let’s talk,” I said. “Starting with this: Why didn’t you pull the trigger last night?” ---